Imagine a time when white, straight America was so insulated from reality that Gen-Xers were more likely to argue over the legitimacy of the alternative rock band Bush as opposed to, say, debating politics and social justice. But hey, that was 1995 for you. Too many of us were spoiled rotten, so much so that if a post-grunge band lacked whatever we arbitrarily deemed “integrity”, we’d waste far too much energy slamming bands on newgroups, sneering at Candlebox videos on television, or, in some cases, going out of our way to make ad hominem attacks on Stone Temple Pilots on record.
The fact is, we didn’t have a clue what artistic integrity was. An arena rock dude mixed Nirvana‘s Nevermind; in other words, all popular music is calculated to some extent.
That’s all part of getting old. After a few decades, things that confounded you in your 20s start to make more sense. Suddenly, you’d find yourself, 54 years old, at a Bush concert, thinking, I might have to reassess Razorblade Suitcase now. I never thought I’d say that, but damn, if “Greedy Fly” doesn’t sound refreshingly gnarly, in that great tradition of classic Steve Albini recordings.
Thirty years removed from the phenomenon that was the 1994 debut Sixteen Stone, and almost ten years removed from his divorce from Gwen Stefani, Rossdale and Bush are somehow still going strong. Stefani might be deep down whatever MAGA tradwife rabbit hole she chose to dive into, but her ex has rediscovered the liberation of writing and performing. On a cool spring night in Laval, Quebec, he and his mates were making thousands of concertgoers happy playing a rousing set loaded with iconic 1990s classics.
Bush’s cross-Canada tour kept things streamlined and simple, devoid of any gimmickry, save for the odd backing track. Just a stage with a riser, and enough lighting to enhance the performance without feeling garish. No screens, backdrops, pyro, or spaceships that carried the band to a B stage (thank Nickelback for that one). Just Rossdale, his three bandmates, and the music, which was in keeping with the whole theme of the night.
Without directly acknowledging the fascist menace across the southern border (he’s not Voldemort, guys) Rossdale continually talked about the need for positive connection between people, the uniting quality of music, and generally getting together with some good tunes and having a fun time after a day of dealing with a world that has fallen into rapid disrepair. His sincerity was palpable, never declining an opportunity to connect with the fans during the show, at one point even taking his cordless mic into the stands and walking through the crowd while singing, circling the arena, hugging and high-fiving fans and posing for selfies as he sang 2020’s “Flowers on a Grave”.
Bush’s 90-minute set spanned the band’s entire career, but the real meat of the show consisted of the five miraculously great singles from Sixteen Stone. Critically panned upon release, that album, especially that quintet of songs, was precisely what young rock fans craved in post-Cobain 1994. The timing was perfect, and Bush had all the right ingredients to lead the post-grunge wave: the heavy, churning guitar sound of Smashing Pumpkins, a pretty singer with a wicked, gravelly voice, lyrics loaded with ironic Beck-isms that Gen-X loved, angst-ridden ballads, and most importantly, hooks that stayed in your head for decades.
On this night, across the river from the island of Montreal, those songs hit with resilient strength. “Everything Zen” was an apropos set opener, blasting off with the roar of guitars, longtime lead guitarist Chris Traynor adding sleek slide guitar to brilliant effect. Few songs get a crowd of Gen-X and millennial rock fans like hockey arena anthem “Machine Head”, and indeed, the otherwise polite standing area on the floor (the “old people mosh pit”, as my partner facetiously observed) started to stir like it was 1995 all over again.
“Little Things” ignited the crowd late in the set, followed by Rossdale’s ubiquitous solo ballad “Glycerine,” which seems to pack a heavier emotional punch now than it did three decades prior—at least it did for yours truly. Of all the songs, however, “Comedown” is always the one Bush song that makes a stadium erupt, and as the final song of the night, it had the adoring throng belting their Quebecois hearts out.
There were other highlights, too—”Swallowed” was a surprisingly pretty rendition, “Heavy Is the Ocean” was shockingly heavy, and “More Than Machines” was especially strong—but the people were there for the hits, and the hits were what they got. It was quintessential Bush: straightforward, unassuming, wickedly catchy, and way more fun than many of us were brave enough to admit in the mid-1990s.
Next time, though, Mr. Rossdale, play more Razorblade Suitcase stuff because the performance of “Greedy Fly” absolutely ripped.