Review Summary: Sleaford Mods present a pissed off take on working class life in England
If there’s one thing you can say for sure about Sleaford Mods, it’s that they resist easy categorization. The Nottingham duo creates 3 minute jams with instrumentals consisting mostly of a drum machine and bass played by Andrew Fearn and the pissed off, English working class tirades provided by Jason Williamson. The unchanging instrumental style throughout the album has led some to characterize the group as minimalists, but Williamson’s stream-of-consciousness flow hints at hip-hop. Still, the lo-fi production and nonsensical fury lend to a punk or post-punk image. Given this distinctive, in-your-face sound I was surprised that I had never heard of the duo. They’ve been put seven records out since 2007, all of which went unnoticed until 2013’s Austerity Dogs.
Regardless of genre and output, Sleaford Mods know their style and do what they do well on Divide and Exit. The best example are tracks such as “Strike Force” and “Keep Out of It” that juxtapose Williamson’s rage in the verses with catchy hooks. Elsewhere, the duo relies on the occasional bizarre sound effects to keep the listener engaged, such as the rhythmic dog barking on “The Corgi,” the laugh track that Williamson attempts to communicate with and pacify on “Liveable ***,” and the haunting background vocals that end the album on “Tweet Tweet Tweet.”
The group’s charm is a double-edged sword; it draws listeners in, but could very easily leave them without a sense of connection to any particular songs. Sure, they’ll remember Williamson screaming about Chumbawamba, Nic Cage, and G. G. ***in’ Allin, but it’s hard to see the substance of what Williamson is yelling about over the style. This distraction could be due to the general public not being accustomed to such the abrasive take on the woes of England that hasn’t been seen since Johnny Rotten started screaming about the fascist regime with the Sex Pistols. Since then, bands like Blur and Oasis (and their ongoing rivalry) have come to represent British music for the world, where the aggression comes out in the interviews, not the music. In many cases, the lyrics are so British that they could very well be lost on a listener outside of England. Even so, “From Rags to Richards” is probably the weakest track on the album, due to the under-utilization of Williamson’s angry lyricism.
This doesn’t cripple the album; there are enough memorable moments, lyrically and musically, to keep you coming back for more. The group’s bandcamp features this as their bio: “I used to be in bands, ***in hated it.” The formula of one beatsmith plus a lyricist who speaks in hardly anything other than Nottingham cultural references, slang, and curse words, seems to be working out more than anything else these anti-socialites have been up to in the past, and for that I commend them. Their music is also really ***ing fun.
Through my second listen of the album, I was reminded of that episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia in which the gang attempts to create a democracy in the bar based on reason instead of emotions. The episode ends with a rotting dog carcass falling out of a baby coffin. In the best way possible, this album is a narration of the collapse of reason in the name of hilarious drunken rage.
