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The Sounding Board

Panic Shack's cheeky debut is righteously angry, super catchy and a cracking good time

A weekly column where New Music Tuesdays live on. Conversation is encouraged in the comments.

Panic Shack

Every Tuesday, the Sounding Board is a space for a short-ish review of a recent-ish release and conversations about new-to-you music. I’ll get things started with a write-up about a newer, likely under-heard album, and invite you to share your music musings in the comments.

There’s no shortage of bands like Panic Shack, but there’s room in my heart for a million more. That’s especially true, if the bands are putting out albums as energetic, funny, well-made and flat-out fun as the Welsh punks’ self-titled debut. 

Panic Shack, like Dream Wife, Lambrini Girls, Winona Fighter, Amyl and the Sniffers, Wet Leg, and the Last Dinner Party, among others, make hook-heavy rock music that offers insight into their female experience and notes about where there is room for improvement.1 Panic Shack’s take on femme-fronted punk-adjacent music is heavy on busy, dance-y sounds and well-executed vocal harmonies. Musically, it has as much in common with Riot Grrl bands as it does with Yard Act, and that makes Panic Shack feel like a spiritual descendant of the Slits’ raunchy, raucous grooves. The album’s cheeky, posterior-baring cover feels like an homage of sorts, too.2 

Sonically, this means that at any given time, there’s a good chance Panic Shack is throwing a lot at listeners. Songs’ tempos are always somewhere between ripping and a brisk, psychedelic jog thanks to frantic drumming and pulsing basslines with more bounce than a trampoline. The tones tend to be fiery due to the bright guitar licks delivered with gusto or aggression, depending on the song’s goals. Plus, there’s often an extra accent instrument somewhere in the mix — a mariachi trumpet, some squelching synths or pounding keys played in tandem with a guitar riff. Lead singer Sarah Harvey provides the ultra-charismatic center of gravity that keeps  Meg Fretwell and Romi Lawrence’s guitar, Emily Smith’s bass and  Nick Doherty-Williams’ drums spinning smoothly.. Whether Harvey is glibly talk-singing, howling with rage or somewhere in between, Harvey is an incredibly charming performer who can and will catch the attention of the type of listener who would describe themselves as “not really a lyrics person.” 

Sometimes Harvey’s words are pointed and furious. “Smellarat,” for example, is snarling vitriol aimed at toxic and predatory scene-hopping men. Sometimes, the lyrics are funny. “Personal Best” is all about the ill-advised practice of taking psychoactive substances while running. Oftentimes, Panic Shack’s songs combine humor and anger. “Gok Wan” and “Tit School” are each songs that radiate incandescent rage over body shaming and unhealthy beauty standards. Both songs skewer the subject with dark humor, and as is the case for every song on the album, it sounds like Panic Shack had a blast playing the hell out of them. 

“Gok Wan” opens with Harvey declaring that she does squats for an insane amount of time each day. It starts at the absurdly impractical two hours a day and escalates to the incredulous and cruel 12 hours per day. Every verse is also punctuated by the infamous Kate Moss quote, “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.3 Panic Shack subtly hints that the era of fashion that made Moss a household name and the female form it marketed to the masses may have been damaging. There’s a group shoutalong of  “I look good — this is all I do/ My body is yours – enjoy the view,” and near the end of the song, Harvey sneers “Who needs brains when you’ve got hip bones likе mine?/ I learnt this from you mum, I must be doing fine.” OK, maybe it’s about as subtle as a structure fire. Meanwhile, “Tit School” revels in the irrelevance of those bygone expectations while acknowledging their effect. Harvey makes a series of breast-based puns — “I didn’t go to Brit school/ I went to tit school/ I didn’t get straight As/ I got double Ds/ I didn’t go to Bedales/ Instead, I got free meals,” before acknowledging that a curvier figure used to be something that drew scorn — “They call me  thick/ They call me Scruffy/ They call me loud/ They call me taffy/ They call me rough/ They call me chubby/ Now, it’s what you want to be.” The two songs take slightly different approaches to the same topic and merge to present a cohesive statement. Panic Shack know appearance-focused inanity is garbage, but they’re proud of who they are, confident in the image they project and are willing to use whatever’s at their disposal to take the fight to weak-minded misogynists. 

In that spirit, the album closes with “Thelma & Louise,” a song that true to its title source is all about friends bound by platonic love facing down the world. It’s a sweet tune, a bit lighter than some of the album’s most blistering material and a nice way to wind things down while still working in references to The Simpsons,  criminal acts and firearms. It closes by cycling through its extended chorus  “I’d ride for you/ I’d die for you/ I’d lie for you/ I’ll cry with you” three times. The use of “you” is a canny bit of parasocial songwriting, because by the time the album ends, the ride or die feeling is absolutely mutual. 

  1. These comparators are arranged roughly from most similar to least similar. ↩︎
  2. This tracks. Per this Q&A, Panic Shack are big fans of the Slits. ↩︎
  3. Lambrini Girls also set their sights on this quote earlier this year. ↩︎