Shame

Shame at Irving Plaza

 
English post-punk band Shame exudes grit, energy, and earnest passion. 

BY LAYLA PASSMAN
PHOTOS BY SHELBY KRAUT

06.07.2023

A few weeks of a perfect spring brought out a special energy in New York. They set the scoreboard for a season of indulgence, romance, or chaos.

I had never heard of TONY OR TONY when I walked into Irving Plaza to see Shame. Leaning on the entryway to the main ballroom, surrounded by monolithic indie-rock enjoyers, I listened to the first opener. The duo had a fresh approach to the ever-popular genre of hyperpop. While some have taken the sound to further and further extremes, TONY OR TONY goes another direction. It’s closer to punk and industrial, enough for people around me to nod their heads along. While much of hyperpop is becoming sped-up and deep-fried, too chaotic to listen to in its entirety, TONY OR TONY reminds me more of the Beastie Boys than the hyperpop duos of today, but not without their own quirks.

On the grand concert-hall stage of Irving Plaza, TONY OR TONY decided to get dramatic, turning off all the lights on stage except for one strobe beaming from below them. They looked like two kids telling a ghost story under the covers at night, but much cooler. Their heads were bowed as they yelled into the mic. I turned around to see a monitor of the stage and walked closer to find that they were reading their lyrics off their phones. They have not deviated from a core element of hyperpop: irony.

The growing adjacency of hyperpop to rock is a life vest for longevity. As the illusion of newness fades from the genre, you can sense the need to cast legitimacy in the music space. Tagging along on a tour like this shows that no matter how ironic, we are all pining for the same recognition. TONY OR TONY surprised me with the confidence in their sound, and it seems to have payed off.

I milled about the hardly packed ballroom, trying to get a sense of why everyone came to Irving Plaza on a Monday night. I paid $15 for a tall can of cheap beer and easily drifted through the parting crowd. Before the audience could look up, the next band began to play.


Been Stellar

Been Stellar’s name has been in the mouths of New York transplants since we were all freshmen in college. The group was trying hard to maintain an aura of mysticism and apathy as they played. The lead singer’s head stayed down as he approached the microphone with intentional rasp and depth. His hair covered his face the whole time, his eyes barely getting a glimpse of the audience. A group of four others accompanied him with a style reminiscent of the early 2000s rock that came out of New York City. No better place and time to validate their aspirations than now, when digital media outlets have been incessantly clawing to find new iterations of this sound.

Been Stellar performs like the group is bigger than they actually are. Perhaps the way of getting to where you want to be is to prove to people that you’re already there. I noticed a tambourine in the frontman’s hand, a vestige ripe for resurrection in contemporary rock groups. As their set went on, my eyes began to lose focus on Been Stellar. I looked around at the crowd, who seemed to be using the performance as a backdrop for their own conversations—not out of disdain, but due to the indistinguishable nature of their sound. It’s about as rock as rock gets in 2023: an attempt at emulating your references so much so that it sounds like a brown mush of the last two decades of indie rock.

While the crowd was mildly interested in the performance at times, it did not seem to strike anyone as revolutionary or intriguing. Many of the songs are about living in New York, giving contrasting imagery of a crumbling city filled with the sexiness that we all move here to achieve. It comes as no surprise to me that the members of Been Stellar and I were in the same class at NYU. Trying too hard to be the next big thing, no matter how you get there, can always be seen through. I began to talk amongst the crowd as the music faded into the background.

I looked beyond the band to see a mixed crowd of Brooklyn boys and Manhattan dads among a smattering of all kinds of young people and a few reluctant wives. In the back, I faded into the crowd of cross-armed nodders, ready to be woken up from indie boredom.  


Shame

Soon after Been Stellar’s set, Shame took the stage to an audience revived with new excitement. Shame’s recent album Food for Worms was received warmly by critics and rock enjoyers, who seem to connect to their anthemic music. A corny and dramatic rock song played in the darkness of the hall as Shame walked out in a faux-pompous manner. Walk-out songs are trending at live music shows as another way to enhance the experience and show viewers who the act “really” is beyond the stage. Charlie Steen, the band’s lead vocalist, doesn’t say a word as he raises his arms like a conductor of an orchestra. “Fingers of Steel” begins as he swiftly brings his hands to his side.

I’m reminded of the last time I saw Shame perform, at Brooklyn Steel, when I couldn’t take my eyes off the eccentric bassist, Josh Finerty, who leapt across the stage throughout the performance. It was a familiar comfort to see him back on stage, elated as ever, rushing from one side just in time to meet his microphone and sing his part.

Like their audience, Shame looked thrilled to be there and commented about their love for New York on multiple occasions, even declaring that this was their “favorite place to play in the fucking world.” Steen walked past the stage and onto the crowd, standing up straight as fans supported him only by his feet as if he was walking on water. He dove head-first into the waves of people. I could only see his feet sticking out from the sea of heads as he theatrically shook his legs.

By the fifth song, his shirt was off as he was trying to absorb as much energy as he could from the crowd. He continued to sing in his strained yet powerful voice, the band uplifting the same energy behind him. The band went into a lull of feedback as Steen seemed to float just above the crowd before diving right back in.

Shame exudes just enough grittiness, an exact balance of punk and proper—outlandish enough for the hyperpop enjoyers but just familiar enough for the classic set. “You can’t say no to a New Yorker,” Steen said as he lit a cigarette handed to him by an audience member. In live performances, Shame leans into theatrics without going overboard. They give people a show without changing who they are. We have been swimming in cheeky British post-punk for some time now, and it has started to feel formulaic. Shame rises above and approaches a new Brit-punk sound with a classic sheen, which gives them a real staying power. Each song had a lead-up just long enough to catch and hold people’s excitement before the mosh pit erupted and the beer cans sprayed open.

The band paused the set to call out two fans from Scotland who had been commenting on all of their social media to play one of their favorite songs. They obliged and played at their request. Some rock groups may feel too pompous to be taking requests from fans, but Shame seems to view themselves as better than that, and their fans love them for it.

For the finale, they started a song they claimed to never play as a gift to the New York crowd on a Monday. I looked to the stage and Steen was gone. I thought at first he went backstage, but I looked up to see him mounting the large structure flanking the stage for one last bit of dramatism. Audience members reached their arms up in praise and protection, ready to catch him if he decided to jump. He ascended to the balcony, and I held my breath in worry. He walked along the railings as if they were a tightrope, passing through shoulder pats of admirers. He walked back to the top of the structure and dove toward admiration one last time.

May 15th at Irving Plaza was full of contrasts. TONY OR TONY’s explicit effort to stand out from the rest earned them newfound respect from a rock-minded crowd. Been Stellar’s over-intentional carelessness was eclipsed by Shame’s over-enthusiasm. Taking a pointer from Shame, an earnest passion has taken the reins as summer nears. Why not be completely outrageous about the things you love?