Sleaford Mods: Jason Williamson on Fontaines DC, performative activism, and watching Homes Of The Year
Andrew Fearn and Jason Williamson of Sleaford Mods. Picture: Nick Waplington
Behind the head of Sleaford Mods’ Jason Williamson on Zoom is a framed print of Chinese Girl by Vladimir Tretchikoff. The image commonly known as was a big seller at Woolworths in the 1970s and adorned the walls of countless living rooms in the UK during the 1970s.
It serves as a fitting reminder of where the Linconshire lyricist comes from and of the everyday lives that continue to fuel his punk poetry and work ethic.
More surprisingly, one of his favourite ways to start the day is viewing the Irish TV show, “It was something my wife watched initially, and I would join her in the morning on the sofa,” he says of the programme presented by the late Hugh Wallace that was originally produced for RTÉ.
“It’s really soothing and virtuous, so to speak. It’s not edgy, it’s just life. The way they communicated with each other was quite funny. I'm not an interiors person at all but after a while you get a taste for it.”
This scene of domestic family life contrasts with the raw energy the 55-year-old brings to his music and stage persona. It reveals a man increasingly inclined towards reflection rather than confrontation.
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Growing up in Britain during the late 1980s and early ’90s, musical leanings often came with unspoken rules, particularly in working-class communities. Subcultures were rigidly defined: indie or metal, casual culture or alternative, acid house or guitar bands. Liking Guns N’ Roses and The Stone Roses at the same time was discouraged.
Williamson, however, was drawn to the swagger, style and attitude of the two bands. “I struggled with it for a long time trying to mix the aesthetics of both things. It’s a constant course of inspiration, how far you can take it. Both are very different, but when done properly, I can’t see the difference.”
His stage persona and performance draws on influences ranging from 1970s comedians and silent film star Harold Lloyd to early Axl Rose.
“Those early years of Guns N’ Roses, and footage from Live at the Ritz in 1988; that’s peak hard rock. If anyone wants to know how to do a band properly, that is where you go. That gig is the pinnacle of Guns N’ Roses’ aesthetic. Things change, and music today, commercial rock, hardcore, is a lot softer."
There is something of that Axl strut in Williamson’s entrance during the band’s video for 2025 single where he holds the microphone stand out in front of him. Taken from most recent album the video and track feature actress Gwendoline Christie and musical duo Big Special.
“It took about two years to write that song. I had the loop that Andrew [Fearn, the other half of Sleaford Mods] had sent me. I became more convinced it was a really good idea and started cultivating the melody; it reminded me of something poppy and mainstream almost, so I just kept listening to it.”
The collaborative spirit on the record grew from a sense that certain tracks required outside voices. “We got Big Special into the studio in September 2024, and it was great, but my verses just didn’t work. After a while I returned to it… five or six times. Yes, it was better, but it still needed something else. Around that time I started talking to Gwendoline on Insta… and it came together.”
Christie brings a dark glamour, her laughter opens the track and the album, later followed by Joe Hicklin’s eerie delivery of the line “I can see a phantom”.
"It's quite big,” adds Williamson, “it's bizarre almost like a musical or something.” Another departure comes with featuring New Zealand folk singer Aldous Harding. “I sent that song to Andrew via a crude acoustic recording,” he explains. “The melody became a northern soul and ska type number which was quite surprising.”
The accompanying video also continues the horror aesthetic with a vampire theme, tied to Williamson’s reflections on performative activism. "The song talks about that performative thing with what is going on in Gaza where people are waving flags about pointing at anyone else that isn't, and that's not helping at all; it's just causing more and more separatism in a way,” he explains.
The vampire theme draws inspiration from Mark Fisher's critique of the left, “The castle is the top tier of leftist activism and everyone beneath is their familiars, abiding by what they say and think, and who to attack. They are kind of just feeding off each other, I thought that was interesting to put in the song."
Would he consider bringing in more guitar in future? “Yeah, I would if it felt right for the song. The type of stuff on Demise we would never have dreamed of doing years ago, collaborations aside, just some of the sounds like on Never say never but it’s got to be right. It could happen, but you can’t just put it in there for the sake of it. If there’s space in the song and it’s screaming for it, you do it.”
Visual presentation remains central to the band’s identity. The album is accompanied by five promotional videos, continuing a tradition that extends beyond the stage. That visual confidence also helped prepare Williamson for acting roles, including a cameo in the sixth season of in 2022, and a recent role in rave-era thriller produced by Portishead’s Geoff Barrow.
“Acting was something I was doing before music, trying to get into it to no avail; it was always something I wanted to do when the band took off, so I started to take advantage of that platform and got into a few roles. I spoke directly with Cillian Murphy and he gave me a small bit in Peaky Blinders.”
Sleaford Mods also share common ground with several Irish acts working in a similar political and cultural space. “I like Fontaines, I went to see them in Nottingham Ice Arena; they were really good,” says Williamson.
“Kneecap is a younger sound which is not for me necessarily, although obviously I can connect with the sort of anger and commentary a little bit, I suppose. I like the way they rap as well, and it’s completely not glamorous," he laughs. "It reminds me of stuff we do a little bit. Lankum are really good. There’s a lot of good stuff coming out.”
Williamson is careful about overt political references, ensuring his persona remains sharp without turning into cliché. As critical of the right as he is of the left in Britain, more subtle observation comes through on , the album's closing track. It's almost like a confession where he documents sitting on the couch unwrapping items he's bought online, suggesting he has become just another cog in the system.
“People don’t make a dent in the armour of the echelons of control, it just doesn’t happen," he says. "Even when the evidence is overwhelming with the Epstein files, the P Diddy case and Trump. Nobody gets convicted or pulled in, apart from one or two, like Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell. So what do you do?"
In the case of Williamson, he doesn't take it lying down. Sleaford Mods’ rise was never sudden. From council estates, years lost to depression, drink, and drugs, he devoted himself entirely to music, forgoing family and a conventional existence for much of his life.
in 2014 marked the point where the wider world began to notice. By then, his outsider voice had been forged from experience, anger and humour. Sixteen years later, he's still in the ring, delivering his strongest work yet.
- is out now. Sleaford Mods will perform at 3Olympia, Dublin, February 19; Limelight, Belfast, Feb 20; and Cyprus Avenue, Cork, on Feb 21
