I Tagged Along as Sleaford Mods Delivered Their New EP to People's Houses

Few British groups have managed to syphon as much inspiration from staring into the giant toilet bowl of modern life than Sleaford Mods. The Nottingham duo excel at capturing the minutiae, banality, dread, toxicity and awfulness of life, then sync it to a grinding beat that twitches between gristly post-punk and electronic-leaning hip-hop. Take their last album, 2017’s English Tapas, with its references to Boris Johnson’s “Mop Top”, the decline of BHS and the 80s rave generation’s comedown.

Earlier this year they released self-titled EP Sleaford Mods, which, among other things, winds its way through social media and the way people can attack each other from behind faceless avatars. Take latest single “Stick In A Five And Go” where lyricist and singer Jason Williamson tells the story of tracking down an online Twitter troll and paying him a visit. “Hello, is that Mr. Twitter–I-I mean Mr. Trees?” “Yeah, who's that?” “It's the postman / I've got a big package for ya”

To coincide with the release of the tune and the EP it’s on, the band have decided to hand-deliver some records. Three fans are expecting us – picked randomly as competition winners – while a couple are due a surprise. Jason and his manager Steve brought me along for the door-knocking ride.

We’re at Jason’s house in Nottingham and he’s boiling himself a couple of morning eggs as we talk about the potential of a Jed Maxwell and Alan Partridge-like situation of being lured to a crazed super fan’s house. “Fucking hell, imagine that.” he ponders with a deeply furrowed brow.

We squeeze into the front of a borrowed van and hit the road. Steve finds a sticker in the back that his mate made to plaster over Conservative candidate posters that reads ‘Tory Twat’, which is placed up front in the windshield. As Jason scrolls through his phone he becomes somewhat incredulous at the emails that keeping pouring in, “happy release day?! What does that even mean? Fuck off!” he shouts. That said he seems happier when comedian Stewart Lee pops into his inbox to express a liking for the EP.

As someone who is admittedly easily wound up, Jason is trying to avoid interaction with people on the internet at the moment. “It was getting too much,” he tells me. “I was arguing and being negative and being a bit of cunt. If you're like that online then that's all you get back as well.” As the band’s profile has risen, combined with the antagonistic, argumentative and general troll-like behaviours that are on the rise on social media platforms, Jason has found he’s fighting off a lot more people than before. “They are usually just trying to get a rise,” he says. “But god it works sometimes. Just someone saying, ‘it's over lads’ and being told your single is shit. You start thinking, is it shit? Did we release something shit? We didn't, it’s just that this geezer is a cunt. It's almost like you’re a punch bag for people.”

So there’s never been the temptation to go and visit a troll like in the song? “A DJ friend of mine used to do it,” Jason says. “If anybody slagged him off he'd go around their house and be like 'what are you fucking saying about me?' and it would cut the problem dead. But I couldn't do it, my wife would leave me.”

We pull up to the first house in Nottingham, a surprise visit, but nobody is home. Same for the second. “Normal people are out working, aren’t they?” Jason says. “Not pissing about in vans with records.” As we arrive closer to the first house that is expecting us in Caunton and we conjure up horror stories about being murdered by an enemy posing as a fan, I ask Jason if he’s had any bad fan encounters. “One sent me a picture in the post,” he recalls. “It was of a giant used razor blade with blood on it – framed – which came with a DVD of Watership Down. I remember opening it and just being like, ‘what the fuck is that?’” He still looks puzzled thinking about it today.

He recalls another one. “Somebody put a demo through the door with strict instructions for me to personally deliver it to Iggy Pop [a big fan of Sleaford Mods]. I put that in the bin; really wound me up that did.” All things considered though, Steve and Jason say that Sleaford Mods fans are generally sound, despite bickering with each other. “We have two fan clubs but they keep falling out, don't they?” Jason says. “They're split into more groups than ISIS” replies Steve.

We arrive at Nina’s house and she kindly invites us in for coffee. Sleaford Mods posters hang on the kitchen wall but there’s no abduction lined up for us. Jason signs records, books and t-shirts and we move on to Lincoln.

“A total fucking gammon town,” according to Jason. “We did a gig here in this cellar and they oversold it. If there was a fire there would have been fatalities. The stage was just pallets and the gig got stopped about three times before being pulled halfway through. There were fights, the promoter looked like Nikki Sixx and was pissed when we got there. It wasn't good.”

We arrive at Alex’s house and after some more autographs it’s a quick in and out after being stuck in traffic. We stop for lunch, eating horrible packaged sandwiches and salads from a petrol station. Staying healthy on the road can be tricky and quitting booze and drugs has been a much-needed balance for Jason.

“It had to happen,” he says. “Towards the end it was getting quite hardcore because you couldn't trust yourself. You'd end up buying loads of gear and having no sleep and then going to do a gig people have paid good money for.” Shortly after, he begins to think about our next visit. “What if we turn up and there's a table full of cans and fat lines of speed?”

On the way to Sheffield we enter a band-kicking session as Jason talks about modern groups he hates. The three of us unite in a dislike for Slaves, Blossoms and Cabbage but we’re split on Idles who I think are great but Steve and Jason aren’t buying at all. They then tell me about unusual Sleaford Mods fans like Boy George and the country singer Keith Urban. “There was that fella from Right Said Fred at one point but then he got proper Brexit,” recalls Jason. “I had to unfollow him.”

We pull up to Sheffield and Paul invites us in, offering various drinks, biscuits, even asking if we want a Domino's ordering or if we would like the heating turning down. He’s sweet and clearly very excited. “This is so surreal,” he keeps saying, as we sit down with his dog, Rocky. Paul is beaming and clearly thrilled to have such an experience. It also seems to be a refreshing change for Jason too. “It's a nice reminder when you meet people in person that not everyone is a cunt like it can seem online.”

As we part ways, Jason apologies for what he wrongly assumes must have been a boring day, driving around in a van for hours listening to him grumble about the industry, other bands and online trolls. “I mean fucking hell, I bet you wish this was a bit more Happy Mondays, don’t you? We’re a bit more… miserable Wednesdays.”

You can find Daniel on Twitter.