From North Shields to National Treasure: Sam Fender is still telling it how it is | Dork
From North Shields to National Treasure: Sam Fender is still telling it how it is
As he prepares to release his third album ‘People Watching’, Sam Fender proves authenticity and ambition can coexist in British rock. For this week's edition of The Agenda, we run back through his previous Dork interviews to tell the full story.
If you'd told us back in 2018, when we first encountered a bright-eyed Sam Fender, that he'd soon be a cornerstone of British rock music, we might have found the prediction both surprising and oddly inevitable. Yet here we are, awaiting 'People Watching', his third album, after watching him emerge from a local pub circuit in North Shields to become a fixture on major festival stages up and down the country. It's the kind of climb that, when you look back, almost seems destined.
Fender's ambition was clear from the start, and it was as unvarnished as the everyday realities surrounding him. Even as a teenager, he was jotting down life as he saw it, trying to capture the mood of a working-class environment that shaped his worldview. "I'm not claiming to be some sort of expert in this stuff," he once told Dork, and it served as a reminder that he never set out to be a spokesperson. His songs were simply his take on a world that could be unforgiving - one in which he'd been bullied, told he didn't fit in and left to figure out how to navigate it all. The idea of fame was both a potential escape hatch and a push towards some kind of validation. If music was an outlet for angst, then the dream of 'making it' was a spark that kept him going.
By 2019, the talk around Fender kicked up a level. That year brought 'Hypersonic Missiles', his debut album, which turned him from an intriguing newcomer into a bona fide contender. Packed with grand choruses and underscored by social commentary, it caught the public's attention precisely because it conveyed working-class grit with no filters. Critics praised it, awards followed, and Fender acknowledged the dual nature of the music business with a dash of resignation: "They'll keep me there as long as it gets them more record sales. But whatever, it's an alright place to be. I get to write songs that I believe in." That was his way of admitting he knew how these industry wheels turned, but also of shrugging off cynicism in favour of doing what he does best: telling stories that feel real.
Success, though, rarely arrives without complications. Fender discovered that having a Number 1 album doesn't automatically soothe your insecurities. "I thought if I became a famous rock star, it would just fix everything. But it didn't fix my imposter syndrome, and it didn't fix the way I felt as a man," he told Dork in 2021. It was a blunt insight into the mental toll of sudden stardom. He'd gone from being a lad gigging in his hometown to a national figure whose off-the-cuff remarks could make headlines. Far from erasing doubts, the attention threw them into sharper relief.
His second record, 'Seventeen Going Under', arrived soon after and provided a deeper look at the tension between outer success and inner uncertainty. Where 'Hypersonic Missiles' had broadcast its themes outward - tackling political neglect and social angst in big anthems - 'Seventeen Going Under' turned the camera inward. "I've got a lot of character traits that I'm not very proud of, and I'm kind of working on it," he admitted. The album portrayed the highs and lows of young adulthood, revealing that the confident veneer of a top pop star often masks a vulnerable truth. His willingness to explore these aspects gave the songs a diary-like honesty. Each track was packed with the unglamorous truths of trying to figure out who you are while the world is watching.
In interviews, Fender sometimes showed frustration with the broader state of the country - a tension that seeped into his music and commentary. At one point, he summed up his exasperation by saying, "I'm just fucking sat here going, well this is ridiculous. The right-wing are just a bunch of racist fucking morons. And the left-wing have sort of discarded the working classes for the culture wars that we're fighting." That unfiltered anger might put off those who expect diplomacy, but it's also part of why people connect with him: it cuts through the facade of bland industry politeness. Fender speaks like someone who's experienced the real-world consequences of political rhetoric, and he's not about to tidy his language if he believes it dilutes the truth.
Such candour, combined with a knack for telling stories about ordinary struggles, often draws comparisons to Bruce Springsteen - they're both rooted in the every day, capturing the hopes and hardships of the people around them. Fender never baulked at the link. "I love him; I just love him," he said of Springsteen, recalling how his older brother introduced him to 'Born to Run'. But he also carved out a distinctly British, distinctly North Shields identity. He's not just rehashing the Boss's blueprint. Instead, he's using that broad template - anthemic rock fused with social reality - to delve into issues specific to his own experiences and generation.
