With their origin dating to the late ‘10s, I was quite amazed to find in Discogs that this is only the fifth instance of a band named The Shits. However, I am not taking into account the many out there who feel the need to adorn the famous noun with an adjective. The Sniveling Shits, The Tough Shits, the list goes on and on. But, enough with this eschatological detour, because there is so much more that the act from Leeds brings to the table other than their self-deprecating name.
What is that, you might ask? It is quite simple really, and The Shits strip all down to the bare bones. With their sound informed by the noise rock and hardcore punk scenes, they boil it all down to a singular, laser-sharp focus. The sophomore record by The Shits, You’re A Mess is an absolute beatdown. A relentless and unforgiving thrashing that truly takes form when “Waiting” comes in. There is no escape here, as the hardcore groove combines with the noise rock discordance for a completely agonizing procedure.
At times, it is the caveman mentality, the likes of “Alone II” channeling the punk ethos and finally decomposing it into a mesh of guitar noise and feedback. It is something that loops around, taking on a gnarly Sonic Youth presence in the title track or “Ugly, Worthless.” It also descends into further depths, suddenly a crust presence rising through the chaos and mayhem of “Venus (After Hours).” It is a bizarre twist, this malicious form wrapping the hardcore ethos under a blackened light. This is further drilled down as “Bludgeoned To Death” comes in with this mutilated rock ‘n’ roll tone, reaching new horrific heights.
It is quite rare to come across a record that expends so much energy to make a point. The very start with “In My Hotel Room Room” is just a flaming ball of frustration aimed towards the world. Guitars shriek in agony over the repetitive riffs, while noise and the rock structure contrast each other in spectacular fashion. And yet, at the same time, The Shits are able to suck out all the energy out of the world. The ending with the two parts “I Regret Nothing” is an absolute eclipse, the despairing dreams of the repeating mantra becoming soul-wrenching, while the up-tempo progression shows no signs of stopping. And at the end of it all what remains is this vague grin in the distance while contemplating; is this all pre-calculated, or an accident of sorts? Is this the result of the inherent punk ethos, or is the more to this act? In the end, it does not matter, because it all takes nothing away from the quality of You’re A Mess.
