<p><span><span>- It’s gotten to the point in my relationship with Sleaford Mods<strong> </strong>that if for some strange and unbeknown reason they put out a dud, I feel as though my internal operating system will read this as an illegal operation, flash a series of alarms, find an incorrect line of code, and wipe the slate cleaner than a food prep bench on the day of an OH&S report. We know the duo operate around a bare few components. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, ey? Those components have been widdled down to a fine art. Last year saw austerity's most vocal music critics slap a Dadaist icon (a cover image of Duchamp's toilet) on a compilation record representing their first ten years. <em>All That Glue </em>was great time capsule for what has come so far with a minor sprinkling of new music. Now we arrive at <em>Spare Ribs -</em> a point where the next ten years starts with an entirely fresh batch of stentorian union-leader-at-a-podium declamation backed by effectively simple instrumentals. There’s enough new avenues to start the next decade to keep fresh the variation on a theme.</span></span></p>
<p><span><span>A jittery, slightly misaligned forty second nugget, <em>The New Brick </em>is a perfect start to <em>Spare Ribs. </em>Stuttered drum loops that sound like the playout system is buffering and crammed keys foreshadow the extension of a usually gaunt sound. The new inclusions into Sleaford Mods’ music map also incorporates two distinctly different vocal features. A broad bogan twang provided by <strong>Amy Taylor </strong>marries itself snugly with compliments to <strong>Jason Williamson</strong>’s East Midlands accent on <em>Nudge It</em>. Is it slightly weird that, just before listening to this record, I was doing the same for the new <strong>Viagra Boys </strong>record and they too had the mouthpiece for <strong>Amyl and The Sniffers </strong>pop in for a guest spot? The second outside voice brought into the fray is, from what I can gather, a relative newcomer in the form of <strong>Billy Nomates</strong> who appears on <em>Mork and Mindy. </em>Taking the alien inspiration from the title, this track couples bleep-bloop keys from the start of the record and a dial tone while Billy Nomates<strong> </strong>adds in a sleazy melody and some deadpan spoken word sections to tease it out. In reference to spoken word, <em>Elocution </em>is the quintessential Sleaford Mods song. A definite target has been sighted, this time some Bertie Big Bollocks from the UK music scene, and for nigh on three minutes, a sardonic tongue lashing is inflicted on this sorry enigma. A brittle melody toddles in unannounced around the chorus and seeps in through the runtime and into <em>Out There. </em>Again with the spoken word, Williamson enters into a stream of consciousness flow, propelled by an instrumental that skulks along. You’re transplanted right to the epicentre of a bleak, decaying suburb with this duo’s music and album closer <em>Fishcakes </em>reflecting this dour reality. Local fishies, asbestos, and the works are mulled over like the chewed-up end of the pencil.</span></span></p>
<p><span><span>Thirteen tracks from a band with an unbreakable stride and a lane all to themselves has put me in a good mood and not just for the year ahead. Here’s to another ten glorious years. </span></span></p>
<p><span><span>- Matt Lynch.</span></span></p>
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