Gig review: Sleaford Mods, Powerstation, Auckland

The Sleaford Mods. Photo / Getty Images

If you've ever wondered about how Iggy Pop can repeatedly claim a delightfully dour, middle-aged, East Midlands duo, who don't even have a guitar or a drum kit in sight, are the greatest rock'n'roll band in the world, a sold-out Powerstation provided the answer on Friday night.

Beginning with The Committee and passing through a slew of alt classics including Jobseeker, TCR, Kebab Spider, Just Like We Do and Stick In A Five And Go, Jason Williamson & Andrew Fearn overcame a little initial awkwardness to deliver an absolute stunner of a show that clocked in over 90 minutes with no tired encore theatrics.

Andrew whose wiry, bass led grooves underpin everything, simply presses the necessary keys to start and end the songs and then does no more than sway along, with no pretence or affectation.

Meanwhile, Jason is going off like bonfire night - pulling faces and animated dance moves last seen in a 1980s RSA, manhandling the mic stand in a manner that would do the King proud and generally achieving a rare balance between being thoroughly entertaining and frighteningly caustic.

Both elements were in full effect when he asked the crowd mid-show if they were "looking forward to the Corona?" Presumably those who responded in the affirmative would have cheered anything by that stage.

Moving swiftly along, he gave some solid hand-washing advice and continued piling through a set that felt breathless and at times momentous.

While Williamson slots easily into a lineage that includes the likes of John Cooper Clarke and Mark E. Smith, his take is a unique one, manufacturing exquisite eloquence and pithy poetics out of blighted Brexit landscapes and England's dismal dreaming.

Songs like McFlurry, from Austerity Dogs, and the buzzsaw blitz of Flipside, from last year's Eton Alive, overflow with vivid imagery, encompassing sharp, shouty polemics and plenty of Williamson's scatalogical humour.

In this impressive company Fearn's rugged loops are often overlooked, yet they never fall short and seemed to grow in strength as the night wore on. His understated stage demeanour is a crafty disguise for some crucial talent.

That the dancefloor was still filled, even after the lights had come up and the late Andrew Weatherall's mix of Primal Scream's Come Together played is a testament to the passion and energy, given and taken.

This was a night when Auckland's water crisis could have been helped by the gallons of sweat given up for a duo who are currently doing their uppermost to feel like the only band that matters.