Fifteen years had passed since Genesis last toured, and for most observers that seemed a perfectly fitting ending. By then, the band had already survived multiple incarnations, conquered the worlds of progressive rock and mainstream pop, and built one of the most successful catalogues in popular music. More importantly, Phil Collins' health problems made the prospect of another reunion appear increasingly remote. When The Last Domino? tour was announced shortly before the pandemic, the reaction was equal parts excitement and disbelief.
Now, after two years of delays, Genesis finally arrives in the Paris area for what is widely understood to be a farewell.
Genesis has always defied easy categorization. During the Peter Gabriel years, they occupied a territory all their own, combining English pastoralism, theatrical storytelling and ambitious compositions into something distinct even within the progressive-rock movement. They were less cerebral than some contemporaries, less flashy than others and somehow managed to make complex music accessible without diluting its character.
The Collins era represented an equally remarkable transformation. Few bands have successfully reinvented themselves so completely while retaining their identity. The shift from sprawling concept pieces to streamlined pop songs could easily have alienated their audience. Instead, it turned Genesis into one of the defining acts of the eighties and beyond. The result is a catalogue unlike any other, one that comfortably accommodates both "The Cinema Show" and "Invisible Touch."
That dual legacy hangs over the entire evening.
The show opens with "Behind the Lines" and immediately establishes the evening's guiding principle: this is not simply a greatest-hits package. The major singles are all present, from "Mama" and "Land of Confusion" to "I Can't Dance," but the set also makes room for material from the band's more adventurous years. Excerpts from The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway, passages from "The Cinema Show" and the instrumental section of "Firth of Fifth" provide welcome nods to the older repertoire without disrupting the flow of the performance.
Visually, the production is spectacular. The enormous light rig dominates the arena, constantly shifting shape and colour throughout the concert. At times it becomes almost a performer in its own right, helping sustain the sense of occasion and drawing attention away from an unavoidable reality.
Phil Collins performs the entire show seated.
For anyone who remembers the energetic frontman bounding across stadium stages, the sight is undeniably poignant. Time has imposed limitations that even one of popular music's great performers cannot overcome. Collins no longer plays drums, and those duties now belong to his son Nic, who acquits himself admirably throughout the evening. The younger Collins avoids the trap of imitation, bringing his own energy while respecting the material.
Phil's voice has inevitably changed as well. It lacks some of the power and flexibility that once defined it, and the backing vocalists occasionally help reinforce key passages. Yet what remains intact is arguably the most important quality: emotional communication. The voice may be weathered, but it still carries enormous expressive weight.
That becomes particularly apparent during the quieter moments. The reworked version of "The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway" flowing into "No Son of Mine" provides one of the evening's most affecting sequences, demonstrating that these songs continue to resonate regardless of age or arrangement.
Around them, Tony Banks and Mike Rutherford remain the steady architects of the Genesis sound. Banks' keyboards are as central as ever, while Rutherford moves effortlessly between guitar and bass, anchoring songs that have become woven into the fabric of popular culture.
What ultimately gives the evening its power is not nostalgia alone. It is the realization that these songs have accompanied several generations of listeners through vastly different periods of their lives. Inside the arena, teenagers, retirees and everyone in between sing the same lyrics, cheer the same solos and celebrate the same melodies.
Whether this truly is the end remains to be seen. Rock history is littered with farewell tours that proved less than final. Yet this one feels different. The physical reality of the situation is impossible to ignore, and the band makes no attempt to disguise it.
For two hours, Genesis offers a final look at one of the most extraordinary catalogues in rock music. The songs endure. The audience knows every word. The musicians take their bows.
And for a moment, it feels like the last chapter has been given the ending it deserves.
