by David Wilikofsky
I saw Shame live on their first American tour, about a month after the release of debut album Songs of Praise. It ranks as one of the best shows I’ve ever seen. The band was electric throughout; the show took place in a small club, and by the end of the set I knew it was unlikely I’d ever have the opportunity to see them in a venue that intimate again. Despite the quality of the performance, the most memorable moment of the night was a personal one; my partner (who rarely goes to shows) became alarmed when a mosh pit formed around us. I still remember laughing while trying to explain that the show hadn’t suddenly turned into a brawl.
At times, Drunk Tank Pink almost sounds like the work of a different band than the one I remember from that night. Don’t get me wrong: the bombastic, guitar forward post punk of their first album is still here, but there’s a sonic restlessness alongside it that begins with the album’s opening moments. “Snow Day” is perhaps the most complex track the band has put together to date, constantly shifting and mutating throughout its five minute runtime. It’s the kind of music designed to keep the listener on their toes, never content to lock into a groove. Subsequent tracks expand their musical palette further. There’s the awkward lurch of “Harsh Degrees”, which recalls the off-kilter rhythms of the Jesus Lizard. “Human, For A Minute” is melancholically beautiful with hints of Low-era Bowie. Echoes of the terse punk funk of a band like ESG courses through “Nigel Hitter”.
This restlessness translates into the album’s lyrics as well. Written and recorded after the band returned from touring the world, they came back and found a home they no longer recognized. The reverberations of that experience can be heard throughout the record. Sometimes the lyrics seem to address this explicitly; on “Born In Luton”, Sheen sings “I’ve been waiting outside for all of my life / And now I’ve got to the door there’s no one inside / When are you coming back? / When are you coming home?“. Other tracks deal with the experience in more abstract terms, detailing the emotional tumult, isolation and coping mechanisms that came with it. Across it all frontman Charlie Steen’s vocals are more ferocious than ever; on some tracks (like “Great Dog”) you can almost hear spit hit the mic.
Don’t get the wrong impression; this is still the same band I saw that night, they’ve just taken a huge leap forward. This is an album far more complex and layered than anything they’ve put out to date, but perhaps most importantly, it’s fun. Despite its darkness, most of the tracks remain insanely catchy and danceable. I can already imagine the mosh pits that will form when the band breaks into “March Day”, an upbeat punk funk workout about refusing to get out of bed. At least this time my partner will be prepared.