The gifted songwriting of Sam Fender has long enriched the UK indie music scene, and his influence continues to flourish. The Geordie guitar hero is a true musical talent, effortlessly crafting a catalogue stacked with soul crushers and soaring festival anthems since his breakaway single Hypersonic Missiles six years ago. The addition of those signature anthemic ‘woah-oh-ohs’ in Seventeen Going Under two years later propelled his meteoric rise and dominated the summer for the following four years. Sam’s newest addition to his discography is a considerate and cohesive collection of material, showcasing his musical evolution whilst maintaining his trademark songwriting brilliance. The third project adapts and reimagines the strengths of his past work and delivers instrumentals that feel both familiar and refreshingly innovative.
The record opens with the title track, People Watching, continuing the approach of naming both the album and lead single alike. Its intro is sure to draw you in, with punchy guitar riffs effortlessly intertwining with ease; a singalong anthem has just been born. It’s arguably one of Fender’s finest pieces to date, and it’s impossible to not feel the urge to belt out the chorus at full volume: “I people watch on the way back home!” It’s just waiting to be played on the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury. Lyrically, the tune is masterful in storytelling, capturing the raw emotion and heartbreak of witnessing a loved one slowly fade away, quite the contrast from the punchy soundscape. It serves as a striking reminder of his ability to blend power and beauty into his music. When he performed it to a sold-out O2 Arena last December, the song was embraced like a cherished Fender classic; it’s almost addictive. As the opening number, it sets an exciting precedent for the 11-track journey ahead.
The closing moments of People Watching appear to seamlessly flow into the intro of Nostalgias Lie, setting up a shimmering melody to carry the track forward. It subtly nods to past successes while carving out its own identity, resulting in a pleasantly crafted tune. Sonically, it maintains the feeling of watching the sunset on the beach, or going for an early morning run, while lyrically, it explores the distortion of misremembered moments and their impact on the present. It’s followed by Chin Up, which injects a fresh surge of energy whilst calling listeners to action. The number boasts festival-ready crescendos with a fresh Fender twist and introduces a heavier sound to the album with sharper guitar lines that are sublime. It seems quite an incentive, capturing Sam’s battle to stay optimistic through tougher times. It feels like a song that many can resonate with, and its anthemic quality surely makes it a strong contender for a spot on his live setlists.
The album’s second and third releases, Wild Long Lie and Arm’s Length, sit beside each other and show even more promise in an already sincere body of work. Wild Long Lie is an enchanting tune filled with refined instrumentals and lyrics that explore themes of escapism. Many will find its message deeply relatable, speaking to those who feel alienated by their hometowns or believe their dreams extend beyond the places that have confined them for so long. The track is punctuated with a raw yet gorgeous guitar solo, long enough for listeners to reflect on whether their own lives are on the right path. Passionate and full of conviction, it almost feels like a blueprint for seeking happiness. Arm’s length opens with a glimpse into its studio creation, before easing into simple yet effective instrumentals; Fender doesn’t need to show off much to captivate his audience. Sam also performed this song in London back in December, where it received an enthusiastic reception as warm as the response to it after its release last month. It’s masterfully layered throughout, and the inclusion of a harmonica adds a heavenly touch that perfectly complements much of his music.
One of the standout tracks on the album for me is Crumbling Empire, a beautifully composed piece that critiques the obvious problems the world faces, whilst questioning whether Fender should still be considered the voice of the working class: “I’m not preaching, I’m just talking.” As expected, the number serves as a reflection of everyday struggles and injustices faced in the UK. It carries so much life through the album’s midway point and highlights the creative risks Sam has achieved; the slower, intricately layered instrumentals still land with emotional impact. It’s sonically stunning, and a song I’ll never get tired of.
Little Bit Closer bursts to life with familiarity, reminiscent of Alright, except this time it’s driven by a gritty baseline paired alongside a searing harmonica riff that helps amplify its raw passion It leans slightly heavier while remaining smooth & catchy, capturing the harsh reality of having a panic attack. The subtle crescendos mid-track are particularly impressive, and if performed onstage, the song would slot seamlessly into Fender’s crowd-pleasing catalogue of tunes. As always, the beauty of his music lies in those unexpected moments that hit with emotional force. Rein Me In takes a different approach, offering a sunny, rich acoustic instrumentation that allows both the vocals and melody to harmonise beautifully. It continues the streak of musical highs found so often in the record and is an exquisitely crafted, authentic piece.
A Fender record wouldn’t be complete without a dose of political charge, and TV Dinner delivers a striking, cinematic masterpiece that coolly rages at just that. Sam uses layers of droning synths, so rarely explored in his work, to develop tension and unease which is a resounding success. Instead of an expected explosive approach, Fender delivers the lyrics in a measured, almost spoken manner, which of course expresses discomfort with the political agenda. Unlike the chaos of fierce songs like Howdon Aldi Death Queue, the tune unfolds at a steady, controlled pace, weaving between smooth crescendos and moments of restrained relief. It adds a new depth to the song, suggesting Sam may have moved past his previous fiery outrage, and embraced a more reflective stance.
The album nears its conclusion, with Something Heavy serving as the penultimate offering. It begins slower before settling into a steady, enjoyable rhythm. The chorus is memorable and upbeat, though it feels common compared to the more adventurous moments on the record. Despite sounding a bit on the safe side, it’s hardly a cause for concern given the sheer quality spread across the album. Sam reserves his most emotional effort, Remember My Name, to close the record, marking a career-defining moment. Written from the perspective of his late grandfather caring for his wife with dementia, the song weaves together deeply heartfelt lyrics with breathtaking orchestral and brass arrangements: “To them, it’s a council house, to me it’s a home.” It’s both profoundly moving and painfully relatable to many. Fender’s vocals reach a performative climax, perfectly complimented by the swelling of a brass band, making for a closing moment that is sure to leave listeners with goosebumps, in tears, or both. It’s a masterpiece.
People Watching is a bold, instrumentally ambitious offering from Fender, showcasing the confidence of an artist who already knows he has cemented his position as music royalty. Blending his trademark heartland rock grandiosity with sincere, narrative-driven lyricism, the album marks a significant step forward for the Geordie rockstar. Fender’s ability to reflect on his teenage years is where his songwriting truly excels, and if People Watching is any indication, he places himself at the heart of his music with a much-needed sense of vulnerability.
