Following the release of their highly-acclaimed debut Songs of Praise (2018), and it being awarded the title of Rough Trade’s Album of the Year, South London quintet Shame was marked with a big red “X,” which placed pressure on the group to release something equally as earworm-inducing soon after. As a result, in the time since then, the band — composed of members Charlie Steen (vocals), Josh Finnerty (bass), Charlie Forbes (drums), Eddie Green (guitar), and Sean Coyle-Smith (guitar) — positioned themselves under the wing of producer James Ford (who has worked with the likes of Arctic Monkeys and Foals) to craft a brand new body of work and a new name for themselves. On Friday, January 15, the release of their long-awaited sophomore album, Drunk Tank Pink, followed suit.
For a record named after the neutralizing shade of pink employed by the prison-industrial-complex, mental health institutions, and drunk tanks following a 1979 study, Drunk Tank Pink is anything but tranquil. Chiming in thunderously with the band’s comeback single entitled “Alphabet,” the record unfolds with a tracklist that makes it ultimately clear that the band have found their bearings and planted ten toes on the ground, confidently launching themselves into the deep end. It’s impressive from the gate, a warning of what is to come.
As the record continues, tracks such as “Great Dog,” “Nigel Hitter,” and “Born in Luton” channel the unhinged madness Shame have made a name for themselves with, but with an added layer of polish and sheen. Throughout, Steen’s signature speak-singing style hits just as hard as it ever has as he belts about life’s atrocities. He is a loose-cannon, his vocal ability shifting from devilishly suave lower registers and shiver-inducing whispers, to stark yelps and guttural shouts. Back-tracking it all, Finnerty, Forbes, Green, and Coyles-Smith combine forces, carving out the album’s lush soundscape wherein the lines between genres blur.
Take “Snow Day,” for example: the track is considered, by the band themselves, a pivotal point amid the record’s tracklist and perhaps their favorite song they’ve ever written. By my standards, they have every right to be proud of it. Behind lyrics that describe feeling somewhat detached from reality, Forbes’ immaculate drumming paints a wide stroke as the breakdown hits, sending shivers down one’s spine (fittingly, for a track that’s just as cold as its lyrical material). Similarly, “6/1” finds Steen bellowing against distorted rapid-fire strumming, amounting in a cutting, confrontational, and bold nearly 3 minutes (and perhaps my favorite 3 minutes on the album).
Aside from Drunk Tank Pink’s moments of sonic ferocity, though, its content is, at times, bleak and utterly existential, but compelling all the same. Holistically, the record peels back the band’s hard exterior, allowing listeners to catch a glimpse of their collective fleshy, beating heart; the basis of what makes them function and what makes them fail.
Part of the emotional backboard that is slowly revealed seems to come from the current climate, and the feeling of unrest that has settled in as the pandemic’s grip tightens. Last March, it was as if the band — a freight train moving at breakneck speeds with no seeming final destination — was suddenly forced to a complete halt without warning, and that quick change was undoubtedly catastrophic. To make matters worse, the boys are also presently exploring the uncomfortable period in between youth and adulthood, with questions regarding what the future might hold ricocheting around each of their skulls already. In turn, the material they’ve come to create is a deeply microscopic examination of the brash, outlandish fivesome, a sign of their growth as musicians, and as people who are facing turmoil and learning to cope.
The lurid ballad-esque, “Human, for a Minute,” is one of the album’s most transparent, and lyrically devastating. Lines such as, “I watch my bones dry and shatter / For what purpose do they serve? / I don’t feel that I can keep them / I don’t feel that I deserve,” ooze anguish and draw on a distinctly vulnerable part of existence, wherein depression and anxiety begins to creep in, leading one to question their purpose and wonder whether or not they deserve love or happiness at all. It’s crushing, and, unfortunately for many, relatable. Similarly “March Day” finds Steen isolated within his own mind, pondering his personal upheaval among a looming sense of palpable melancholy. “Close my eyes, take the pill / Now all I do is just lie still / Strap in, feel the heat / Cousin of death, I wanna repeat,” he deadpans. All the while, the instrumentation on this track is punchy and bright, a perfect example of the record’s holistic duality.
A week past Drunk Tank Pinks’ release day, Shame earned their first Top 10 spot on the UK album charts (coming in at number 8), and it’s an achievement that they wholeheartedly deserved. This record finds them at a strange, uncertain crossroads, but one that didn’t hinder their efforts to push forward. Having watched this group grow over the past few years now, it feels like an honor to bear witness to their chart-topping success, especially considering all that they (and musicians worldwide) have had to overcome within the past year.
