SHAME - Cutthroat

It's a less melancholy record, more "fuck you" than "poor me"

(Charlie Steen)

With "Cutthroat", the fourth release from Shame, no one is spared.

It's a record that points the finger and condemns everyone, without hesitation.

Cowards are politicians, criminals

Cowards are gel-haired real estate agents

Cowards are people who got a degree

Cowards are people who like people like me

In the world drawn up by the South London band, cowards are everywhere: estate agents, MPs, graduates, TV presenters, protein-shake fanatics, and even anyone who falls for the prickly charisma of Charlie Steen, the band's voice and body.

Always moaning and complaining

That’s why you’re such shit craic at the pub

Cheap talk and expensive pints?

Shame's is a universe in collapse: a society bent out of shape by appearances, relationships that have become unsustainable, even the price of a pint turned into an existential problem. All that's left, then, is to take refuge in their live shows: explosive, sweaty, visceral. Steen takes the stage bare-chested, wearing nothing but a priest's collar, conjuring up the borderline atmospheres of “Bud Boy Buddy”, a little gem of Australian independent cinema from thirty years ago.

After three albums that had pushed them toward an increasingly refined post-punk, with “Cutthroat” Shame choose to take a step back, returning to the ferocity of their debut “Songs Of Praise”. A return to their roots, though, filtered through the awareness and solidity they've built up over the years, paired with a desire to explore new sonic territory. At the controls is John Congleton, who gives the record a cleanliness and clarity never heard from the band before.

The title track seems intent on setting things straight right away: granite-hard rhythms, driving bass, guitars straight out of the Beastie Boys' “Sabotage”, keyboards pushed to the front, and a chorus that burrows into your head. But “Quiet Life” already marks a decisive change of pace: amid echoes and reverb that recall the past, an acoustic rockabilly takes shape, laying bare the weight of a toxic relationship.

There's also room for more oblique experiments, like “Spartak”, which toys with Wilco-esque suggestions but remains inevitably branded by the fire of Brixton, the one still burning in a band raised between two legendary London pubs, The Queen's Head and Windmill. The real surprise, though, comes from the digital loops and luminous choruses of “After Party” and “Axis Of Evil”: disorienting tracks that confirm the band's thirst for change, staying true to their thematic obsessions rather than to any fixed form.

At times, though, the urge to take risks tips over into excess, as in Charlie Steen's Portuguese-language turn on “Lampiao”, a blend of samba and Talking Heads dedicated to the legend of a sertão hero/outlaw. A curious episode, one that risks having part of the fanbase cry betrayal.

Even the moments closest to their recent output take on more linear, direct shapes: from the sonic-finish post-punk of “Screwdriver”, to the Pavement-style slacker gait of “To And Fro”, through to the Slint-like introspection of “Packshot”, culminating in “Plaster”, home to the most contagious refrain on the whole record.

Shame prove they're hungry for transformation. With “Cutthroat” they want to shake things up, destabilize, burn down every certainty, even at the cost of sacrificing part of their originality and their trademark sound. And they pull it off, once again, spitting their truth right in our faces.

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13/09/2025