Experts at generating a permeating sense of dread, Working Men’s Club have certainly had an excess of tension and darkness to draw from in the last few years. Covid has been the least of frontman Syd Minsky-Sargeant’s worries, though.
Words: Finlay Holden. Photos: Patrick Gunning.
Todmorden - a market town 17 miles northeast of Manchester and with a population of 15,000 - seems an unlikely place to spawn an electro-slash-punk cult, but this is where Working Men’s Club began and indeed remain. Green hills, small pubs and friendly faces provide distance from music-centric flocks in the bigger cities and have allowed Syd Minsky-Sargeant to focus on his craft without needing to keep one eye over his shoulder.
With a debut record done and dusted to universal acclaim, you might think that his gaze would be cast firmly upwards with wide-eyed ambition – instead, they remain level, meandering through a familiar mental and physical space. “That first record was quite a junior album,” Syd states. “I was 16 or 17 when writing all of those tracks. That’s not where my head’s at anymore. It definitely felt like taking a step forward with this album, otherwise there wouldn’t be much point in making another one. These first two albums for me are kind of youthful in two separate ways, but they’re different albums – completely different.”
They may be different albums, but a key similarity is a deeply individual imprint the songwriter chooses to stamp into his creative output. “Our music is always a personal documentation,” he offers. “The strongest songs come from me being genuine and not even trying to put myself in someone else’s brain. I don’t think I can perceive other perspectives as authentically and shape the thoughts into music in the same way.”