Drunk Tank Pink

There are moments on Drunk Tank Pink where you almost

have to reach for the sleeve to check this is the same band

who made 2018's Songs Of Praise. Such is the jump Shame

have made from the riotous post-punk of their debut to the

sprawling adventurism and twitching anxieties laid out here.

The South Londoner's blood and guts spirit, that wink and

grin of devious charm, is still present, it's just that it's grown

into something bigger, something deeper, more ambitious and

unflinchingly honest.

The genius of Drunk Tank Pink is how these lyrical themes

dovetail with the music. Opener Alphabet dissects the premise

of performance over a siren call of nervous, jerking guitars, it's

chorus thrown out like a beer bottle across a mosh pit.

Songs spin off and lurch into unexpected directions throughout

here, be it March Day's escalating aural panic attack or the

shapeshifting darkness of Snow Day. There's a Berlin era Bowie

beauty to the lovelorn Human For A Minute while closer Station

Wagon weaves from a downbeat mooch into a souring, soullifting climax in which Steen elevates himself beyond the clouds

and into the heavens. Or at least that's what it sounds like.

From the womb to the clouds (sort of), Shame are currently

very much in the pink.