In the most basic of terms, at the heart of every action, be it creative, mundane, habitual, circumstantial or actually, even carried out through an acute lack of thought, there is a desire to cause a reaction; however circumspect or minor the reaction is, even if it’s reasoning is purely subconscious – everything has a purpose, a reason, a desire within it. The fuel that drives these impulses, the catalyst behind our each and every action, is an opinion; These existential nuances that carve their marks into our very being, and reside as talismans and confidantes, dictating further, often precautionary movement. Often, what goes unrealised is the fact that as citizens of the world, it’s surely our duty to question authority? Not even necessarily, at first, in terms of rebellion, but there must be an innate desire for conformation that the rules drilled into us from birth, are in fact viable? Correct? Decent even? To remain neutral in situations of injustice only further negates any power we, as a genus, possess. Neutrality aids the oppressor, never the victims and nothing, really nothing in the world strengthens authority so much as silence. Kneel and weep for the acquiescence of the majority, who sleep with dreams perpetuating the vapid archaic drabness of merely being.
So where is it? This questioning voice? Why do streets lay stark and barren while unjust laws and actions go unpunished, as masses of jaded, lifeless voices fall further into disillusion? Flicking through pages and pages and pages of reproduced images, in constant competition for approval.
Enter Sleaford Mods, stage Left. Angry, minimal and forthright, preaching class war in an appropriate context, a monster ball of antagonism, realising their moral obligation to rest fully aware they are cleared of any complicity. Choleric and convulsed, provoked and fuming, their new record ‘Key Markets’ trudges and oscillates, undulating, writhing in it’s own bitter, Middle England sweat;
“You pretend to be proud of your own culture? Whilst simultaneously not giving two fucks about your own culture? What culture? Fuck Culture, the blueprint for all control.”
Ceaseless walls of words spat from the bare knuckle, brutally honest silhouette of those unsatisfied with society’s disregard for any cognizant awareness that the overlooked jurisdiction of the oppressed, could so easily be the voice of reason, but isn’t, in favour of beleaguered malcontent… Who cares if it’s synthesised and ugly to hear? It’s more inherently real, and worthwhile in message alone than the vast majority of words spoken in offices and supermarkets the length and breath of the country every day. The lack of melody mirrors the dystopia that is modernity, it alludes to a future devoid of creative rebellion, just generations of future children googling the word ‘punk’ for history classes. Long live confrontation, let it go rotten and make a scene, pick up a placard and march on something terrible with ‘Key Markets’ blaring in your head, long live ideology and long live Sleaford Mods.
Buy ‘Key Markets’ here.