Rating: 5/10
What the fuck did I just listen to?
That was the immediate reaction after reaching the end of Sleaford Mods’ The Demise of Planet X. Not because it is completely unlistenable, and certainly not because it is boring. If anything, the problem is that it remains irritating in a strangely entertaining way. You keep listening partly because you want to understand it and partly because you cannot quite believe what is coming next.
Released through Rough Trade Records, the duo’s thirteenth studio album finds Jason Williamson ranting, snarling and muttering over Andrew Fearn’s deliberately sparse electronic production. It sits somewhere between post-punk, spoken word, hip-hop and a bloke angrily explaining the state of modern Britain outside a kebab shop.
That description is not entirely an insult. Sleaford Mods have built their identity around being abrasive, confrontational and unmistakably themselves. Williamson’s delivery is full of frustration, dark humour and the sort of observations that occasionally make you laugh even when you are unsure whether you agree with them. Fearn’s beats leave acres of empty space around the vocals, making every complaint, muttered aside and sudden outburst impossible to ignore.
There is clearly intent behind the ugliness. The stripped-back sound reflects an equally stripped-back view of a country, and a wider world, apparently collapsing under politics, social media, war and its own general stupidity. The album does not polish that frustration into neat choruses or comfortable conclusions. It throws it at the listener in awkward, repetitive fragments and expects you to deal with it.
Occasionally, that approach works. “Gina Was” is the strongest moment on the record, largely because it allows something more vulnerable to appear beneath Williamson’s permanently irritated exterior. For once, the anger does not feel like a performance or a collection of targets waiting to be attacked. It feels personal, uneasy and human.
The collaborations also give the album some much-needed variation. Gwendoline Christie and Big Special help turn “The Good Life” into something theatrical and confrontational, while tracks such as “No Touch” and “Kill List” briefly interrupt the feeling that one man has trapped you in a room with an electronic loop and a long list of grievances.
Andrew Fearn’s production is more varied than it first appears. Beneath the deliberately basic surface are touches of industrial electronics, hip-hop, post-punk and occasional melody. The beats can be stark and effective, but they can also feel like unfinished demos repeating underneath Williamson until somebody remembers to switch the machine off.
That is where the album becomes difficult. Its refusal to behave like a conventional rock record is admirable, but being unconventional does not automatically make everything compelling. Too often, The Demise of Planet X feels caught between several identities without fully committing to any of them. Is it punk, electronic music, spoken-word social commentary, satire or deliberately awkward performance art?
The probable answer is all of those things. Unfortunately, knowing that does not necessarily make it more enjoyable.
There are funny lines, interesting production decisions and flashes of genuine personality throughout the album. There are also long stretches where the irritation outweighs the entertainment. Williamson’s delivery is so dominant that if you are not already invested in his particular style, very little space remains to connect with the music on another level.
This is plainly not an album designed to please everybody, and longtime Sleaford Mods listeners may regard that as one of its strengths. The duo are not sanding off their edges, chasing radio play or pretending to be more accessible than they are. It is difficult not to respect that commitment, even while wondering why you are still listening.
The Demise of Planet X produced a few moments worth hearing and “Gina Was” is genuinely good, but it is not a record I will be buying. It is too abrasive to relax with, too repetitive to become completely absorbed in and too uncertain of its own musical shape to demand regular revisits.
Perhaps that confusion is the entire point. Sleaford Mods appear to be documenting a world that no longer makes much sense by making an album that does not always make much sense either. As an artistic statement, that has value. As something to put on for enjoyment, it is a much harder sell.
Imminent Infinity verdict: Irritating, baffling and occasionally very entertaining. The Demise of Planet X contains flashes of humour, anger and genuine vulnerability, but appreciating what Sleaford Mods are doing is considerably easier than wanting to hear it again.
5/10
