Sleaford Mods - Spare Ribs Review
With Spare Ribs, Sleaford Mods have managed to record the perfect antidote to perpetual lockdowns, bog-roll bandits and government miss-steps.
Remember that brief interlude between lockdowns, Zoom calls and baking banana bread? When things started to reopen and we all ran to the pub? No? Neither can I. But apparently, during that fleeting moment of non-essential indulgence, Jason Williamson and Andrew Fearn, collectively known as Sleaford Mods, recorded their latest album, Spare Ribs.
In the fourteen years since Jason Williamson first conceived Sleaford Mods, they have developed a sound so idiosyncratic that you recognise their songs in an instant even if, like me, you’re not intimately familiar with many of their albums. The mantra “you have to see them live” seems to be intrinsically linked to any mention of their name. Maybe that’s what had always put me off. They always seemed like something you’d only really ‘get’ if you were four pints in, pushing your way towards the stage at some sticky-floored music venue.
‘The New Brick’ gets things underway, kind of. At just under a minute long, it’s less a song and more an introduction; but one hell of an introduction it is. Less than 40 seconds in and Williamson’s announcing “we’re all so Tory tired, and beaten by minds small”. It pretty much sets the tone for everything that proceeds it. The Sleaford Mods are pissed off, only this time so are we.
We begin properly with ‘Shortcummings’, a not-so-thinly veiled verbal assault directed at Dominic Cummings. Though you might not realise that at first because you’ll be so fixated on the thumping bass riff that’ll be stuck in your head at least until next lockdown. ‘Nudge It’ introduces us to the first of the two guest vocalists who feature on Spare Ribs. Williamson and Fearn are joined by Amy Taylor of Aussie pub rockers Amyl and the Sniffers. It’s a fleeting cameo that works joyously and leaves you wishing she’d stuck around a little bit longer. Three tracks in and it’s clear we’ve hit the ground running.
Keeping up the frenetic pace is ‘Elocution’, which this time sees holier-than-thou music industry types stepping into the firing line. Williamson treads this subject with all the finesse of a bulldozer, “I wish I had the time to be a wanker just like you, and maybe then I’d be somewhere lovely and warm, just like you”. It’s great fun but it’s a song that’ll only realise its full potential when it’s finally played live to a packed venue.
It’s at this juncture that you realise there’s more to Sleaford Mods than chest beating rants and hooky electronic loops, there’s some real musical nuance beneath all the tub-thumping. The spooky overtones of ‘Out There’ gives Andrew Fern the opportunity to really flex his musical clout. It’s intoxicating and for me the standout track on the album. ‘Glimpses’ is no slouch either. Another smart bass-line, this time veering into Peter Hook territory. Vocally, Williamson takes his foot off the gas a little and it affords the album room to breathe and a chance to shake off the heebie-jeebies left behind by ‘Out There’. It’s the album’s equivalent of going out for cigarette and a bit of fresh air and it’s much needed. Once we’re back inside, ‘Top Room’, replaces thumping bass-lines with flickering electronic harmonies, held together by a pulsing drumbeat that Williamson’s vocals punctuate assertively. It’s a fantastic change of gear.
The album’s first single, ‘Mork n Mindy’, announces the arrival of second guest vocalist Billy Nomates, who looks angrier than your best-mate’s older sister but thankfully sounds much nicer. Whereas ‘Nudge It’ had Taylor and Williamson sounding like two parts of the same machine, ‘Mork n Mindy’ sees Nomates infiltrating the machine from somewhere outside of Sleaford Mods’ usual sonic sphere. It’s refreshing and elevates not just the song but the album as a whole.
The album’s namesake is a surprisingly forgettable affair. A real shame because lyrically it’s on point. A tragic ode to rough sleepers, containing the depressingly glorious refrain “Outside, spare ribs do bits of spice. Outside, under a concrete Jesus Christ”. ‘All Day Ticket’ picks up the pieces and sees Williamson adopt a more, dare I say it, restrained approach. Vocally, there’s hints of The Jam, accompanied by sparse electronic noises that croak and squirt beneath a thumping rhythm section that gradually ramps up the tension. ‘Thick Ear’ follows and if a song ever sounded like its title then it’s this one. Thankfully, Williamson’s back on the offensive, “You got a thick ear, course you ‘ave, I gave it ya!” he scowls over a deliciously washed-out fuzz guitar.
The penultimate track, ‘I Don’t Rate You’, is a strange beast. At first it sounds like it’s threatening to chew up everything in its path but, just after the one minute mark, Fearn’s synth melody dances into earshot and we suddenly find ourselves back in more familiar territory. Fearn seems most comfortable when indulging his electronic roots and, minus the vocals, ‘I Don’t Rate You’ would have Boiler Room aficionados reaching for their cans of Red Stripe. This isn’t lost on Williamson who wisely allows Fearn’s twisting synth to snake its way in and out of the song with little opposition. It’s captivating stuff.
‘Fishcakes’ closes the album. It’s a slightly more gentle and introspective moment, showcasing a more poetic side to Williamson’s repertoire, something that is sometimes lost amidst his bullish swagger. “School and houses mangle. In bricks and lanes of this jail. Garages and pebbles chime. Asbestos acorn trees hang high”. It almost brings a tear to the eye. Almost.
With Spare Ribs, Sleaford Mods have managed to record the perfect antidote to perpetual lockdowns, bog-roll bandits and government miss-steps. It’s a euphonic sucker punch that, for its duration, might just make you forget the pubs are closed. Not bad for a band that “you have to see live”.