Shame Food for Worms Review: A Shot at Musical Maturity That Misses the Mark

On 2021’s Drunk Tank Pink, South London band Shame took their post-punk sound in new, more complex dimensions. This was a result, in part, of prolonged periods of isolation following a rigorous and mentally taxing touring schedule. Conceived as an ode to their friendship, strengthened by the countless hours spent together in vans, on stage, and at pubs, the quintet’s—to quote Billy Bragg—“difficult third album,” Food for Worms, finds the group attempting to take another step toward musical and emotional maturity.

For all the pulling and tugging at Shame’s musical foundation, though, it’s the moments that veer closest to familiarity that pay off most here. “Alibis” lurches along with razor-sharp guitar riffs and a chorus rife with volcanic fury. The track’s irresistible volatility recalls late-period Sonic Youth, as does the aural assault of “The Fall of Paul,” an unrelenting noise-rock/post-punk hybrid complete with impressionistic lyrics that reference superstitious rituals and mental health: “Twenty-four times I said your name/I seem to look my best whenever I’m depressed.”

Easily the album’s rawest display of emotion, the falsetto backing vocals of the somber “Burning by Design” imbue the song’s tangible sense of desperation with a tender beauty. When the band finds their groove, they’re capable of conjuring some truly captivating art, as even the semi-ironic wah-wah guitars that open “Six-Pack” morph into chaos, with frontman Charlie Steen spinning a surprisingly moralistic tale about a barfly. “You’re just a creature of bad habit/You’ve got nothing and no one to live for,” he spits with a sneer.

Shame’s disparate creative impulses aren’t always so effective. The piano-led intro of the album’s opening track, “Fingers of Steel,” nods to Fugazi’s haunting “I’m So Tired,” from 1999’s Instrument Soundtrack. But as the song breaks into an off-beat rhythm and angular guitar licks, it lacks Fugazi’s skill for carefully balancing the blunt and the abstract. Lyrics like “You keep retracing/All your steps so frequently/Just let lie/It never helps” read a little too much like self-help detritus.

Elsewhere, Phoebe Bridgers lends her vocal talents to the plaintive “Adderall,” which eschews the druggy romanticism of, say, the Velvet Underground in favor of finger-wagging about the dangers of drug abuse. The band eventually regains their footing in the album’s second half, whose only major dud is the prosaic anthem “Different Person,” a limp, charmlessly bitter take on, ironically, growing up and growing apart.

Aside from one or two cuts, though, nothing here is as satisfying as previous Shame highlights like the nervy, ominous “Snow Day” or “Nigel Hitter,” whose splintered dance-rock managed to be both hooky and weird. For the most part, Food for Worms manages to be neither.