In a world where rock stars often play it safe, Matty Healy remains gloriously, infuriatingly committed to the art of the spectacle. Last summer, during The 1975’s headline set at Malaysia’s Good Vibes Festival, the frontman turned a sweaty stage into a protest zone. After railing against the country’s anti-LGBTQ+ laws—punishable by imprisonment—Healy locked lips with bassist Ross MacDonald mid-performance, flipping a middle finger to bigotry and igniting a firestorm that led to the festival’s abrupt cancellation. This week, a London judge ruled the band’s members won’t foot the $2.4 million bill for the fallout. But for Healy, the verdict was just another verse in a decade-long anthem of defiance.
The ruling, delivered Monday, spared Healy, MacDonald, and bandmates George Daniel and Adam Hann from personal liability, though the legal battle continues against their production company. Judge William Hansen dismissed attempts to pin damages on the musicians individually, calling the move “artificial” and ordering festival organizers to cough up $126,000 in legal fees. It’s a technical win, but Healy’s real victory came the moment he grabbed that mic in Kuala Lumpur.
“I don’t see the point of inviting The 1975 to a country and telling us who we can have sex with,” Healy barked to the crowd last July, his voice dripping with the kind of righteous fury that’s fueled punk since the Clash. “If you push, I’m gonna push back.” Cue MacDonald strolling over for a kiss as the band’s I Like America & America Likes Me blared—a song literally about screaming into the void. Two songs later, Healy deadpanned, “We just got banned from Kuala Lumpur,” before exiting. The festival collapsed the next day.
This wasn’t Healy’s first rodeo. In 2019, he smooched a male fan in Dubai, where homosexuality is criminalized, snarling, “If you want to invite me here, you can fuck off.” The 1975 have made a habit of weaponizing their platform—and their libidos—as acts of dissent. As a source close to the band told PEOPLE, “Matty’s been fighting for LGBTQ+ fans since day one. They’ll always choose the kids over governments.”
But the legal drama underscores a thornier truth: Rock rebellions have consequences. Good Vibes Festival organizers claimed breach of contract, arguing The 1975’s antics torched their investment. The band’s lawyers countered that their company, not the members, should face the music—a distinction the judge upheld. Yet Healy’s response to the cancellation announcement was pure chaos-goblin poetry: “OK well why don’t you try and not make out with Ross for 20 years. Not as easy as it looks.”
For fans, the kiss was a rallying cry; for critics, a stunt. But in a global moment where queer rights are under siege, Healy’s refusal to mute himself resonates. The 1975 have always thrived in the gray area between sincerity and satire, between “Love It If We Made It” anthems and onstage make-out sessions. This time, the joke’s on the courts—but the punchline is anything but funny.
As the lawsuit trudges on, one thing’s clear: Matty Healy won’t stop kissing boys to spite homophobes anytime soon. And for a generation raised on his band’s heart-on-sleeve synth-rock, that’s the kind of encore worth fighting for.
