![]() ![]() ![]() There's been a lot of hype surrounding the plight of Britain's sad young men – today's lad, the imported douchebag frat cuckoo whose sheer steroided bulk is squeezing the archetypes of young, homegrown masculinity that have served us perfectly well down the years – the boy racer, the grebo, the sensitive loner, the wiry, gimlet-eyed estate pyromaniac with the constant unnerving grin and the brothers in the army – out of the social nest.īut what about Britain's sad middle-aged men? What about its geezers? Where are their thinkpieces? It's more that he's a man with a social conscience trapped in a society that hates him. ![]() He never seems to be enjoying himself enough for that. ![]() But for all that it'd be wrong to say that Williamson revels in misanthropy. And yet the Sleaford Mods frontman cares about the country he lives in so dearly he's already written seven albums' worth of elegies to it – tough love laments dedicated to the way we drink, fight, lie, cheat, boast, fuck and fuck each other over today. It's a country that just doesn't seem designed for him any more 40-ish working-class ex-mod, a face that looks built from belly gas and fag ash, too savvy for UKIP and too hard for steroids, too old for lad culture but too young for early nights. "I'm sick of trying to hold it down / I just want to get fucked up all the time / I wanna leave work / go pub / buy drugs / and fucking spit at people"Įngland today must be a lonely place for men like Jason Williamson. ![]()
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