Sam Fender
Electric Picnic
★★★★
At the main stage waiting on Sam Fender’s arrival, there’s a young crowd singing old songs: Hey Jude by the Beatles, Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks. Up the front they’re in their early 20s, more male than female, and they know every line of the heritage hits pumping out from the Electric Picnic sound system.
It figures that they would. Fender (31) is a musician in the old-fashioned sense. Made in the mould of a young Bruce Springsteen, the North Shields singer writes impassioned, thoughtful songs about hardscrabble lives, letters from the NHS, suicide and terrible anger, when disconnection from family hurts. “I can talk to anyone/I can’t talk to you” runs the lyrics of one of his most powerful songs, Spit of You, about his relationship with his father.
They’re big themes and they connect, even if Fender is not a typical frontman. As he takes the stage, his band configuration reinforces the idea that his presence is unobtrusive by intention. Flanked by a seven-piece set-up including a well deployed saxophonist, Fender stands left of stage in an anonymous grey T-shirt and chain, while his backing singer – in an electric blue zippy top and mini-shirt – whirls and dances centre stage. Giant screens and clever lighting achieve what the shy frontman cannot, offering visual connection and verve, flashing his vulnerable eyes on screen, hiding him in darkness and revealing him in grainy silhouette, sometimes showing family photographs. Confetti erupts towards the end of the gig, whirling like snow flecks in the blissfully rain-free sky.
The anthemic songs, meanwhile, speak for themselves. The jangly power chords of Getting Started, the nostalgic drive of Spit of You, the likable zip of People Watching: these are great, hooky tunes. It’s a shame that neither Aye nor Rein Me In get an airing. But for Seventeen Going Under, a modern classic, the swell of emotion in the Electric Picnic audience is palpable. Friends hug. A woman nearby has tears in her eyes. Men take their T-shirts off and get on each other’s shoulders. And people sing, really sing. They sing so hard that at times it’s hard to hear Fender over some extremely questionable yodelling.
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Fender has some work to do to appear truly comfortable in his own skin. “Main stage, I really appreciate it, thanks for the love,” he mumbles, and that’s about as far as his interaction with the audience goes. But as this unassuming artist delivers his truth, he doesn’t need to do much more than that. The crowd bellow back his resonant, deeply felt stories at him, having heard in them an echo of their own lives.
