Garbage Displays Its Depth, Heat

“Rock ‘n’ roll is here to stay,” Garbage vocalist Shirley Manson crooned Thursday night--and, if the band’s sold-out Palace performance was any indication, so is this unlikely union of three knob-tweaking producers and a punk-diva singer-songwriter, whose studio-born sound came to gloriously raw life on stage.

If it were hard to discern many differences between the band’s new album, “Version 2.0,” and its hit 1995 debut, “Garbage,” the concert revealed the new material to be better honed and even more compelling. In a 90-minute set laced with older favorites such as “Queer” and “Only Happy When It Rains,” the group presented most of the new album, and each industrial-pop confection was as melt-in-your-mind addictive as the last.

Having toured extensively behind their debut, the Scottish singer-lyricist and her Wisconsin-based partners--drummer Butch Vig, plus guitarists Steve Marker and Duke Erikson, who both also manned synthesizers--had already rebuffed skepticism about how well they could translate their recordings’ layers of guitars, samples, percussion and vocals to a live setting. Even tighter and more exciting on Thursday, Garbage proved that it’s not a one-album/five-hit-singles fluke, but an innovator that is bringing guitar rock abreast of the future by making classic riffs relevant with hook-a-licious sampling and driving beats.

Vig, Marker, Erikson and a bassist churned out a thunderous techno-rock storm, building on a foundation of recorded tracks without faltering, so that technology served the music rather than vice versa. The thick air and a dazzling, bruise-like array of red, blue, purple and green lights turned the atmosphere palpably sensual and slightly sinister, as Manson belted out obsessive songs of devotion and despair with little electronic adornment. Her naked voice was never overwhelmed by either the band’s sonic bludgeon or the audience’s adoring screams.

A dynamo in a little black dress and clunky shoes, with her hair messily tugged back and her makeup nondescript, she muted her charisma not a bit with her anti-glam look. Eyes glittering, she was ferocious during numbers such as the ex-lover’s taunt “Special,” channeling the music so intensely that a mere pointing of her finger seemed likely to incinerate anyone in its path. Attacking the mike as if to devour it, she prowled the stage, occasionally plunging at the crowd like she would fling herself into its midst--although the fans would probably have torn her apart in their enthusiasm.

The entire epic display recalled a range of rock’s larger-than-life stars, from the blistering guitar heat of early Rolling Stones to the dark thrills of vintage Siouxsie and the Banshees, a spiritual predecessor in fusing driving rock and slick synths. Like these acts, Garbage’s mainstream appeal lies in both its irresistible musical hooks and its ability to provide equally potent emotional hooks, with songs that magnify the emotional uncertainties we all sometimes feel, then broadcast them like anthems for the frustrated introvert in everyone.