Sam Fender’s third album, People Watching, sees the “Geordie Bruce Springsteen” asking big questions of himself, society and God. But when it comes to the loss of loved ones, Max Avard says he’s praying Fender also finds the hope in Jesus that held him fast through grief
If you caught me crying on the escalators of Bank tube station in London last Monday morning, then please know I was OK. I was listening to Sam Fender and thinking about the apostle Paul. Let me explain…
For the uninitiated, Sam Fender is a singer-songwriter born and raised in North Shields, who’s enjoyed astronomical success since his first EP, Dead Boys, was released in 2018. His debut album, Hypersonic Missiles, topped the charts in 2019, and was followed by Seventeen Going Under - an album that garnered widespread critical acclaim, a nomination for the prestigious Mercury Prize, and the elusive beginnings of success across the pond.
We do not worship a God of goodbyes
Hot on the heels of a sold out UK arena tour, his third album, People Watching, arrived with a mountain of expectation. Fortunately, instead of trying to reinvent the wheel, the record brings more of what the “Geordie Bruce Springsteen” does best - a collection of searing Americana-style anthems that see Fender continuing to mine his working-class upbringing to devastating emotional effect.
Tackling the tough stuff
The themes explored in this latest album remain largely the same: addiction (‘Something heavy’), fractured family dynamics (‘Wild long lie’), and the often-callous politics that demonise the working class (‘Crumbling empire’).
Then there’s ‘Little bit closer’ with the repeated refrain of “What is God?”. It appears that perhaps - like most millennials or Gen-Zer’s - Fender, who turns 31 in April, is starting to ask bigger questions of life, and wrestle with much more than the claustrophobic surroundings he grew up in. It’s an artist staying true to his roots - both musically and literally - while skilfully confronting the upside-down world of fame he now moves in.
But it’s the album’s final song that floored me the most. ‘Remember my name’ is a track dedicated to Sam’s late grandparents and written from the perspective of his grandad, who cared for his grandma when she was suffering from dementia.
“Humour me, make my day / I’ll tell you stories, kiss your face / And I’ll pray you’ll remember my name
“I’m not sure of what awaits / Wasn’t a fan of Saint Peter and his gates / But, by God, I pray / That I’ll see you in some way”.
A collision with grief
Last year, I lost my own dad to cancer. It was my first head-on collision with grief, and a period where I was thrown into a state of disarray. Hearing ‘Remember my name’ for the first time brought me right back to lying next to my dad in bed, watching him fall further into the depths of the disease and feeling utterly helpless that I could not pull him out.
It’s those vignettes which stay with me most; the moments where I felt the walls collapsing in on our family. All I could do was clench my fists and pray that time would slow down, that our goodbye wouldn’t come so soon. When he died, I worried my faith would be torn apart and that this inexplicable loss would point me to a heartless and disinterested God. But that moment never came. Instead, the reality of faith appeared as it always really was - a lifeboat. God’s compassion swept me up and held me.
In the quiet times, I vividly pictured Jesus weeping with me, and through the haze of emotional exhaustion, I clung tightly to Paul’s words in 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18: “Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him.”
Hope for tomorrow
‘Remember my name’ articulates what we all know instinctively to be true - that saying goodbye to our loved ones isn’t right. And it will never feel right. But, as Paul reminds us, that’s because we do not worship a God of goodbyes.
When he died, God’s compassion swept me up and held me
His will for humanity was not that our loved ones become faded memories that we desperately cling onto. Instead, a relationship with Jesus gives us real and lived hope that we will see them again.
Sam’s grandad may not have been into religion, but he still prayed that he would see his wife again. If only he could have known that death was a result of our fallen humanity and not a product of God’s character. That Jesus’s death on the cross means we do not grieve like those who with no hope.
