Interview
Interview
Stage Times: Sleaford Mods
Sleaford Mods' frontman Jason Williamson recalls the gigs where everybody laughed, nobody showed up, their greatest glories – and being on the same bill as Ed Sheeran
Thankfully, and expectedly, time hasn’t softened Sleaford Mods’ dissatisfaction towards the powers that be.
With the release of their 13th studio album The Demise Of Planet X however, Nottingham’s finest and most furious town criers are directing their ire at an apathetic society at large as the grip of the [insert whatever applicable crisis here] apocalypse tightens. “I tend to think about the end of the world as not something that’ll affect me, but something that’ll affect my kids,” frontman Jason Williamson lamented over Zoom from his home in Notts. “Nobody talks about the climate. We’re flogging it to death. It just feels like we’re a bunch of f*ckin’ vultures hanging around a carcass, and that carcass sooner or later will disappear.”
Williamson still reserves plenty of hostility towards certain elite figures who seem hell bent on causing geopolitical chaos or those intent on hoarding resources. A thinly veiled dig at Elon Musk (who should “go and get therapy, tw*t) and his debased social platform X, The Demise Of Planet X is a destination Williamson feels we’ve sadly already arrived at.
“I was reading a book by Slavoj Žižek. I know he gets a lot of amour as a philosopher – and I’m not even sure if I’ve pronounced his name correctly – but he referenced another philosopher who said the world is turning into what he called ‘biomass’, a landscape that’s been destroyed by war that is a mixture of concrete and human limbs. It’s something that – and sorry to cheer you up here – as a human race and people that are connected to social media, are getting used to every day. We are living post-apocalypse, post-end of the world. It’s a 24-hour repeat. The same thing happens again. It occurred to me that we’re in a constant state of stress, anxiety, panic, paranoia, willing to lean towards conspiracy theory culture. The list goes on.”
Cheery stuff then. But The Demise Of Planet X is brimming with the grim humour that has established the duo of Williamson and beat-maker Andrew Fearn as one of British alternative music’s most singular acts – as well as a series of tailor-made (and excellently bonkers collaborations) with the likes of Aldous Harding, Big Special, actor Gwendoline Christie and visual artist Sue Tompkins.
In support of The Demise Of Planet X, Sleaford Mods head out on tour throughout the UK in February and March. A force to be reckoned with live – part rave, part DIY punk show, part poetic rant – Williamson is pumped for it. Speaking to him a day after his 55th birthday, his secret to staying enviably young might surprise you. “I’m a f*cker for cereal at night. Rice Krispies, anything. I’ve had to cut that out.”
What won’t surprise you is Sleaford Mods’ storied history on stage. Ahead of their upcoming tour, Williamson tells us about the gigs where everybody laughed, the gigs where nobody showed up, the gigs that keep his ego in check, and being on the same bill as Ed Sheeran:
That is the gig that made you want to become a musician
I don’t think I’ve ever been to a gig that made me want to become a musician. But the first gig that completely surprised me was Public Enemy, in 1987 at Rock City just round the corner. I’d gone predominantly to see LL Cool J who just released his album Bigger and Deffer, which was his second on Def Jam. Eric B. & Rakim played as well. I bought that album and Public Enemy’s album Yo! Bum Rush The Show. They all came out at roughly the same time. So you had these three iconic acts – well, nobody knew that were iconic then but they certainly are now – who all played. Public Enemy came on first and they were incredible. The place went into complete darkness. These air raid sirens came on, then two spotlights appeared with two guys with machine guns doing this choreographed, sort of, military dance. Then the band jumped out. Terminator X was on the decks with this wind machine behind him. Chuck D, Flava Flav popped out. It was incredible. It had a lasting effect on me. But I don’t think a gig has ever motivated me to do music. Initially it was the want to be famous, but then it was the love of music and wanting to do something that I was inspired by.
It’s pretty special you got to see artists that impacted you like that at a local venue too.
Yes, definitely. I was only sixteen, and I think they’d oversold it so it was one-in-one-out even if you had a ticket. Luckily I got in.
The first
We played at a place called The Railway Club, I think, near the station. It was myself and a friend of mine that was on backing vocals, who I was in another project with. That was it. We had someone operating the backing track from the PA. People were just laughing. It is quite funny, but I certainly didn’t think it was that funny. That was the first gig we did, back in 2006.
Not ideal when you’re pouring everything into a performance. But there’s always been an odd reaction to Sleaford Mods because you don’t fit a certain mould.
On paper that’s great. In reality it’s not. Because you contrast with a lot of stuff so much, it’s hard for the mainframe to accept you. What happens then is that you get people that love what you do, and go and write something that’s a little bit more accessible based on what you’ve done, who will go on to become more successful. It’s like, f*ck. I didn’t deal with that very well at all. Now I’ve accepted it. It’s a double-edged sword. Stewart Lee said to me ‘never be the mouse that gets the cheese’.
The smallest
F*ckin’ hell. Loads. Too many. Shortly after that first gig, I started doing the toilet circuit in London. The George pub is it? The George Tavern. They were quite hard to get into in those days. Nobody turned up. I played a gig somewhere and Ed Sheeran was headlining. Can’t remember where it was. Stuff like that where it was just about three or four people watching.
Can you remember the turning point?
Doing a gig in Brussels. By then Austerity Dogs had come out. We’d done a load of small gigs and were slowly getting a bit of a reputation. But it wasn’t until we did that gig, a festival which operated as an expo for promoters essentially. A DIY festival for DIY acts. We were considered a DIY act at the time. So we played there and we filled the room with 350 people. All the offers came flooding in from European promoters wanting to book us after that show. That’s when it started kicking off. The UK largely didn’t want to know. They just couldn’t get their heads around it. Without shitting on my own doorstep, the press in the UK isn’t particularly elevated. It’s all a bit carbon copy. Because of that, the media landscape is similar. They’d rather not take risks and invest in stuff that’s familiar. So, it wasn’t until there was this buzz in Europe that was got a call from the NME. Then we got an interview with them, and it kicked off in the UK.
