Sam Fender doesn't want to be your working-class hero

The Age

4 days ago

I've annoyed Sam Fender. I've quoted his own lyrics at him, from TV Dinner, a standout on his new album People Watching – 'Hypothesise a hero's rise and teach them all to then despise/It is our way to make a king, romanticise how they begin/Fetishise their struggling, while all the while they're suffering' – and asked him if he feels his working-class story has been uncomfortably commodified by the industry machine. Suddenly, he's fearing some sort of tabloid ambush.
'I mean… I don't know,' he says. A long silence ensues, then eventually: 'I don't really want to make a f---ing headline about me being like 'oh, I've felt exploited' because I'm happy doing what I'm doing. But I also think… Hang on, give us a second... What's this for anyway? Who do you write for?'
In the UK, Fender has been Britpop's chosen son since 2021, when Seventeen Going Under marked his viral breakthrough. A stirring anthem of proletarian disillusionment, the song recalled Fender's youth growing up below the poverty line in the council estates of North Shields, a shipyard town near Newcastle; it also seethed at the struggle his mum, a nurse forced out of work due to fibromyalgia, endured at the hands of bureaucratic indifference ('I see my mother/The DWP see a number' he sang). It led Fender to a prestigious Ivor Novello win for best song, and album of the year nods in the Mercury Prize and Brit Awards.
This February, he released the long-awaited follow-up People Watching, which added a War On Drugs-esque chug to Fender's signature Bruce Springsteen-via-The Killers sound, thanks to production from Adam Granduciel (a Fender hero), and the skyward trajectory continued.
At home, where he's now the sort of pop star who breaks chart records set by Harry Styles, has Elton John on speed-dial, and can secure celebrities like Andrew Scott and Adolescence star Owen Cooper for his music videos, Fender's also become a de facto spokesman for the working class. In interviews, he gets questions that set him railing against wealth disparity, the left's abandonment of the underclass, and the structures that make a music career inaccessible to anyone not from private-school privilege. He's the sort of pop star who earns glowing write-ups in the NME and the World Socialist Website.
Media have christened him 'Geordie Springsteen', a descriptor both illustrative and pejorative depending on who wields it. If uninvited, it's hard to avoid when your songs feature lines like: 'My old man worked on the rail yard/Betting his trade on the electrical bars/It got privatised, the work degraded/In this crumbling empire' (from People Watching 's Crumbling Empire).
Three albums in, though, it's become a nuisance to his art. It's perhaps understandable then, that when a writer starts whiffing around his politics in an interview, Fender's haunches go up.
Does he get criticism for talking openly about politics? 'I mean, yeah, do you?' Fender replies. Well no, nobody cares about a thing I say, and I have the analytics to prove it.
Has he had bad experiences with the press over it? 'O'course I have, all you've gotta do is Google my name and find all the things that look salacious. I could tick them all off for you,' he says.
Does he feel pressure to be a voice for the working class? Fender laughs heartily and I've set him off.
'No, I don't… Ah f---, I don't know. Sorry, I guess I'm battling with that myself at the moment,' he says. 'People bandy around these f---ing sayings – 'voice of the working class', 'voice of a generation' – I hear this f---ing shit all the time and it's ridiculous. I'm not f---ing Bob Dylan. I'm not Bruce Springsteen. I'm Sam Fender. All I'm doing is me f---ing songs, writing about my lived experience, the people I know and what's going on in me hometown. It's just a couple of good tunes, that's all and nothing more.'
You can sense the frustration of a young artist trapped in a persona foisted upon them. Or, at the very least, the pressure of expectation from a culture craving their next rock 'n' roll saviour. Right now, Fender doesn't want the job.
'Half the songs I've released I can't f---ing stand because I wrote them when I was a kid!' he says. 'They're not 'songs of a generation' and I'm not 'the next Bruce Springsteen'. I'm just a kid – well, a f---ing 31-year-old man – who's writing songs! I just don't feel comfortable when anybody brings in 'working-class hero'. It doesn't have to have that weight. I'm sorry, I'm probably not in the best state to be doing this interview. Probably gonna brutalise us in the print, hey?'
Fender's drinking beers in the back of a pub in North London when we Zoom, enjoying some rare downtime between tours and, significantly, off the back of a jaunt to break America that included a slot at Coachella and high-profile press in publications like the Los Angeles Times ('At home he's a hero. Is America next for Sam Fender?' went that headline).
'I want to break America, who doesn't? That's your f---ing life sorted if it works. But I told my manager we need to make sure we're looking after the territories that have supported us so far,' says Fender, whose arena tour hits Australia in November. 'We'll go to America and we'll lose a lot of money, but Australia is blowing up for us right now so of course we're coming to Australia. That's where the fans are, and it's a big amount of people. It's happening there, so let's go.'
The States should be simple enough, I tell him. Jump on a tour with, say, Zach Bryan, a simpatico heartland rocker, and hit those endless small towns where fans can't help but empathise with Fender's hard-won story. The people will eat it up. Look at me, I add, talking like I know what I'm on about. 'Sure, maybe you should f---ing manage us,' Fender jibes.
In the meantime, he's focused on writing. He's already begun work on album number four, which is, I remind him, traditionally the 'artist's album'. At this point, you take no notes.
'It's funny you say that because I literally said, I am going to make this album and no c---'s gonna f---ing hear it 'til it's done. Once it's done, they can have it and if it sells, it sells. If it doesn't, I don't care.'
Loading
He's torn between two intriguing angles. 'There's some stuff I've been making that's a little more thrashy, a bit more Replacements. And then some stuff that's really stripped back, just pure folk songs. We'll see what happens. But it's going to be a vinyl with 10 f----ing songs on it and if people like it, then that's wonderful and if they don't, then fine. But it will be what I want.'
In the midst of such chaos, this working-class hero has surely earned the right.