Sleaford Mods are powerful Force Ten from Navarone performers and they transform the Powerstation into a pulpit of electronic beats, polemics, social politics and the edgiest black humour you will hear since the hey-day of the Beastie Boys. 
Jason Williamson, who comes from Lincolnshire, England, founded the Sleafords in 2007. Being a fan of Mod sub-culture explains the name he chose. Prior to this he had tried his hand in different bands, as a solo singer-songwriter and a session musician.
His original name for the band was That’s Shit, Try Harder. Gives us an idea of some of the inspiration behind his unique style.
A minimalist post-punk Beat-Poet electronic duo who cut through with social politics and psychodrama. That makes them descendants of the legendary Suicide, Art Terrorists from New York.
I Remember is played just prior to their entry on stage. Both ominous and sensual as Martin Rev lays the metronomic keyboard foundation and Alan Vega chants and leads you into the dream state.
They start with UK Grim. Title track off their current album.
Williamson is utterly enthralling to watch. His hyper-kinetic obsessive-compulsive mannerisms become hypnotic. He appears to be a true schizophrenic in that you cannot consciously reproduce this behaviour. I don’t think he is, more he has a deep insight into this.
At times he appears to be caught in a fantasy world and talking to imaginary people whilst nervously combing through his hair.
He does a chicken-wing flapping, wide-gaited strut and waddle. Then he acknowledges the sell-out crowd with a goofy grin, sticks his tongue out and blows kisses.
He has acknowledged Wu-Tang Clan and Nas as key influences. Just as close are the vocal and lyrical styles of Mark E. Smith and the Fall, Ian Dury, John Cooper Clarke and James Iggy Pop Osterberg. Most use their broad regional accents.
If that sounds a little pretentious, it is shot to bits by Williamsons delivery. Where he calls people cunts, wankers, twats and fooking fook off and fook yourself!
Best explained by Alan Vega of Suicde. In New York, people want to escape the streets when they go and see a band. When they come and see us, they are confronted by the streets again.
He used to swing a huge motorbike chain around his head and thump it on the floor as protection from physical attack. That did not prevent a small axe being hurled once.
Williamson doesn’t need that. No one is going to give him any shit or call him a wanker. He knows this too, and revels in it a bit.
They have the same insight as the Sex Pistols. First, address your own fucking useless generation.
This band is closer to the truth and eschews the virtue-signalling wokeness infesting the Western world. That is why people love them. They are the necessary enema to the bullshit blocking up the collective colons of people.
It’s not that I’m full of shit, I’ve just got a lot of shit in me/ Gotta get it out somehow. The Bonzo Dog Band and Do the Strain. They are surely an influence too.
Some familiar songs and some not so. They all form a cohesive whole. Or hole.
Tory Kong, Diwhy, I Claudius, TCR, Jobseeker, Tilldipper, Smash Each Other Up.
Big Scout, a punk trio from Blenheim did a great job to warm up the audience, before it reached peak capacity.
The guitarist had a Germs t-shirt. The bass guitarist had Rock’n’Roll Motherfucker on his.
Old school punk certainly, with elements of Wire and the Fall. Worthy of catching them with their own headline gig.
Sleaford Mods are back again to enthral and rage at the Powerstation tonight. Get down there and change your life.
Rev Orange Peel
Photo gallery Leonie Moreland
