There’s a point for me in nearly every Sam Fender song where I squint my eyes and think: What did he just say?
Admittedly, this is part of his appeal. Fender is nothing if not authentic. He writes personal lyrics and music that is equal parts contemplative and dreamy. Part of his musical honesty, then, is singing in his real Geordie accent – native to Newcastle, England.
Like a lot of people, I was first introduced to Fender’s music through his 2021 hit “Seventeen Going Under,” and it was only natural that I would dive headfirst into the rest of his music which I find to be the perfect blend of indie, alternative and rock. His music is like the lyrics of Noah Kahan with the musical stylings of Bruce Springsteen – this is a disservice, though, to the individuality and personality of his music.
While Fender is technically a Millennial, his music is perfectly suited for the cocktail of uncertainty, anger and anxiety that Gen Z is currently experiencing.
His music would be at home in a coming-of-age film, but one that explores the generational malaise and trauma one must process to become an adult.
He wholeheartedly leans into these conversations, using his music as a platform to dismantle societal and systemic inequality like racism, poverty and the impacts of drug use. His music also tackles internal dilemmas like mental health, disillusionment and feelings of panic amidst global crises.
The heavy subject material of his music never feels trivialized, nor does it seem disingenuous. His songs are like having a conversation with a friend, raging against the hurts of the world and wanting them to get better.
In “Crumbling Empire,” he touches on this, singing: “I’m not preaching / I’m just talking.”
All of this to say, I was excited for his third studio album “People Watching.”
Ahead of the album’s debut on Feb. 21, 2025, I was listening to the released single “Arm’s Length” on repeat.
The song is a harmonious blending of bittersweet lyrics with spirited, high-energy music. For a moment, I got so distracted by the rhythm and guitar that I nearly didn’t pick up on the words, singing: “I’m selfish / and I’m lonely/ arm’s length, small talk, and then some company.” And later: “Do you have to know me, know me inside out / to have a good time?”
I wasn’t sure if the rest of the album would be able to capture this strange magic. I can now safely say that “People Watching” is magical from start to finish, a love letter to life while also a reflection on the pain of growing up, broken promises and not always being okay.
Fender opens the album with the title-song “People Watching,” which describes how the singer observes others going through life as he lives his own. In a way, the narrator is deflecting from being seen by seeing others. He may hesitate to self-assess, but his assessments of others are sharp, nuanced and deeply human.
This motif sets up the rest of the album, as Fender goes back to various points in time, recalling things that only make sense in hindsight. In “Nostalgia’s Lie,” he explores the breaking down of his past idealizations of the world, singing: “Down the violet path and the oak tree hollow / spinning and laughing / was it ever what I thought it was?”
The answer to this question is seemingly given in “Wild Long Lie,” which is a six-minute ballad that touches on the colorful characters found in the same part of town.
It reflects on the cyclical culture of the town, feelings of entrapment and an inability to escape mixed with a reverence for the sturdy nature of the town’s inhabitants.
The narrator exists in the gray space between these things, at once seeing through others and yet unable to fully disavow them, singing: “Back to the kitchen / sprawled on the floor / for another wild, long lie.”
Around halfway through the album, the nature of the narrator’s observations switch, and he finally begins sharing about himself. In “Little Bit Closer,” he analyzes the fallout of political and church structures during his adolescence while also seeking connection as a flawed adult. Here, Fender steps into himself and proudly self identifies, singing: “No, I don’t know if I believe in it / but when the rapture comes, if this is a sin / I’ll burn with everybody that I know.”
In the succeeding track, “Rein Me In,” Fender delves further into his own flaws, lamenting lost love because of his own feelings of inadequacy and distance.
It is here, in this junction between external and internal, that “People Watching” shines. In these points of connection, Fender expertly demonstrates how the events out of our control later affect us.
We are products of our environment, but Fender argues that this shouldn’t be worn with shame. Rather, in accepting the larger events that have shaped us, we become more able to do better in the future.
This doesn’t even have to be on a national or global scale. Success in spite of the hardships faced can be as simple as doing better for your children and your community. He demonstrates his ability to do this with his platform, singing in “TV Dinner” about the abuses of the music industry.
Still, in the midst of these dark events, these are not lives devoid of happiness or hope.
The second to last song, “Something Heavy,” celebrates the joy of being known, singing: “So many good people falling victim to the dog / so call me if you’re down, I’ll help you come around / the kettle on a rolling boil until it’s sorted out.”
Rest assured, even if life isn’t figured out, this album is, and its meditations on life are well-delivered. “People Watching” is a promise that life goes on and that life doesn’t go unnoticed. Just as you look for others; they look for you too.