Finally able to tour the album they released at the beginning of the year (Drunk Tank Pink), over the course of November Shame have played in all major British cities, with the last stop in Bristol having a celebratory feel.
Taking place on a Saturday night undoubtedly helps, as does the news of new COVID restrictions coming into force as winter draws its cruel veil, giving it more of an end-of-world vibe than perhaps is entirely necessary.
Despite The Goa Express gamely trying (and only marginally failing) to gazump the headliners (the last track being pure Give Out But Don’t Give Up-era Primal Scream, complete with harmonica), Shame are in no mood to leave anything behind them.
First song Alphabet rattles the walls of the venue like a hurricane in a football stadium, singer Charlie Steen querying, ‘Are you ready to feel good?’. If it wasn’t written as a set opener, it’s hard to think of anything better in their canon to fulfill the function.
The blistering start continues via the drowning intensity of 6/1, Steen raucously shouting, ‘I hate myself and I love myself’, as his bandmates seem to struggle to keep even themselves afloat, then the propulsive bass of Concrete dominates the room while the call-and-response nature of the song gets his bandmates involved on their respective microphones (all four are spread across the nature, with no one placed any further forward than the others).
The angular art-punk of recent single This Side Of The Sun adjusts, rather than lowers, the tempo, before the deep slow bass signals The Lick. Steen speaks the lyrics at the same time as walking on a crowd of hands, with his band providing the soundtrack akin to a sleazy speakeasy behind him. He eventually falls into the crowd, making the most of being able to be so close to people while we still can.
While their second album didn’t quite have the same impact as Songs Of Praise back in 2018 (simply by not being their debut), given the chance to breathe in a live environment the songs sound huge.
The controlled chaos of the wobbly Born In Luton finds drummer Charlie Forbes holding everything together, while March Day, which has a tinny effect on record, bangs boisterously.
Meanwhile, the screeching guitar on the itchy Nigel Hitter pieces the ears as it needs to, while the robotic Harsh Degrees throws the crowd into yet another frenzy. Their whole image gives the impression of appearing ragged and unpolished, when they are in fact tight as a drum. Having your cake and eating it has never sounded so good.
Sean Coyle-Smith on guitar does everything and nothing effortlessly, while Eddie Green is more pronounced, at times running around the stage like a madman, and Josh Finerty on bass seems frustrated that he can’t follow suit. But Steen always catches the eye, whether it’s the frequent stage dives or throwing a mic stand into the crowd.
Dust On Trial (from Songs Of Praise) sounds so big it nearly suffocates while One Rizla (still unquestionably their greatest song) is genuinely thrilling, with the riff chiming around the warehouse venue. The slow start to Angie once again lowers the tone, but only for a short while before it explodes into a mini-epic.
Make no mistake, despite the post-punk label attached to them, and their connections to the South London scene, this is nothing other than hefty British rock music.
