There's an art to staging a comeback. But the best artists know when it's time to take a pause

The Guardian

6 days ago

When the comedian Marc Maron announced he would soon end his pioneering interview podcast WTF – famed over nearly 16 years for hosting fellow comedians, wider celebrities and even Barack Obama (when he was more president than content creator) in his garage – he said something you don't often hear: 'It's OK for things to end.'
In the time of the relentless scroll, culture often feels like it is drowning in cynical money grabs, nostalgia, franchises and 'IP rentierism'. Bands, TV shows and film concepts are either never-ending or ever-repeating. It was refreshing, then, to see something stop in such a poised manner rather than descend into irrelevance and indifference. Maron gave no major reason for quitting beyond that he and his producer were a bit burnt out and it was the right moment. 'I don't think we live in a time where people of my generation and slightly older know how to move on from anything or stop,' he said.
Regardless of the manner of the ending, though, there is often an urge to return – be it out of financial need, creative desire, sheer boredom or some sense of unfinished business. Maron's guest when the departure was announced was the comedian John Mulaney, who responded: 'If you miss it and you want to come back … just come back,' he said. 'I sometimes feel bad for people that feel trapped by their finale.'
No one is really keeping score of the comings and goings, though for a long time I think I was overly invested. I wanted to resist the plethora of reunions, particularly in music and TV, that have littered the last two decades. There has been a deadening sense of stagnation. More directly, the comebacks could often be dispiriting: a group of tired-faced older people vainly chasing their shadows to cash a cheque.
But as Mulaney suggested, the comeback offers new possibilities. And even if it falls flat, intrigue abounds. I asked a few friends what they made of the Sex and the City reboot, And Just Like That, which, now in its third season, elicits unusual responses. They all say it is absolutely terrible, a shadow of its former self, and yet perplexingly compelling. They are watching every new episode. Many reunion audiences, meanwhile, just want to relive the magic – or experience it for the first time. It's hard to quibble with the sentiment.
Even the most fervent Britpop idealist doesn't think Liam and Noel Gallagher revived Oasis because the brothers missed spending time together. As many pointed out, the starting pistol for the band's reunion might have been fired when Noel announced his divorce in January 2023. There is a lot of money to be made in their tour. Though, given the price gouging, a little bit too much money. But as the mass singalongs and pints-in-the-air hysteria at their first gigs in Cardiff last week showed, there is a huge amount of fun to be had in communing together, singing along to songs that, while 30-odd years old, remain timeless.
My own resolve about comebacks softened sometime after LCD Soundsystem returned in 2016. James Murphy's group had initially disbanded in 2011 with a grand farewell concert at Madison Square Garden (the moment was preserved in a lavish documentary). For a band so self-reflexive and studied in its references, a 'hell freezes over' reunion tour was probably inevitable. But the speed at which this was happening – only five years! – seemed cynical, almost insulting. It looked like a blot on what they had previously achieved.
Reluctantly I went to one of their 2017 reunion shows, and well, it was great. What I realised was that being overly precious about reunions and revivals was ultimately pointless: the whole rhythm of how they came, went and then came back again was a bit of an artificial construct anyway. If new shows give lots of fans a chance to see them play and provide pleasure, there's nothing wrong with that.
LCD Soundsystem released a 'comeback' album in 2017. It's fine. There is a handful of strong songs on it, but their vital moment had passed. However, the idea of tarnishing an earlier legacy is somewhat arbitrary – one great piece of art doesn't necessarily get diminished because a later related piece of art isn't at the same level. I have no interest in watching a second of the Frasier revival that emerged in 2023, somehow including Nick Lyndhurst. It has now been cancelled, but regardless, it couldn't spoil any Channel 4 morning commune with the original series of Seattle's finest radio psychotherapist (itself, of course, a spin-off from Cheers).
Often when a band returns, their new music sounds like some required throat-clearing to help justify further tours. I was surprised then to find I loved Pulp's recent comeback single, Spike Island. It was a track of wit and invention that stood comfortably alongside their best work. The ensuing album More stands up to repeated listens too. A well-timed revival can offer something new.
And yet I remain drawn to the elegant and elongated pause. By all accounts Maron has no intention of retiring, with various projects on the boil beyond his podcast. But there is a certain grace in calmly walking away from the work that defined you. The once-behemoth alt-rock band REM amicably called it a day in 2011 after a series of albums with diminishing returns. It's striking how absent the band are from culture now, given how big they were just a few decades earlier. Amid constant rounds of 80s and 90s nostalgia, surely there have been some lucrative reunion tour offers. Yet aside from the occasional interview and impromptu performance, there has been nothing.
For me, the group's frontman, Michael Stipe, has had one of the great post-band semi-retirements. If Instagram is a guide – and that platform is an entirely accurate representation of life – he seems to have spent the last decade doing assorted creative projects, some political activism, visiting friends' art shows around the world and generally just having a lovely old time (although he did delete all his posts in early 2025). Granted, there's been a more vexed attempt to make a solo album, long in gestation. But he's a model of the form – if you can afford it, of course.
Perhaps the key isn't whether you return or not – it's knowing when to pause when you've run out of creative energy, space or time. The audience can decide on the rest.
Larry Ryan is a freelance writer and editor