‘Being annoying is worse than being evil’: the high-octane, low-culture genius of indie duo Getdown Services | music

IIt’s a Saturday night in Camden, London, and Getdown Services fans are sipping a beer before “Britain’s best band” plays one of their final gigs of the year. The Electric Dance Floor is seeing a lot of activity, even though this is the second show here in a month. There’s no shortage of twenty-somethings with shaggy hairstyles to explain why the duo lives up to their mantra. “It’s fun, which is what we need right now – life is bleak,” Dulce says. Her friend Lottie adds: “They are socially conscious.” “Although they are They’re so ridiculous, they’re being punished.

Over the pub, Dylan, 22, says he finds Getdown Services and their genre-neutral beats empowering: “They’re a laptop garage band who enjoy doing what they love, and seeing that makes me want to do what I love too.” His friend James, 29, has returned for a recurring performance. “I came to another Getdown Services show feeling happier than I did at Oasis,” he says.

Move over the Gallaghers: Ben Sadler and Josh Law take to the stage for Status Quo’s What You Want and immediately start the high-octane audience reaction. Everyone on the balcony who has been given the guest list for tonight is collectively pointed out and told to “go away”; The pair stomp wide-legged like sumo wrestlers, raise roars and occasionally shred the guitar. It’s part chaotic aerobics video, part Butlin’s game show – and although grim, it’s also a satire of crassness. “This is what my fat body looks like!” Sadler shouts as he takes off his shirt to jubilant cheers. “This is not LadBible!” Law shouts.

Back in Bristol, where they are based, Getdown Services are heroes of their home city. Once they enter a bar, they are asked to take a photo. They’ve had a huge number in 2025: 130 gigs, two sold-out UK tours, closed festival stages, over half a million monthly listeners on Spotify and, surprisingly for a band with song titles like Vomit and Piss and Shit, a red carpet shout-out from Hollywood superstar Walton Goggins. “He’s doing PR for us!” Sadler scoffs, though it’s clear they still command attention. “I think we’re bigger than we thought,” Lu says.

The origin of the band was an “accident”. As childhood friends who met at school in Minehead, Law and Sadler, both now 31, have been tinkering with various musical projects over the years. But when they started brainstorming ideas during lockdown while living in different cities, their subconscious approach to sound and subject matter caught on: the association of pop culture lyrics, chaotic electro house grooves, and lyrics about snacks and skid marks. “It feels really liberating to talk about this stuff,” Law says of their more profane lyrics.

Crisps debuted 2023’s debut album — its title track is a rambling, anti-rock star anthem that begins with “I’ve got a choccy in my pocket” — and then a succession of EPs, including Primordial Slot Machine and last year’s Crumbs 2. “Low hanging fruit” like pop troubadour James Bay and Jamie Oliver’s 15-minute meals gets ribbed – “being annoying is worse than being annoying.” “Being punk,” Lou says, but these observations are usually a front for social commentary, expressing small-town frustrations and embracing anti-toxic masculinity in all its belly-shaking chaos: “Wake up, my first thought is, I hope I don’t piss myself today,” goes Drifting Away.

Their music shares the same stream-of-consciousness DNA as many of the post-punk trends that have emerged in recent years – Fat Dog, Yard Act, Big Special – but their songs are more of a supermarket sweep via ’00s indie disco, especially the staccato electro of Daft Punk and Justice. “I really like that compressed sound; they transform the idea into something really pure,” Sadler says. “I think that’s in our music a lot. We’re compared to the Streets and Sleaford Mods, and I love that stuff, but the stuff we’re really stealing seems to fall under the radar.”

If there is a shared vision, it is that “there is a real willingness to fight with each other,” says Lu. Their influences include the television shows Bottom, Alan Partridge and Phoenix Nights; In fact, it’s easy to imagine Peter Kay delivering lines like the ones in “Caesar”: “I don’t care if you’re working class / You’re a dumbass / You don’t care about music / You just like pants.” But Getdown Services stresses that they are not a double act like Tenacious D; They’re a band that happens to be funny. “As soon as someone says, ‘It’s a comedy,’ the joke is gone,” Sadler says.

In addition, there is a lot to be serious about. In August, they criticized Victorious Festival for censoring another pro-Palestine band’s protest (Getdown donated their playing fees for the same festival to charity) and denounced transphobia on social media. “A lot of people see two white guys with no shirts on, screaming and cursing, and maybe they think we agree with that [macho behaviour]“And it’s good to remind people that we’re not on that side,” Sadler says.

As for 2026, a second album is in the works, and while big labels are knocking on their doors, they’re happy with independent Bristol label Breakfast Records. What about this logo? They say it started as a joke, but now they own it. “At first, we were barely just a band, and now I think we might be,” says Law We are Best band in Britain.”