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Talkin' Trash With Shirley & Butch
11/18/1998 10:00 PM, Yahoo! Music
Wendy Hermanson
Madonna and Courtney can Om 'til the bodhisattvas come home: fellow fashion-forward diva Shirley Manson will remain on the sofa, thank you.
"I'm the biggest, laziest, potato couch slob," the singer laughs, unintentionally twisting the American colloquialism in her Scottish brogue. "I keep on hearing about yoga and working out and all this glamorous stuff, and I just want to watch the telly."
One would never guess it to look at her--the lithe Manson is certainly not the biggest in any pure physical terms. Her presence, however, is another matter. Although in person she's a rather self-deprecating character who loves to laugh (at herself or otherwise), when stomping across the stage in her role as Garbage doyenne the redheaded singer comes across as 100% mega-star--a considerable force to be dealt with, regardless of actual size. Furthermore, there's a legendary air that hangs about her, despite her relatively recent emergence into the spotlight, and fans willingly respond to her as newly-heralded royalty.
"Shirley's the focal point," admits Butch Vig, producer of legendary records (Nirvana's Nevermind, Smashing Pumpkins' Siamese Dream) and the second-best-known member of Garbage. "Anytime you have someone with that much charisma, that just happens. Several years ago, when I met people they wanted to know what Billy Corgan was like, or Kurt Cobain. Now, they want to know what Shirley's like."
"In any band, the lead singer attracts the main body of attention," Manson demurs. "That goes with the territory. I'm lucky that the other members don't have ego problems. They enjoy the fact that I have to suffer through it all the time. But I like it--I'm a natural show-off and natural communicator."
The story behind Garbage's success seems rather unlikely on first examination. An unknown Vig, a Wisconsin native, dropped out of a pre-med track at UW-Madison to drum in a local band, Spooner. There he met guitarist Duke Erikson--a Nebraska transplant who drove trucks by day to pay the rent. UW film student Steve Markes joined the fold by
hanging out at Spooner shows and offering to record them on his home four-track machine. The trio of friends soon began working together on odd projects in Vig and Markes's self-founded enterprise, Smart Studios.
The quartet came together when the three Midwestern-based musicians decided that they needed some sort of "oomph" to boost their mixes. Said "oomph" appeared to Vig on MTV in the form of a not-often-aired video by a not-very-well-known band called Angelfish. The singer, a wide-eyed, girlish spark of sexuality, looked to be exactly what was needed. Vig tracked her down and discovered that she was Shirley Manson, a rather typical rebel kid raised in a straight-laced Scottish family, who had been in and out of bands since age 16. He gave her a call. Manson, unaware of who he was, nonchalantly told her record label that some guy named Butch Vig had called her about working with him. She was surprised at the ensuing fuss.
Suitably impressed once brought up to speed on Vig's track record, Manson joined aboard. The newly-formed quartet christened themselves with a tongue-in-cheek moniker ("We thought it was a great name for a pop band," Vig protests, while Manson groans about how her mother absolutely hated it) and got down to business creating their first record.
"We didn't really know each other as a band at all," admits Manson. "On the first record, my lyrics would get picked apart by some of the other members, and I would use their ideas."
"Shirley joined after we had some musical ideas," Vig explains. "I can't tell you how awkward it is to walk into a studio and write with someone you don't know. It took us a long time to be comfortable."
The strained nature described didn't come through on the finished product. Garbage's first release, eponymous and covered in pink feathers, oozed attitude mixed with catchy electronic hooks, and rapidly made them the darlings of alternative radio. Particularly underestimated was the sinewy, slinky "Queer," a brilliant single which was quickly eclipsed by "Only Happy When It Rains," the Clash-riddim-lifted "Stupid Girl," and a moan-and-groan fest B-side called "#1 Crush" that ended up on the huge-selling Romeo + Juliet soundtrack.
Suddenly, Manson & Co. became a focal point for real. "I think our first album caught people off guard," Vig muses. "We didn't invent anything new, but incorporating techno elements, a rock background, writing pop--throwing it against the wall and calling it Garbage did catch people off guard."
Manson adds, "When we first came out, only a handful of other bands were doing this, and I don't know if we pushed the door open. Almost everybody's doing it now." She pauses to reflect. "I don't know if that's emulating, I just think it's a sign of the times. We just managed to capture people's attention and imagination."
Now the challenge lay in creating a follow-up album to equal the sledgehammer-blow debut. After a grueling schedule of touring ("I was very adamant that I wouldn't tour," Vig now confesses. "I'd spent so many years in a van. But our chemistry was cool--we wanted to try it, and try to connect with an audience"), Garbage had formed a bond of familiarity conducive to a more collaborative session of songwriting. Manson became more vocal with ideas and suggestions, and served as a much-needed time gauge as well. When her bandmates, obsessed with making a multi-track song sound just that much more perfect, took too long in the studio, she simply put her foot down.
"Left to our own devices, we'd still be in the studio," chuckles Vig. "Right before Christmas last year, Shirley put her foot down and said, 'You have to finish this.' Five or six of the songs had a hundred tracks, and a lot of the songs became this huge puzzle. It wasn't until we started mixing that we had to sort through and fit around her vocals. She started getting stir-crazy."
"They very much want to be in the recording room 24 hours a day," Manson explains of her forthrightness. "I usually work outside the studio, and come in every now and again."
Vig blames his perfectionistic tendencies on his heritage. "Part of that probably comes from my Midwestern upbringing. My parents were pragmatic. Shirley is very volatile, emotional, opinionated. We have a tendency to go slower before we make up our minds. It creates a good tension in the band that is healthy, and good for the creative
process."
Regardless, thanks to a little prodding, Garbage's much-anticipated sophomore release, Version 2.0--a second dose of satin-cool sampling, ripping guitars, and Manson's fiery delivery--was released in a timely manner...and again, to an equal fanfare from the public. Vig was particularly pleased with the album's impact as a whole. "I realized I was a songwriter before a producer/ engineer," he says. "I think for us, and for me, the challenge is trying to write a great song. I love hooks and melodies and heavy grooves and noise and guitars. But ultimately, you want the song to resonate, to stick in your head. This day it's easy to get cool beats, sounds, noises. It's more challenging to write a song with depth and character that will stick with you when you hear it."
Loyal fans, delighted with the new album, assured Garbage that not only their songs, but their band as a whole, would stick with them for the long run. "Our fans are incredibly loyal," enthuses Manson. "We went into the studio, came out with a new record and didn't know what to expect. Our fanbase has really stuck with us. Fans don't really stick around with bands anymore. Bands have one huge record and then the fans forget them. We were worried that would happen to us. And it really hasn't."
"We've had a lot of years of working with bands that failed miserably," Vig adds cautiously. "To be in a position to be in a band that's doing well commercially and critically is really satisfying. Since we're grounded, we don't take it for granted: here today, gone today. We don't take it as a given that we'll be around forever."
Still, modest words aside, it doesn't appear that Manson and her crew are destined for disappearance any time soon. With a remarkable three singles already spawned by 2.0, Manson may have to treasure her rare "potato couch slob" downtime for a good while yet. Garbage's advice to those who would follow in their footsteps? Vig suggests humor is the key to success. "We make fun of ourselves. Don't take it too seriously. That's not healthy. Since we've suffered through a lot of crazy years, it keeps us a lot more grounded."
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