Rituals of Shame
Five songs in forty-five minutes. Warning clearly haven't returned to make anybody's commute more cheerful. Rituals of Shame is their first studio album in twenty years, and its slow guitars and exposed vocals make that long absence feel strangely irrelevant. Patrick Walker still has a very particular way of making a song hurt.
The title track takes nearly thirteen minutes to set out the album's approach. The riffs move slowly, but they have a clear melodic direction, and Walker gives the words enough weight to hold your attention. His voice is central to everything. It has the strength to rise above the guitars and enough uncertainty to make the feeling believable.
Stations is especially good. The sustained guitar parts leave space around the vocal, and the gradual changes make the song feel as though it's working through something rather than simply repeating itself. For music that travels at this speed, that's important. Every extra minute needs a reason to be there.
Most of the time, Warning provide one. The drumming adds movement without disturbing the pace, while Landing Lights gives the instruments more room to carry the emotion. These are patient arrangements with real shape to them.
Night Comes Down is a little less immediate, and the cleaner recording doesn't always give the guitars quite the same force. The song develops well, though, especially as the progression changes. Even the album's less striking moments fit the mood.
The closing Teacher brings a different kind of vulnerability. Its quieter section gives the final build somewhere to grow from, and the ending leaves the music hanging in a way that suits the whole record.
This is an album for a particular mood. The pace and emotional intensity can be demanding, and there is very little relief from either. But Warning understand that heaviness can come from a voice and a held chord as much as speed or aggression. Rituals of Shame makes that point with remarkable clarity.
