The term ‘legend’ is thrown around a lot these days.
Your flatmate brings you a cup of tea when you’re collapsed on the sofa after a heavy night out? Legend. The same flatmate, when in the early hours of that very morning, they returned to your pub table with a tray jammed full of ‘surprise tequila shots’? Legend. And this NFL rookie, who absolutely crushed a rendition of Billie Jean during his start-of-season initiation? Clearly, a complete and utter legend.
Sometimes, though, the word ‘legend’ just isn’t enough. Some people – a fortunate, yet prominent minority – are able to bypass being a mere legend. Instead, they head straight to a platform that’s generally reserved for the Springsteens, Eltons, and Adeles of the world; and then, they become iconic.
And on a sunny evening in Finsbury Park, London, Sam Fender became an icon.
.
We mean, we knew he was good – but we didn’t know he could be that good.
When he stepped onto that stage, this 28-year-old from North Shields transformed from a relatable everyman into something akin to a rock god. From the moment he opened his mouth to growl the opening lyrics of Will We Talk? into the microphone, he had each and every member of the sold-out crowd in the palm of his hand.
As he rattled through a setlist that, after only two albums, is already packed full of indie disco standards – with Getting Started, The Borders, and Spice are early highlights – it became clear that Fender had long since grown accustomed to playing on some of the country’s biggest stages. He didn’t need to rely on cheap, crowd-pleasing tricks – all he had to do was stand there, self-assuredly belting out his tunes to an adoring audience of 40,000 people. And, dear reader, he looked like he was relishing every moment.
.
What stood out, though, was the quality of the songwriting.
It’s one thing to write a festival-friendly chorus and slap a catchy guitar riff on top of it, but it’s quite another to do that while including the sort of lyrical depth and nuanced social commentary that most poets would kill to be able to pen.
And that, reader, is what makes Sam Fender an icon. Not only did he sell out a headline show at the cavernous Finsbury Park – a spot that’s generally reserved for the legends of the game, rather than late-twenties indie kids who’ve only just released their sophomore album – but he did so with a collection of songs that are as impactful and meaningful as they are infectious and anthemic.
So, long live Sam Fender – a man for whom the word ‘legend’ was made, and a songwriter and performer whose songs seem destined to be played on the planet’s biggest stages for decades to come.
