"Bring back the neo-libs, I'm sorry/I didn't fuckin' mean to pray for anarchy!" apologizes Jason Williamson, sort of, on "Carlton Touts," a hot rant about working class Brits boozing in Brexit's shadow, where "the future is a flag pissed on and a kingsize bag of Quavers." Sing-bark-rapping over post-punk groove loops, the Sleaford Mods are two forty-somethings who've watched their generation's disenfranchisement for awhile – see trackmeister Andrew Fearn's signature "STILL HATE THATCHER" T-shirt. They're basically a Sex Pistols for the new corporatocracy.
Witha rapid-fire East Midlands brogue that'll have most Yanks Googling every thirdline, Williamson hurls verses against beats like pint glasses against a pubwall, mirroring homeground redneck culture without apology or pandering – Nashville songwriters could learn plenty here. Rhyming "shit players"with "Leo Sayers" ("Cuddly"), slagging a "pretentiouslittle bastard on social medias" ("Just Like We Do"), he'shilarious and furious by turns, also lasering in on the tragic: ruingxenophobes who "wanna kill people who ain't got a lot" ("Dull")and the fate of a nation sold out to capitalist pirates ("BHS").Sound familiar? With echoes of the Fall and Throbbing Gristle, the starktracks fittingly recall an era that demanded engaged art.