Sam Fender – ‘People Watching’ album review

It is notable that Fender did not do interviews for this release, had a major gap where he didn’t play live, and didn’t release any new singles like many do to keep their name hyped. In this chapter, Fender made a distinct and notable move to stay in his bubble, stay focused on his vision, and not allow himself to be overwhelmed by outside voices or expectations.  

And that bubble is undeniably the North East. On People Watching, with its artwork honouring Tish Murtha, the late photographer from Fender’s hometown who dedicated her career to capturing the exact scenes that Fender does in a lyrical sense, this cycle’s messaging allows for no mistakes to be made or no message to be taken off post. This is an album about the trials of working-class life, generational trauma that stems from its scenes and, notably, the strange role that Fender has taken on as its mouthpiece and the pressure and oddness that comes along with it.

‘TV Dinner’ is perhaps the most staggering depiction of all of this. While ‘People Watching’ turns the issues of funding-starved services into a stadium-ready anthem, Fender drops his role as a rockstar for a moment to pick it apart. Dealing with the position he finds himself in, with so much he wants to say about the world around him, about the scenes of his youth, about the treatment of people, it also tackles his role as the person burdened with saying it, referencing Amy Winehouse and the history of artists fatally overwhelmed. “They reared me as a class clown / Grass-fed little cash cow,” he spits, playing on the phrase ‘class clown’ with the way the industry depicts him as their favourite little funny working-class boy, before staring down the barrel and saying, “you’ll sell me, you’ll kill me.” 

That’s the sort of track people miss when they try to pocket Fender off as an indie act or Bruce Springsteen II. They miss the bravery and the singularity of his work. They miss how essential his voice feels right now as a star that has proved again and again his ability to reach huge stages with distinctly political songs with strong messages, sung out by, crucially, a North East accent as Fender’s success is a battle cry out of an area historically smothered as the arts struggle to survive under generational cuts and crushes. 

At the very end, ‘Remember My Name’ does it best, accompanied by Easington Colliery Band—it’s a song that is almost impossible to summarise the value it holds adequately. It’s a song worthy of becoming a timeless anthem for the normal people and small lives who make our communities and our nations but are too often forgotten. Managing to get the lyric “To them it’s a council house, to me it’s a home” played out on the radio waves in a love song at a time of increasing ignorance towards people seeking financial support is an important move.

People Watching is an album that does it all, showing each and every corner of Fender’s talent and ability, but especially shining a clear light on his unrivalled knack for boiling down huge topics into deeply personal, human stories.

For fans of: Classic rock, Blackpool rock, plodging around a North Shields rockpool.

A concluding comment on behalf of the whole of the northeast (or at least 90%): That’s our boy. 

People Watching track by track:

Release date: 21st February 2025 | Producer: Sam Fender, Dean Thompson, Joe Atkinson, Markus Dravs and Adam Granduciel | Label: Polydor

‘People Watching’: The opening and title track for this new era more than lives up to its role. A thundering rock tune more than worthy of Fender’s ever-present Springsteen associations, his ability to tackle major social issues and make them anthemic is on display at its finest right here. [4.5/5]

‘Nostalgia’s Lie’: Continuing to drop the indie elements in favour of true classic rock sounds, he borrows from the sounds of past legends like Tom Petty to soundtrack a song about yearning for ‘the good old days’ that never really existed. [4/5]

‘Chin Up’: Perhaps the clearest consideration of the context that led to an album like this, Fender introspects on the weird in-between of high and low, fame and goals, notoriety and disconnection. Acknowledging his role as a strange narrator now to these scenes he grew up in, the central lyric of “chin up” is far more a message for himself than for his listeners. [4/5]

‘Wild Long Lie’: Musically, this is the closest same comes to his previous era, borrowing the kind of jangling guitars that powered ‘Spit Of Me’ as if this track serves as part two as he returns to a contemplation of the people he holds closest and how they perhaps reflect in some of the darkest parts of himself. [4/5]

‘Arm’s Length’: An undeniable highlight of not only the record but Fender’s career so far. A perfect tune that so clearly hasn’t been overdone or overthought as it exists as a slice of catchy perfection with that central lyrics, “Do you have to know me, know me inside out, to have a good time?” going around and round in my head since its release. [4.5/5]

‘Crumbling Empire’: There are people who scoff at the Springsteen association with Fender, but it’s there in each and every album; it’s there. It’s evident here that the musician melds a Springsteen-esque character exploration of the sights and figures of small-town life into one opus song, using bird’s-eye view moments of their lives to highlight big social issues. [4/5]

‘Little Bit Closer’: Up until this point, the album’s instrumentation largely remains in the same world, but now we get a shake-up. ‘Little Bit Closer’ is bigger and cinematic as his full backing band, including Brooke Bentham’s gorgeous vocals, join in with the force of an orchestra behind it, as well as some big guitar moments where the War On Drugs input shines through. [4/5]

‘Rein Me In’: Similar to ‘Pretending That You’re Dead’, Fender continues his ability to write about love and relationships through a unique side door. Running from memories, he sings, “All my memories of you ring like tinnitus / If I stop it’s just pain,” as a perfect example of his cliche-defying look into the feeling that dominates that realm. [4/5]

‘TV Dinner’: Following on from ‘White Privilege’ and ‘Aye’, Fender continues his tradition of pointing the finger straight for a second with a track that’s more like a poem or an impassioned speech. This time he focuses on his role as a person with a platform, stating more than singing, “The chip on shoulder pulsates / My hatred it mutates / Posh cunt had me irate / Said, ‘we’re all the same’”. [5/5]

‘Something Heavy’: There’s something Bob Dylan-esque here as poetic, deeply storytelling verses falling in and out of a simple, effective central chorus line. Similar to the ‘60s star’s ability to not compromise artistic worth to make something work, Fender has it too. [4/5]

‘Remember My Name’: I don’t even know how to summarise this song. Within seconds, it gives me chills as Fender sings out with his chest, giving it every ounce of his care and effort as he delivers what genuinely feels like a national anthem for normal life. Dedicated to his Grandparents who lived up in the North East, turning run-down houses into homes, it makes me think of my own who did the same, as if he’s written a legacy for mine right alongside his. It’s so special, thank you, Sam. [5/5]

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