Music journalism isn’t particularly critical anymore. Which is a symptom of the music industry at large, I guess.
I think so. I’m not sure if it’s a language thing either, if European interviewers are talking in English. You’re right about journalists not being as critical anymore. If there’s a narrative in the media, you get a lot of outlets or interviewers trying to get you to talk about the narrative. Sometimes that narrative isn’t the top of your agenda, or something you want to talk about extensively. So all these things seem to drag out.
The biggest
Biggest gig was Alexandra Palace. We got about 7,000 in, so we didn’t properly sell it out. But it’s still massive. Thing is, in this game, you get spoilt. You get to a certain degree and you start to think ‘why aren’t we filling out places like all these other bands are who don’t sound half as good as we do?’ Sounds stupid, but this is my opinion. You have to stop yourself though. It’s like ‘look, what you’re doing is great, sort it out’. Ally Pally was the biggest gig we’d done in the UK. It was a massive landmark. We didn’t think we’d get outside of Nottingham, let alone Alexandra Palace. We’re going back to Brixton Academy this time. We’ve played there before. It’s just right. To be honest, Ally Pally is 10,000 capacity. I’d still call that intimate to a certain degree. Kneecap, for instance, blew up last year and are now playing Wembley Arena. That’s f*ckin’ mad.
Nodding back to the reaction you got at your first gig, there is an element of humour to your music. That’s clearly resonated on a huge scale given that you’re at this point. Is that something you’ve embraced?
You do. The acknowledgement of that is really humbling. It makes you open up a bit more. So there’s more humour on some songs, but there’s less of it on others. It’s definitely got to be in there. It occurred to me that without it, it’d be boring. It’s what makes it doable. It’s the only way I know how to not take myself too seriously, by putting the humour in there. We’ve all got egos and we all suffer from them – especially the artists. It’s a way of breaking that down almost. I think that’s what appeals to people, that this is real.
When artists are a bit too po-faced about their message, it can induce an eye roll. That’s never been the case with Sleaford Mods.
Part of the reason we started was a reaction to that, against that. To not take it seriously. It angers me a lot when people do this. It makes me feel that if people are doing that, they’ve not experienced these things. If they have, then there’s something incredibly wrong with their perception.
The weirdest
That’s a tough one. I don’t think I’ve done a really weird one. I’ve done gigs that have felt really wrong, where people have talked through it the entire time right at the front. We did one gig in Lincoln. It was a fire safety hazard and people were starting to smash over the barriers at the front. It was really strange. We had to leave because we couldn’t hear anything and people were starting to get really unsettled.
Has there ever been any shows where people that haven’t agreed with your viewpoint come along, not to picket your gig, but just to be an arsehole?
Yeah, a couple. But nobody’s ever tried to get on stage or anything. A couple of them have been stood right at the front waving their fists. You’re not hanging around outside of the gig so you don’t get to see them, really. The only aggravation you tend to get is online. This is even from fellow musicians who have a pop at you, then you meet them, and they’re completely quiet. But largely, nobody says a thing.
The worst
F*ckin’ hell, too many. We did one in Germany recently and the sound from another stage near us was coming through so much we couldn’t hear anything. Because we knew the set so well I just went along with it. About halfway through I walked off stage. I don’t like doing it as a rule, it’s not right. I got a lot of crap for that for a few weeks. We had about four songs left and I walked off. I just couldn’t do it anymore. I was managing to do it, but it felt like we were singing over the band’s music coming from the stage over. It was f*ckin’ weird so I had to leave. I felt pretty bad after, but there you go.
At least you weren’t singing karaoke over another band’s songs.
Well, it was getting that way. So I just left.
The best
Any of them, really. 99% of them are the best gigs I’ve ever played. I still can’t believe it’s what we’re doing. Any gig where we go out and people are happy to see you, it’s the best gig. To take it to a further point, I like to see the sun going down if I’m playing. There’s been a few of those. Primavera, or in California, south of France. Stuff like that where there’s a palm tree in the background.
You’ve got to dig the vistas. Those are the perks of the job. When was the first time you sold out Rock City and what did that feel like?
I couldn’t believe it. You don’t have time to process it. Because it kept happening. That whole period between 2013 and 2015 when we blew up a bit, I couldn’t believe it. But then you get used to it. It’s a strange feeling, but it can turn very negative quite quickly. Your ego can get the better of you. I did struggle for a while. But I like to think I’m a lot better these days.
What do you mean in terms of your ego?
You come to expect attention from media outlets. You come to expect gigs to sell out. You expect the gigs to get bigger. Then they don’t get as big as some bands, and you think ‘why not?’ Then it gets negative. We’re not a band that’s going to saturate a mass market. We’re a niche band. We’re also a pop band in many respects. We adhere to the verse-chorus-verse-chorus formula. But yeah, it was a big learning curve for me. Still is. I have to put myself in check sometimes. When we came out, nobody was doing what we were doing. If anyone else comes out like us, we have to be prepared to take the hit. Someone else is going to come along and use the idea to make it something bigger.
I’m no artist, but playing Brixton Academy is pretty sick.
That goes back to my point. Where you become detached. I completely agree with you. For me what’s more important is keeping the songs as good as they can get. People that liked us 10 years ago might not like us as much now. I get that, because I’m like that with other bands. But it’s of the utmost importance to keep the songs sounding convincing, sounding good, and sounding good to yourself.
Sleaford Mods head out on tour in February. Find tickets here.
