Live Review: Sleaford Mods, Cable Ties

Cable Ties make excoriating punk rock about corporate greed and the selfishness of doomsday preppers. They have sharper chops than the average punk band and know when to stretch a song out, as on the slow build to the furious polemic Say What You Mean. Renditions of recent singles Sandcastles and Self-Made Man suggest we’re in for an upcoming album of breathless barn-burners. 

The craggy-faced members of Sleaford Mods both wear black T-shirts. Their songs are forceful and propulsive and end abruptly. Songs like Tarantula Deadly Cargo and Tied Up In Nottz are aggressive, but not in the toxic, misplaced way. It’s an earned aggression borne out of indignance at the state of the underclass. On top of their programmed, spartan beats and utilitarian basslines, the two are enthralling performers.

Sleaford Mods @ The Croxton. Photo by Tim Doig.

The band’s mouthpiece Jason Williamson is hyperactive and inexhaustible, wilful and testy. He’s like a prickly and defiant kid whose bad behaviour is actually captivating and hilarious. Between his frequently funny tirades, Williamson shrieks and blows raspberries. His main vocal tic is shouting, “Ah, fuck off!” On Stick In A Five And Go he acts out a whole interaction with a postman. As the show heats up, he compulsively brushes beads of sweat out of his hair. There is a constant spray of backlit spit. Barking in his strong East Midlands accent, he also throws out some surprisingly dainty and graceful movements. “Are you all looking forward to getting this fucking disease?” says Williamson. “Can’t be worse than going to work, can it?” 

Sleaford Mods @ The Croxton. Photo by Tim Doig.

To kick off each song, Andrew Fearn presses play on his laptop and stands back, emphatically nodding, drinking beer and generally looking like the biggest Sleaford Mods fan in the room. He’s like a silent hype man with a very pleasing presence. His main move is giving us the thumbs up a lot. Everyone seems happy he’s there, none more than Fearn himself. Aside from the two guys, the only visuals are the stickers plastered across Fearns’ laptop. 

“It’s fucking... What day is it, Thursday?” says Williamson. “Shit that, innit?” He’s right, it is. But if the impetus for Sleaford Mods is making working folk feel better about the drudgery and monotony of life at the bottom, they’ve fookin' done it.

Sleaford Mods @ The Croxton. Photo by Tim Doig.