Shame - Cutthroat

Shame have always felt most alive with their backs against a venue wall, testing new songs against the sweat and noise of a crowd. ‘Cutthroat’, their fourth album, sounds like it was built with that same pressure in mind. Produced by John Congleton, it strips away indulgence in favour of propulsion. Twelve tracks, no long-burn closer, no detours for scenery. It’s wired to move.

The title track sets the standard. It’s over in a touch over three minutes, but leaves dents: a volley of clipped refrains delivered like slogans, fatalist and combative at once. Congleton’s mix gives it definition, drums punching clean, distortion sharpened instead of smeared. It’s a sprint, a wailing swagger, a melodic yet propulsive force, and it dictates the pace of what follows. ‘Nothing Better’ rattles through at full pelt, a growling undertone tethering a tightly-wound top line, while ‘To and Fro’ is all sticky floors and toilet circuit dreams; an indie rattler served up by a band who have it down to an art form.

‘Quiet Life’ offers the counterweight. It sketches claustrophobic domestic scenes - rain, a need for escape, the sense of a relationship narrowing the air - before looping back to the idea of cowardice. The playing is taut, the arrangement unshowy yet decidedly different, leaving the words to sting. Where early Shame might have turned bluster into camouflage, here they keep it lean.