Every Song From Sam Fender’s ‘People Watching’ Album Ranked: Critic’s Picks

“Nostalgia’s Lie” first got an airing at last year’s comeback tour dates, and provided a mid-tempo cool down after some of the set’s rowdiest moments. Understandably so: The studio version is reflective, but equally dazed by the days of past, with Fender reflecting on the supposed ‘good old days’ of his youth though fragmented memories. “Nostalgia’s Lie” sifts through the rubble, trying to separate fiction from reality. Some things are best left in the past, Fender concludes, if they were ever there at all. – THOMAS SMITH

For a song about hopelessness and the wreckage of being alive, “Chin Up” is more uplifting than you’d think. The words speak of despair; the music tells a different story. Here, Fender extends a hand to friends and ghosts from his past who may be struggling with addiction issues. The pummelling drums give the arrangement an air of determination, paired with gently soaring streaks of guitar. It’s beautiful but not serene, heavy but never overwhelming — buoyed by a plucky melody that encourages goosebumps. – SOPHIE WILLIAMS

In an accompanying biography, Fender calls this his “favourite” song of his on the LP. Arriving as the record’s penultimate track, he adds that the fiddle-aided jam “is a plea to look after each other – a p–shead’s anthem for togetherness.” When he sings of those managing depression – and in some cases, taking their own life – it feels like a begrudging sequel to his 2018 single “Dead Boys,” which tackled the mental health crisis in northern towns like the one he grew up in. The tune might have changed, but the story remains painfully familiar. – T.S.

This starkly arranged epic gets under your skin as it rolls along and scales a mountain of rage, depicting the mental strain of having to accept and move on from one’s own regrets. It glows from within, with a vocal performance that delivers the type of passion and intensity that, the closer you listen, you can feel in your chest. ​​Against strummed guitar, Fender gives a plainspoken reminder that the stories we choose to share with the world can say just as much about us as any particular narrative. – S.W.

Having grown from an incandescent young gun rallying against the establishment to a reflective, astute indie songwriter, these days, Fender’s songs often begin with tiny fragments of memory and bloom into entire tapestries of emotion. As part of a deeper personal reckoning around religion, “Little Bit Closer” and its steely, anthemic chorus sees Fender explore his own version of enlightenment. His openness is particularly affecting during the second verse, when he stretches his voice high to ponder the many mysteries and complexities of faith. – S.W.

“Wild Long Lie” is a song for those who’ve taken things too far. To those who are propping up the afters in a strangers’ living room well after the final whistle ought to have been blown. Here, Fender offers tall tales to keep the party going, but there’s regret and longing for a life that’s passed him by amidst the sesh: “I’ve gone quiet ’cause my heart is still choking up from a love I tore apart.” He spirals as the melancholy seeps out of him, and the song sprawls out into a six-minute epic. – T.S.

A willingness to self-criticize is what makes “Crumbling Empire” so moving. Penned while Fender was on the road in the States – having witnessed “a Detroit neighborhood left to ruin” – this five-minute, soul-stirring odyssey touches on class privilege and wrestling with what role, if any, he has in helping those in need. It asks smart questions, too, about Fender’s purpose as a stadium-headlining artist. “I’m not preaching, I’m just talking/ I don’t wear the shoes I used to walk in,” he sings at one point. – S.W.

When Fender hit the road in late 2024, his touring band had expanded to include backing vocalist Brooke Bentham. The pair met as teenagers on the busking circuit in their hometown Newcastle; in 2020, she released a superb debut album Everyday Nothing which showcased her gorgeous voice and insightful songwriting. It’s on “Arm’s Length” where her presence is felt most keenly on the record, offering a dynamic feminine edge. – T.S.

The LP’s opening track lives in sonic and thematic territory familiar for Fender: ambitious alt-rock meets emotional, diaristic songwriting. A persistent groove – clearly indebted to Granduicel’s motorik production style – powers the song to its anthemic chorus, one that sees Fender isolated and withdrawn: “I people watch on the way back home/ Everybody on the treadmill, running”. 

It’s a fugue state those who are grieving know all too well. Life thunders by as you try to find your footing in a world that’s irrevocably changed. Written about Annie Orwin, a late figure who Fender describes as a kind of “surrogate mother,” “People Watching” is a fond farewell to a towering figure: “I stayed all night ’til you left this life,” he sighs, “’cause that’s just love.” – T.S.

This ode to family may be deeply personal, but it has already moved listeners to use the video’s YouTube comments to mourn their own lost loved ones. A brass crescendo only amplifies Fender’s raw, glassy-eyed musings on the impermanence of life; he dedicated this song to his late grandparents in a recent Instagram post.

He wields his rich tenor, meanwhile, in a way that suggests someone still bearing the ache of their grief, while also searching for answers as to how to move forward. And just as this ballad seems primed to reach a towering emotional highpoint, Fender reasserts control: the curtain drops, the music stops, and the memories begin to float away. – S.W.

If “Seventeen Going Under” told the story of where Fender’s been, “TV Dinner” is where he is at right now. The former – one of Britain’s greatest 21st-century rock songs – detailed a misspent youth chasing teenage kicks amidst a crumbling domestic situation haunted by cruel government bodies. Following his breakout period of success, Fender now feels the music industry and the press snapping at his heels. “TV Dinner” lets them have it.

Built around tense synths and strings, Fender references the late Amy Winehouse (“They love her now/ But bled her then”), hits back at the privately educated (“Posh c–-t had me irate/ Said, ‘We’re all the same”), and fame’s hangers-on (“The moths, the snakes, the tiny waistcoat tail riders”). “TV Dinner” gives a brief glimpse of the rigmarole and circus of celebrity culture – no wonder he has his guard up: “No-one gets into my space,” he warns in an act of self-preservation and exasperation. It’s a bitter, despairing dispatch from a songwriter aware of fame’s brittleness, and ought to go down as one of his best-ever songs. – T.S.