Against a backcloth of feverish political affiliation shifts, Sleaford Mods stayed immutable, enjoying a boon 2019. Something about their metre, rhyme and clipped defiance had broken through a previously unimaginable glass ceiling. They started the year with Eton Alive’s top ten placement and rounded it off with a sold-out show at Hammersmith Apollo. Sleaford Mods are the only band in Britain you could comfortably stick a sweat-soaked performance in front of random crowds and count upon mass conversion.
The word of mouth on their brute live force, tenderised and pockmarked by the humour of Andrew’s finger-tapping ennui and Jason’s idiosyncratic showmanship thrust means their constituent following has changed. Sleaford Mods used to play in front of exasperated middle-aged men in Patagonia anoraks in small, agitated rooms educated by the wireless ramblings of John Peel. Now they bring the exact same noise and poise to theatres full to busting with trendy young metropolitan vegan couples who talk about mortgages and saw them on Jools Holland. That’s all fine by Jason. ‘It’s sound, mate.’