From the darker edge of frontman Charlie Steen, Shame bring their own quirky sentimentalities and brooding atmospherics to their sophomore LP, Drunk Tank Pink, conjuring a swell of emotions laced with a glooming realisation.
In case it wasn’t evident enough before, it certainly should be crystal clear by now - punk has lately resurfaced in the U.K. like never before. Toward the conclusion of the previous decade, Shame proved an act who helped pry open the doors to this insatiable field, namely with their 2018 debut LP, Songs of Praise, suffocated by righteous chants and beer-swelling choruses. And, as with most things this past year, all came to an abrupt halt. The superhuman juices that coursed through Shame’s veins dried up as the realisation of mortality, and the urge for a follow-up LP, settled in.
The “distractions” that enveloped their (albeit brief) superhuman period, expanded and evolved the band’s punkier facade - initiating a groovier feel underlined by guitar licks and stuttery, upbeat tempos within ‘Alphabet’ and ‘Nigel Hitter’ (the latter noticeably a Talking Heads impression more than anything). The art-rock funkness lurches onto us here, whisking listeners away from their withered, tiresome lockdown blues sparked by a resurgent, rejuvenated Shame revelling in pristinely slick production from the hands of producer James Ford.
Yet the moment of triumph provides a belated arrival, culminating a helter-skelter opening 20 minutes and softening to the slower musicalities reminiscent of Tropical Fuck Storm and Protomartyr (or even Nick Cave) in its minor key, spoken word delivery. ‘Snow Day’ suitably broods, buried at the foot of Shame’s cavernous sounds: softer on the ears, grungy in its tones, poetic in its delivery: “As the dew seeps slowly through the holes and dampens my skin, I felt the sting of mother nature.” Initiating the motif of closing one’s eyes to transport to another place, frontman Steen thrives in these sentimental pieces, delving into the successive track ‘Human, For a Minute’ which threads us into a further cascade within his tumultuous state of mind.
The remainder of the LP, however, deems itself less fruitful. Offering more of the same from the LP’s outset, blaring choruses encased in distorted vocals, Shame regress lyrically and sonically. “I do not seek man, nor women neither, no, nor women neither” burgeons ‘6/1’ transcending into ‘Harsh Degrees’s muddied distortions, ‘Great Dog’s vapid interlude, and ‘March Day’s redundantly upbeat grooves. At their core they offer little more than Shame’s contemporaries and seem glaringly derivative of their fortified art-punk predecessors.
The LP’s conclusion, however, provides a mixture of the aforementioned: brooding atmospherics coupled with airy background vocals steadying us for a churning crescendo. Unfortunately the blaring distortions and repeated vocal refrains resonate as frustratingly trite and questionably vague: What is the significance of such a moment after the preceding 40 minutes? What does the ‘cloud’ motif represent for us and Steen exactly? Ultimately, what should we be taking away from this project?
Across a year of scouring every crevice and corner of one’s minds amidst the tests of confinement, Drunk Tank Pink provides little consolation or clarity in its presence. Whilst the overall aesthetic and production to Shame’s facade proves enticing as ever and will undoubtedly fare them in good stead, an underwhelming feeling at the conclusion of a highly anticipated project overrides me. For a band clearly coming to terms with their ‘mortality’, progressing from the lightning-in-a-bottle debut record of 2018, this LP still signifies an enticing enough direction for Shame to ascend above the conglomerated wreckage of modern punk. Shame may have realised their mortality but there’s still much to live for with a band like this.
6/10
Shame's sophomore LP, Drunk Tank Pink, is out now and can be found here.
Comentários