Sleaford Mods – The Demise of Planet X
There’s a peculiar kind of prophecy that runs through Sleaford Mods’ catalogue. Since their 2013 breakthrough, “Austerity Dogs,’ Jason Williamson and Andrew Fearn have been documenting Britain’s slow-motion collapse with the precision of forensic accountants and the eloquence of drunken philosophers. On their thirteenth studio album, they’re no longer predicting disaster – they’re surveying the wreckage.
“The Demise of Planet X” arrives nearly three years after the bruising “UK Grim,” and in that time, Britain has somehow managed to get worse. War, incipient fascism, the lingering psychological fallout of COVID, and social media’s mutation into what Williamson calls ‘a grotesque, twisted form of digital engineering.’ Where do you even begin? The duo’s answer: You don’t look away. You document everything.
The album opens with “The Good Life,” arguably the most startling track Sleaford Mods have ever recorded. Actress Gwendoline Christie’s unhinged laugh cuts through before Birmingham soul-punks Big Special deliver a surprisingly warm chorus. It’s a three-character psychodrama playing out within Williamson’s psyche, dissecting his compulsion to slag everything off – a meditation on rage born from therapy sessions. Think of it as The Streets’ “Dry Your Eyes” if Mike Skinner had been wrestling with his inner demons rather than a breakup, and you’ll have some sense of the emotional territory being excavated.
Musically, this is by far the duo’s most adventurous work. Fearn, stepping up as co-producer, has expanded his palette considerably. “Bad Santa” throbs with Massive Attack-style menace, all brooding trip-hop and kung-fu B-movie atmosphere. “No Touch,” featuring the legendary Sue Tompkins of Life Without Buildings, crackles with garage-tinged dance rock energy, her voice recorded while she had a cold, which somehow only adds to the track’s dishevelled charm. The title track samples “The Magic Roundabout theme tune”, twisting childhood nostalgia into something genuinely unsettling.
The collaborations throughout feel less like star cameos and more like gatherings of outsider kindred spirits. Aldous Harding brings her ethereal presence to “Elitest G.O.A.T,” creating a bizarre but beautiful contrast with Williamson’s trademark bark. Nottingham rapper Snowy tears through “Kill List” with apocalyptic imagery, while Liam Bailey’s soulful vocals lift “Flood the Zone” out of its atmospheric dread.
Yet for all its sonic expansion, “The Demise of Planet X” finds its greatest power in vulnerability. “Gina Was” addresses a humiliating childhood incident with raw honesty – the harrowing confession of someone finally confronting old wounds. “The Unwrap” closes the album with Williamson trapped in a consumer cul-de-sac, admitting that scrolling through second-hand clothes on Vinted is his happy place while World War III rages around him. ‘What the fuck are you supposed to do?’ he asks. It’s not rhetorical.
There are moments where the familiar formula reasserts itself – “Don Draper” and “Megaton” deliver the expected word-collage rants over pummeling beats. Some critics might argue that the duo is covering similar ground. But thirteen albums in, Sleaford Mods have earned comparison to The Fall: always different, always the same. Their revolutionary template was there from day one; each subsequent evolution only deepens the commitment.
The production, partly recorded at Abbey Road Studios, sounds both in-your-face and strangely expansive. The sonic palette includes vocoders, wind chimes, and chest-rattling sub-bass – all serving Williamson’s increasingly introspective lyrical concerns. When he confesses, ‘It’s been done to death to the point that even I feel like: same old boring cunt in a band,’ you believe him. And yet the music keeps pushing forward.
“The Demise of Planet X” offers no solutions and no easy release. It simply documents a present condition defined by repetition, consumption, and exhaustion. But within that bleakness, there’s defiant energy – the understanding that rage, properly directed, becomes art. As Williamson puts it on the opener: ‘I’m not punching down, lads, I’m gonna style it out.’ We may be in never-ending decline, but that doesn’t mean you have to take it lying down. (7/10) (Rough Trade Records)