Despite the acclaim, he stayed grounded in what made him. Returning home, he discovered that few people there were starstruck. "Everybody in there still treats me like Sam. They still call me names, slap me with a newspaper, and they'll always do that. It's always gonna be my town, and it's always gonna be my people." That refusal to let him off the hook, to treat him as someone special, kept him level-headed. The stories he'd always told - about local pubs, old friendships, unfiltered banter - remained vital sources of material. It also ensured that, for all the festival headlines and interviews, he never drifted too far from the reality he once longed to escape.
All of that brings us to 'People Watching', his third album. From the outside, it seems like a logical extension of what he's been building. Fender took his time with this one, deliberately sidestepping the pressure to churn out new material at the rapid pace the industry sometimes demands. "I want to do the best I possibly can. I'd rather it be late and great than early and shite," he said, summing up his preference for quality over quick returns. It's a bold stance at a time when artists are expected to stay permanently in the public eye, but rather than releasing half-formed ideas just to keep the momentum going, he's focusing on every note and lyric until it meets his standards. That's the way lasting legacies are made.
The record yet again offers those snapshots of everyday life, much like his earlier work, but with a more expansive sonic backdrop. Collaborating with Adam Granduciel has introduced richer textures, yet nothing suggests he's abandoned the plainspoken urgency that has always driven his music. If anything, the new songs seem likely to delve even deeper into the mix of ambition and insecurity that defined his previous albums. His experiences since 'Seventeen Going Under' - more tours, wider recognition, and the continued messiness of British politics - have added further layers to his perspective. It's not that he's softening or backing away from tough subjects; rather, he's sharpening the focus on what everyday moments can reveal about who we are and where we're headed.
The core of Fender's music stays tethered to where he came from. He's never let go of North Shields or the people who helped shape him, even as his ambitions stretch beyond the immediate horizon. Over time, that growth has surfaced in songs like 'Crumbling Empire', which introduces a more expansive sound and contains the reflective line, "I don't wear the shoes I used to walk in." It's a small phrase that signals a clear acceptance of change: he's no longer the teenager spinning his wheels at the local club, but he isn't about to erase his roots either. You can push forward while still acknowledging the ground that formed you.
For someone who once believed fame might cure his anxieties, Fender's ongoing openness about his internal tug-of-war is striking. That willingness to say, in effect, "It didn't fix my imposter syndrome," resonates with listeners who understand that external success doesn't always heal the cracks. In the new material, he appears to recognise that the best way to address uncertainty is to keep writing about it, turning those confusions into the backbone of his art. Each time he steps on a festival stage, he's reminded that thousands of people connect with his stories of being flawed, occasionally angry, and perpetually curious.
Musically, we can expect that same mix of anthemic guitar rock and reflective balladry. Fender has always had a gift for writing hooks that feel cathartic, even when the subject matter is heavy. With 'People Watching', the aim seems to be refining that gift further, ensuring that the production's polish doesn't smooth away the grit.
As the album draws near, there's a sense that it will solidify Fender's standing as a songwriter with real staying power. He's shown he can handle the bright lights without losing sight of where he started; each time he steps back into North Shields, he's reminded that glossy magazine covers and radio hits don't mean much to the people who've known him since he was just a scrappy kid with a guitar. That grounding is powerful. It keeps his music relatable, whether he's venting frustration about politics, wrestling with self-doubt, or celebrating small mercies that get us through the day.
Ultimately, the fascination with Sam Fender comes from watching how deftly he balances rousing, big-stage ambition with a direct line to the concerns of everyday life. He's comfortable speaking his mind in a way many mainstream artists avoid. Yet he also writes about heartbreak and friendship with a clarity that suggests he's never forgotten the emotions that propelled him to start writing songs in the first place. It's a potent combination, and it seems to be at the heart of 'People Watching'.
It stands as a snapshot of an artist continuing to evolve without losing his identity. At this point, calling him the bright-eyed lad from North Shields might feel out of date. He's proven there's more to his success than local colour or a few strong riffs. Yet that original spark, the one that compelled him to scribble down the details of his surroundings, hasn't vanished. It's simply found a bigger stage and an even wider audience. Whatever comes after, it seems safe to say Sam Fender will keep telling it like it is - just as he's done from day one, only now with the volume turned all the way up.
Sam Fender's album 'People Watching' is out 21st February
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