Song #516 of 9999
Artist: Sleaford Mods
Album: Chubbed Up. The Singles Collection.
It's 2013 and Lester Bangs is still dead. November: I hear a song. Sounds like like that old bloke down the pub who's always had one too many. Hearing fury, resentment, wish-it-was-better-but-it-isn't resigned attitude - all good. I'm also laughing my arse off. Buy the cheeky f*cker a half to keep him going.
Been here a hundred times - only now that old drunk rascal's only gone got himself a slightly creepy-looking bloke in a tracksuit with a cracked copy of 'Logic'. Sure, they haven''t quite figured out how the software works, exactly but there's a damn good noise out coming out of it anyway. Minimal, repititious groove? Check. Foot-tapping, wriggly bass loops and grime/dubstep drum patterns? Check check. A splatter of keyboard here or there, an intentionally cheesy my-first-casio sample thrown into the mix? Check cubed.
Sleaford Mods are the sound of a hypnotic UK 2013 mantra - 'everything's shit - what you going to do about it'?
This band shouldn't work on any level but do, on every single one. Gasping, confused, struggling to get a handle on whether they're artful or just Art? Doesn't mattter. Yeah, they're full of swears; who ever thought music should be SFW? Yeah, they're more English than Viv Stanshall; who ever thought music needs to talk to *everyone*? The best thing about this band? 90% of those who hear them will shrug, murmuring "I don't get it" to themselves. That's fine. The 10% will proclaim. Who ever believed music belonged in the middle?
Here endeth the sermon. Top!