Austerity Dogs

Product Information

Fully expecting it to contain the latest forgettable rehash of crappy Mod nostalgia, with some lazy political observations thrown in, I got mildly annoyed. Months ago, back when I first started seeing this album on this site, I had it judged by its cover, title and band name. No-one escapes – bosses, pop stars, wannabe hard men in the pub, pimps, drug dealers…they all get the same treatment.

It is a high octane and unrelenting blitzkrieg, railing against all things banal and vacuous in today’s world. This track only has two different notes played on the bass guitar with a drum loop, but it is easily one of the catchiest and effective tracks you will hear.It jumps out of the speakers and squares right up to your face, an eyebrow cocked, an acute feral intelligence in tow. Brilliant," I thought, "more wannabe 'Mod' twats selling that line about how important it is in working class culture to wear a sharp coat. Basic beats, bass and keys splattered with some of the most articulate rage fulled observations on British life as lived by a great many people as you are likely to hear anywhere, if at all. Just after the release of Wank the duo were invited to play a three day festival curated by Nottingham's Rammel Club.

Sleaford Mods are untouchable, what I mean is there is no fucking, any fucking body, who comes any fucking where near to them. Because some of us are obstinate, stubborn and true to what we believe, regardless of whether it may be palatable to the masses (or even to the talented, active musicians that earn a small crust here in t'Towers). Their debut 'The Killing Jar', which was released in 2012, was hailed by many as 'one of the best debut album's you'll hear all year' - it even made it onto Kerrang's top 50 albums of the year. The subjects of the lyrics usually focus around modern working life, unemployment, the criticism of celebrities and just working class banter.

Born out of part frustration and part accident, it quickly found its feet as an aggressive verbal onslaught on all that is contrived and connected to the day-to-day hammer of low paid employment and domestic situations arising from that trap. This lends the record an uncomfortable cubism – a hotchpotch of half-remembered impressions from the night before coming into relief through the hangover's haze: a disorienting miasma of contemporary bullshit.