Some shows feel like a performance. This one felt like a release.
On February 7th, The Echoplex was packed wall to wall for Shame’s Los Angeles stop on their North American Cutthroat tour. Before the band even stepped on stage, the room already felt charged. Conversations were louder than usual. People were shifting, carving out space in the center of the floor. You could sense it building. By the end of the night, bodies had been lifted overhead, shirts were soaked through and the bass had settled somewhere deep in the chest. It was loud, sweaty, political and completely locked in from start to finish.
Shame arrived in LA on stop number 17 of the tour after tearing through cities across the East Coast and into Canada. There’s something about a band this deep into a run that sharpens everything. Movements feel instinctual. Transitions land harder. The chaos feels controlled without ever being restrained.
The night opened around 8 p.m. with The Sophs, who did more than just warm up the stage. They raised the temperature. Their sound carried an old-timey, almost Western twang layered over sharp, garage-rock urgency. It felt dusty and frantic at the same time. Ethan, their lead singer, moved with loose physicality that felt expressive rather than messy. He leaned into the crowd constantly, dancing, shouting, pulling people forward.
They performed tracks from their upcoming debut album Goldstar, and while the set was undeniably high energy, one of the slower songs lingered the most. “My house was built on a tomb, every ghost in it looks like it’s seen a ghost.” The lyric cut through the noise. For a moment, the pushing slowed and the crowd actually listened.
They closed with “Sweat,” their first single, and it felt like a confident exit.
By 9 p.m., Shame took the stage to “Simon Says” by Pharoahe Monch blasting through the speakers. It’s one of those tracks that doesn’t ease you in. It commands. The shift in the room was immediate.
Frontman Charlie Steen emerged in a custom LA Dodgers jersey, a small but appreciated nod to the city. After a few songs of sprinting across the stage and swinging the mic like it was part of his body, the jersey came off and the pace only escalated.
From the jump, the “LA circles,” Charlie’s name for the mosh pits forming in the center of the room, were alive. Crowd surfers were already being passed overhead. People were jumping in unison. What stood out most was the consistency of the energy. It never dipped.
“Axis of Evil” stood out early in the set. The killer keys and electronic elements translated beautifully live. There was a clean, almost industrial edge to it on stage, and the low end hit hard. That bass wasn’t just audible. It was physical. It vibrated through the room.
“Six Pack” came with a bit of commentary from Charlie, who mentioned it was inspired by a British lullaby. The contrast made the track even more interesting. Taking something traditionally soft and reworking it into this tense, driving post-punk moment gave it an extra layer live.
A clear highlight of the night was “Lampião.” Before starting the song, Charlie asked if there were any Brazilians in the house. Unfortunately, none answered back, but the gesture itself was cool. Hearing a British band perform a track sung in Portuguese added dimension to the set.
Throughout the night, tracks like “Concrete,” “Tasteless,” “Born in Luton” and “Adderall” kept the momentum relentless. The rhythm section was locked in, pushing everything forward with precision. The guitars cut sharp and clean through the mix. The sound was tight but still raw enough to feel alive.
Charlie has this way of scanning the room mid-song, almost evaluating the energy in real time. He repeatedly told the crowd how much he appreciated what LA was giving back. At one point he boldly claimed the city was better than New York. The room erupted.
In a very LA moment, he said the band was there to detox the audience. To cleanse souls. It landed playful but sincere. There is something about screaming lyrics in a packed room that does feel like a purge.
During the final stretch, Charlie passed the mic into the crowd, letting fans shout lyrics back at him. By then, the separation between stage and floor had dissolved completely.
Before the final songs, he reflected briefly on starting the band in a pub in South London. Writing songs in tight spaces. Building something from nothing. He reaffirmed their stance clearly and without hesitation, declaring “Free Palestine” and “Fuck ICE.” The crowd responded loudly and immediately.
There was no encore, and honestly, there didn’t need to be one. The set felt complete.
When the lights finally came up, the room felt emptied out in the best way. Faces flushed. Voices gone. Still buzzing. Shame didn’t just play the Echoplex that night. They turned it into something feral, communal and fully alive.
For two hours, nobody held back.
Setlist
Axis of Evil
Concrete
Tasteless
Cowards Around
Nothing Better
Fingers of Steel
Six Pack
Alphabet
Quiet Life
Lampião
Born in Luton
Adderall
Water in the Well
Spartak
Snow Day
One Rizla
Cutthroat
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