Idles seem more and more relevant every week. Like Sleaford Mods gritty look modern society’s dark underbelly, Idles speak from the streets, they are the kids who never see their parents due to them both holding down two jobs, they are the kids swigging cider in the night time bus shelter, the kids who dropped out of school early, who can’t find a job, who are looking for a way to break their cycle, who wonder what happened to the world that the people on the TV promised them.
As the world seems to fracture and divide along cultural, class and political lines Idles are an angry voice in the crowd, a short, sharp shock message to other disenfranchised and lost souls, a musical punch in the face but also a wake up call and rallying cry. At turns witty and wistful, aggressive and vengeful, it is articulate and blunt, frenzied but concise and always full of bile and darkly poignant observations. Aggressive gutter poetry for a forgotten section of society, adrenaline fuelled street shamans or just ranting lads from the wrong side of the tracks? Whatever it is, the timing is perfect.