Major labels can’t even get an ounce of that fucking feeling with the robots they sign, those cunts that buy out the charts week on week. If you haven’t got it you need to admit this and ‘start dishing fucking refunds out’. And because of that you won’t take any prisoners either.
None of this six gigs a year business, no. When you stumble out of a small club after 25 dates, that have all been rammed to rafters with gleaming punters, for a post gig ciggie, you are enamoured with the experience of spreading the word of your band in this sweat and tears way. There was a consistent atmosphere of relief lurking at every gig, and we couldn’t believe it. Yet this lot did, as they barked at us throughout the sets, waving fists, getting twatted on a school night, thanking us with furious handshakes.
No, in the case of this band, you want people to feel your fucking anger just like you do, to feel the same way about all these lazy fucking posers hanging kryptonite around the neck of music. You don’t want that crap notion of awe struck fandom, mainly because it’s bollocks and if you have got that then you’ve allowed yourself to become fucking stupid. You don’t want the kind of admiration that looks like some trail of flower petals everywhere you go. This is the kind of response we wanted because the music had been made to fit this. Some grot den in the middle of Doncaster or Milton Keynes, packed. Some pub in the middle of Scunthorpe, packed. You had people pressed against the barriers, snarling, connecting totally and instantly. This kind of experience had been repeating itself over and over throughout the small towns tour of the UK that started in March this year. “Thank fuck!” he said to himself, like he had just found his wallet after frantically looking for it for half hour.
There was this Mod at a gig in Leamington Spa, he looked about my age, mid-forties, mouth wide open, eyes fixed. We were finally starting to connect with the UK. By this stage, and after a year or so of solid gigging, my rants had developed into kicked volleys, Andrew’s music had married itself fully to the cause, and all this was bound tightly by our manager, Steve Underwood’s experienced logistical swipes. People were standing on tables, crammed in, bunched up and raving. “I remember January 2014 at The Chameleon Club, three months before we released Divide and Exit: “Do you mind if I dance behind you on stage mate? Only there’s no fucking room out there.” I looked over and it was packed to fuck.
Read Williamson’s full statement, listen to live tonight below that and revisit our interview with the band here. In the statement Williamson outlines the meaning behind the track and relays the story that inspired it. The band’s mouthpiece has released a statement of intent alongside a stream of a track from the band’s new album Key Markets entitled Live Tonight. Start your day with a piece of genuine anger from Sleaford Mods’ Jason Williamson.
Sleaford Mods have shared the track Live Tonight from their album Key Markets