Sleaford Mods at Brighton Dome - review

Dominic Cummings, Ena Sharples and Spit the Dog won’t feature in most band’s set lists, but Sleaford Mods most definitely aren’t like most bands.
Jason Williamson of Sleaford Mods at a gig in Nottingham by Simon Parfrement SUS-210712-114913001Jason Williamson of Sleaford Mods at a gig in Nottingham by Simon Parfrement SUS-210712-114913001
Jason Williamson of Sleaford Mods at a gig in Nottingham by Simon Parfrement SUS-210712-114913001

Dominic Cummings, Ena Sharples and Spit the Dog won’t feature in most band’s set lists, but Sleaford Mods most definitely aren’t like most bands.

A packed Brighton Dome seemed to share Iggy Pop’s view that they were about to be entertained by ‘undoubtedly, absolutely, definitely the worlds greatest rock n roll band’.

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It was especially good to see the Dome packed out on ground zero with standing gig goers, with the lighting flickering across the , largely, male crowd’s, largely, bald, bonces.

Andrew Fearn Sleaford Mods by Simon ParfrementAndrew Fearn Sleaford Mods by Simon Parfrement
Andrew Fearn Sleaford Mods by Simon Parfrement

The Friday night anticipation was high and the vibe was lively, and had been stoked by a juicy support in the form of the justifiably critically lauded Dry Cleaning.

Warm-up tunes moved from baggy legends World of Twist to booming Hip Hop, until the Nottingham duo stormed in a not unimpressive blaze of bright lights and beats.

They opened with Fishcakes, a grim glance back at the Seventies and Eighties, Janet and John, Absstos, an antidote to Mateus Rosé tinted nostalgia – the past is foreign country – and not an altogether pleasant one.

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The brutal beats and huge grooves provided by Andrew Fearn (inset) have definitely developed in recent albums and propelled the snarling, fluid words of Jason Williamson. Brilliant evocative and poetic, angry, obscene and unflinching.

The bulk of the songs came from Spare Ribs, their 11th long player, including Shortcummings , which wasn’t just a poke at the aforementioned adviser to the PM but also Williamson’s frustration at the ruling establishment and the powerlessness of any opposition – ‘It’s such a shame that every person I meet needs smacking in the head’ seems a bit extreme, but you know how he feels.

Elsewhere the fury was vented at music industry awards (Elocution) where he’s fed ‘donkey straw’ for his efforts, and perhaps at his most mardy towards class tourist musicians who he feels appropriate a working-class voice – ‘stood outside a high-rise trying to act like a gangster’ (Nudge It).

The swear-count is stratospheric but never out of control nor in the realms of musical Tourettes. There wasn’t too much jibber-jabber between the songs, other than the odd: ‘are you still enjoying it?’ but everything was being said loud and clear in the songs.

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Other high points included an unexpected beefed-up cover of Yazoo’s Don’t Go which provided an improvement on the bass jets, and Kebab Spider which saw Williamson hooting like a slightly mad monkey, which was apt considering some of his simian stage moves.

TCR (Total Control Racing) is still the best and the only modern-day anthem about a Scaletrix-style toy, and was also the moment when they managed that always ace achievement of metaphorically shrinking a venue, a packed Dome, with upstairs and downstairs was dancing, nodding, laughing and shouting along. An especially good achievement for two men and one laptop (although the Dome sound crew shouldn’t go praise-free).

Right now few compare to the honesty, the energy and conviction of the Sleaford Mods. Iggy’s not far wrong.