Sam Fender  - People Watching

Sam Fender has had a hell of a few years. Granted, with the release of his 2019 debut ‘Hypersonic Missiles’, he rocketed to the top of the charts, but the fervour that would unfold in the wake of its follow-up, 2021’s ‘Seventeen Going Under’ was still hard to comprehend. Graduating rapidly to festival headliner, and bagging a slew of awards along the way, his step up to a bonafide stadium artist has been swift.


It’s little surprise as to why; on ‘Seventeen Going Under’ the North Shields songsmith penned a series of powerful, poignant offerings that dug deep into the heart of working class struggle, with the kind of consideration and compassion that only can only ever come via real life experience. It was stunning in its sentiments, and along with some perfectly-plotted meme moments along the way (his hungover appearance on BBC Breakfast still does the rounds now), his reputation as the ultimate man of the people was solidified. 

That’s why his next step is all the more interesting. With a handful of stadiums already booked and on their way to selling out (this year will mark his third, fourth and fifth time filling his beloved St. James’ Park), it’d be easy to imagine Sam busting out ten ready-made bangers for this third record, but what he does instead is so much more satisfying. While led by its storming - but no less devastating - lead single ‘People Watching’ (its chorus’ anthemic refrain of “Somebody’s darling’s on the street tonight” is up there with ‘Dead Boys’ and ‘Spit Of You’ in terms of a lyrical trojan horse), the album is, on the whole, much more sedate than its predecessor.

Unafraid of delving into both the personal and political - and, at times, where the two very much intertwine - ‘People Watching’ is an album that burrows under the skin of current society and refuses to dress up its stark reality. Take ‘Chin Up’’s tale of the current cost of living crisis (“The cold permeates the neonatal baby / Can’t heat the place for fucking love nor money”) or the disastrous impact of privatisation and capitalism explored in ‘Crumbling Empire’ (“My old man worked on the rail yard / Getting his trade on the electrical board / It got privatised, the work degraded / In this crumbling empire”); these songs paint a vivid and all too real picture of society in disarray.

But in among these portraits of the “marred streets”, there’s also a glimpse into the mind of our narrator: a young man struggling to find his place in this new version of his world. The twinkling ‘Wild Long Lie’ - a song that will seems all too familiar for any expats heading back to their hometown at Christmas - showcases this best, with Sam’s quiet realisation of “I think I need to leave this town” perhaps optimising the feelings of displacement that fame can so swiftly bestow.

Unsurprisingly, for an album that feels so intimate, its music follows suit. Having worked with The War On Drugs’ Adam Granduciel, there’s an almost filmic quality to these tracks (especially in the widescreen, Joni Mitchell-nodding closer ‘Remember My Name’), matching the observational nature of their lyrics. Less adrenaline-fuelled than some of his previous work, it’s also easy to sense the fingerprints of his own musical hero here too; while ‘Seventeen…’ could mirror Springsteen’s 1975 break-out ‘Born To Run’, this feels closer to the darker, more meditative moments of ‘Darkness On The Edge Of Town’.

Is this the album that people are expecting? Probably not, but that doesn’t matter. Instead, ‘People Watching’ is a bleak but astonishing rumination on our current times, viewed through the lens of Sam’s whirlwind past few years - an album that undoubtedly firms up his position as one of the great songwriters of our time.