Shame - Cutthroat

To say that ‘Cutthroat’ is a return to form would be a disservice to Shame - the one-time poster boys of South London post-punk who’ve since shaken off the label’s shackles to tread their own ever-intriguing path (see the sweat-laden swagger of 2021’s ‘Drunk Tank Pink’, or the slower burn of 2023’s ‘Food For Worms’). And yet, this fourth album is undoubtedly a return to something: full of raw, barely restrained bite, it’s as if they’ve taken all the sparky, unself-conscious vigour of their 2018 debut and, in their relative maturity, learned to wield it even more potently. Ever the rabble-rousing ringleader, Charlie Steen is on vintage lyrical form, taking aim at social climbers, cliques, and weak-willed specimens (ostensibly everyone from “people who drink protein shakes” to “members of parliament”) alike.

Crucially, though, this sneer of worldly disdain is still shot through with self-aware humour, the band delivering their polemic with both a middle finger and a wink. And for every visceral spark of familiar fire (the brilliantly bombastic title track; ‘Screwdriver’), there are equally inspired flashes of the unexpected: ‘Lampião’ is a playful, bilingual left turn; ‘Axis Of Evil’’s glitchy electronic loops present dance-punk as a promising sonic offshoot; and the disarming, Americana-flecked ‘Quiet Life’ stands as one of their best tracks to date. Here, Shame might be concerned with cowardice, but they’ve never sounded more self-assured.