Whilst Fender’s expansive, often breathtaking sophomore record may not be flawless, it has more than its fair share of genius songwriting and lyricism thanks to a potent concoction of sepia nostalgia and brave sociopolitical lessons for the here and now.
I’ve long thought I knew who Sam Fender was. The caricature seemed fairly straightforward: Geordie and proudly working class lad turned hometown hero with a razor-sharp jawline and creamy yet delicate singing voice; probably the adoration of teenage girls and admiring lads who will think any song with a lot of distorted guitars is cool. Sure, I could appreciate Hypersonic Missiles, the driving title track from Fender’s commercially successful debut album, but beyond that I spent years not paying him much attention.
Then I heard Seventeen Going Under, the lead single ahead of Fender’s big coming-of-age sophomore release in 2021. I was alone in a car driving a long distance to the Lake District for a night and, despite the song’s simplicity, something about it had me enthralled. The characteristics I had expected were all there; the song and Fender in general are inseparable from the North East town of North Shields where “luck came and went” as Fender puts it in the form of once prosperous coal mines. Yet almost instantly, I came to the very belated realisation that this guy is the real deal. Over the jangly Springsteen-esque guitars, Fender’s faultless lyrics demand full attention. They illustrate adolescence in the town with visceral depth, from the “fist fights on the beach” to the mental health issues bottled up by the need to be the “joker” amongst “boys’ boys and locker-room talking lads’ lads”. The descriptions are painful yet sound vaguely nostalgic, portraying a childhood that was as precious as it was scarring. An awesome rush of noise gradually accumulates in support of Fender as his emotion builds to boiling point: a pounding, war-like drum groove, a sparkling glockenspiel and a screaming saxophone (an inspired instrumental choice) all contribute to the growing din. It’s sonically overwhelming, the song dripping with feeling and heartache in every note. To call it one of the finest songs to reach British mainstream rock this year is an understatement. It goes without saying, Seventeen Going Under was to soundtrack my subsequent hike in the mountains with an apt feel of September melancholy.
Both the memories of growing up in Tyneside and Fender’s generational anger at being left behind by his government run right the way through Seventeen Going Under. Getting Started decries the “council rigmarole” imposed on Fender’s poverty stricken mother, which is powerfully juxtaposed with Fender’s own urge to go out and do the things that 18-year-olds are supposed to do. The fact that Fender faced a decision between helping his mother or himself (“What I wouldn’t do to get you out this hole / For tonight I gotta let her go”) is an impactful political statement in itself. If the album needed a flagship political anthem, however, seething Aye is the song. Whilst it occasionally gets into the habit of look-at-this-very-bad-thing-isn’t-it-awful, there is also a good deal of provocative and interesting social commentary to be enjoyed. Written in the wake of the Conservative party’s shocking byelection win in Blyth Valley, Fender notes how the working class is being pulled apart by political polarisation (“poor hate the poor”) and how each side blames the other for society’s failings whilst in his view it’s really just the richest that are pulling the strings. Fender may be proudly left-wing, but the line “the woke kids are just dickheads” has proved contentious in the days and weeks since the single’s release. As far as I’m concerned, Fender’s bravery in the face of cancel culture should be applauded.
Elsewhere, toxic masculinity is a fruitful and powerful lyrical theme. Spit of You heart-wrenchingly covers Fender’s inability to talk to his father about the death of his grandmother over a tasteful and disarmingly light electric guitar backing. It lacks the fire power of something like the title track, but the hook is undeniably very strong. Get You Down is a much more compelling reflection on the anger and fear of emasculation that filled his early twenties. Its soaring melodies and relentless snare drum builds deserve to be blasted out from a lad’s first battered Vauxhall Corsa as he navigates the challenges of manhood alone, as the archetype of the perfect manly man demands. The strings are glorious and lush and Johnny Davis’ raspy saxophone makes another chill-inducing appearance, lifting the song from good to unforgettable. For all it’s self-loathing, Get You Down sounds remarkably cathartic, and makes for a perfect centrepiece to Seventeen Going Under.
The Leveller lands with similar urgency, and once again soaring strings are used compellingly. “Mark my words / This is a leveller”, Fender sings of the pandemic whilst painting his surging depression as a sort of unstoppable beast of its own. Stunning lines like “Scribed on the walls in the back lane by my flat / Teenage premonitions of Armageddon” or “Waiting in vain for the mighty crash / As little England tears itself to pieces” sound deeply unsettling over the ear-piercing punk guitars and menacing, shifting power chords. Later, Paradigms takes flight with a bright piano and expansive sound that evokes Coldplay in their world-dominating prime. I’m sure the fact that the sonic euphoria is set to words about marketing-induced bulimia and the UK’s shocking male suicide rates won’t stop thousands of young people belting this at full volume, sat on the shoulders of friends during next year’s festival season. In fact, it will make them sing louder, and rightly so.
I’d love to say Seventeen Going Under is perfect, but I’m afraid it’s not. Mantra is fatally lacking any hook whatsoever, a fact that not even a remarkable and completely unexpected trumpet solo can make up for. Getting Started and the lethargic Last To Make It Home also lack the songwriting oomph found in the album’s purple patches.
When it comes to the showstopper closer, The Dying Light, I hardly know where to begin. It’s another painful yet important song about Fender’s very personal depression and reckoning with suicidal thoughts, but the resolve and determination in lines like “I’m damned if I give up tonight / I must repel the dying light” speak of the universal urge to persist through extreme hardship even when death seems like such an easy escape. The reason to live, Fender decides, is not for his own gain, but for the sake of his family and friends and, as he belts on the album’s devastating final lyrics, “for all the ones who didn’t make the night”. Musically, the build is truly awe-inspiring, with grand strings and brass and percussion giving company to a once-solitary yet beautiful piano accompaniment. The final few minutes bounce with that innately human triumph of survival – another day of life to enjoy, another long list of challenges overcame and many more to come. As far as I’m concerned, this is as life-affirming as music gets.
In the end, despite all the gloomy depictions of an austere childhood and grim proclamations on the state of British politics, Seventeen Going Under is one gripping reminder that life is indeed worth living, no matter what. To try to make a caricature of the man behind this magnum opus is to miss the point entirely.