March 4, 2020
Sleaford Mods have come a long way. What should have never worked out on paper, turned out to become a phenomenon with an avid army of loyal followers.
Blame it on the arcane pop cultural references, the witty lyrics, the fact that their drink sodden tales of anger and despair, the idiosyncratic stripped back and minimal set up – Sleaford Mods in the wild are an utterly compelling tour de force despite their limited musical template, which is comprised of two lads and a laptop emanating an arsenal of beats. Jason Williamson is one charismatic specimen of a frontman – an intriguing character that moves like an electrocuted frenzy version of Ian Curtis, creating an infectious melange of anger, menace and fun with his partner in crime, that rests on a powerful foundation, i.e. a refreshing lack of pretence and a seemingly unshakeable authenticity and truthfulness, which pervades every façade of their act. Truthfulness in terms of acerbic social commentary on the current state of affairs, which at times could be interpreted as a wildly unedited internal monologue. He is complemented by Andrew Fearn, who plays an integral yet more subdued role, resulting in a dynamic that is reminiscent of a grimy equivalent to the Pet Shop Boys.
Not sure if it is specific to Sydney, but there was a tangible sense of community throughout a set, which resulted in a sense of inclusion rather than Sleaford Mods’ incarnation merely being a mere reverential spectacle.
I would go as far as claiming that Sleaford Mods are inimitable and unique, not just in terms of the tick heavy strutting of the stage, but also the wide array of contradictions the unresolved result of which makes them confusing and endearing in equal measure.
Go watch them.
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