“I used to be in bands. Fucking hated it.”

Last month Nottingham duo Sleaford Mods sold out the Electric Ballroom in Camden. A 1,100 strong crowd came out to watch two blokes, one laptop and a shed load of pent-up aggression wreak havoc on the Capital. An achievement that outweighs anything they could have ever dreamt of doing when they kicked off this project 3 years ago after a string of failed attempts at being in bands. Though still an exceptional milestone in the life of the pair, one thing that seemed out-of-place was the setting. If anything the Ballroom was too big. Sleaford Mods are about intimacy and intensity. About grubby toilets and stains on your pint. About being so close you can feel their spit on your face and smell the lager on their breath. That’s why they find themselves at Cafe INDIEpendent in Scunthorpe playing to a sold out room of 240 tinny swilling enthusiasts who are more than ready to take part in one of the biggest success stories of the past year. 

Opening the show though is another 2-piece of a different ilk. Hot Soles take everything that is brilliant about rock and roll, condense it, then tell it to ‘stop fucking messing about’. The riffs come thick and fast and drums hit hard and true, and by the end of their 25 minutes in the spotlight every foot is tapping, every head is nodding and the applause is as rapturous as if they were headlining. Who the fuck are Royal Blood anyway? 

As the Mods hit the stage though there is no fanfare. No intro. Just a click of a button and first track ‘Bunch Of Cunts’ blares into life. Tech man Andrew Fearn’s part in this performance is done way in advance so he is able to stand observing his work in action. Swaying to the beats booming from his laptop with beer in hand and smirk on face he is like a polar opposite to his band mate. Jason Williamson is a snarling enigma in a Farah t-shirt. Strutting around the stage with a jaunty swagger while gurning and smiling with smutty confidence before opening his mouth and letting hell slither its way out, it is impossible to take your eyes off him. Battering at the side of his head like the profane truths coming out are causing him unbridled pain, every word spoken, shouted and sneered is glazed with malice and reason. At times witty. At times brutally honest. At others he just bleats ‘fuck off’ in to the mic in a way you wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of. Like hymns for the working class, songs like ‘Jobseeker’, ‘Mcflurry’ and’ ‘Tiswas’ hit like a brick to the back of your head and leave a lasting scar. The crowd have no choice but to get wrapped up in the mayhem and get the ground shaking. A belligerent style of good vibes transfer from front to back with pints going flying and feet leaving the floor. Song after song the twosome deliver with fan favourite ‘Jolly Fucker’ and closer ‘Tweet Tweet Tweet’ receiving a snapping reception and before you can even get to the bar for another can of John Smiths they are done, leaving the stage as quick as they arrived on it. A no bullshit performance and short, sharp shot of anarchy in its purest form.

Video by MR PEEPS

Bands like the Sleaford Mods are more important than we may give them credit for. Posing as a raw soundtrack to a broken world that we try to ignore, their music is as threatening as it infectious. Jason Williamson and Andrew Fearns are the last of a dying breed of performers not scared to say what they truly believe but honestly aren’t really fussed if you give a shit or not. Where they are vital on record, they are damn near life affirming live. It’s not pretty, but it was never supposed to be. This is a warts and all display of musicianship that needs to be seen in the flesh to be seriously believed. 

To check out where you can experience Sleaford Mods for yourself HERE