LIVE REVIEW: Sam Fender turns River Stage into a Stadium

Photo credit: Sarah Louise Bennett

There are some insane artists who manage to get exponentially better each time you see them live - and Sam Fender is incontestably one of them. Wednesday the 19^th of November was my third time seeing him live but the first time at our beloved Magandjin/Brisbane River Stage, and every second was electric with ecstasy.

Sam’s music has meant the world to me since I first discovered Seventeen Going Under, the year I graduated. At such a pivotal point in my life, I felt so deeply connected to the bittersweet light he had managed to weave into such a gut-wrenchingly raw song. It was like he had sifted through everyday dust particles and captured the intangible way they sparkle in the sunlight. It's this indescribable magic that resonates so deeply across his entire discography, and he somehow breathes even more life into it every live show.

An evening at River Stage is always soaked in sunset and nostalgia, and the entire energy of the night only italicised it.

As we arrived , it was all kicking off with the whispering synth-soaked warmth of Holly Humberstone. Sitting through her set on the hill with my best friend was kind of bliss; a cider and fresh nachos in hand, screaming along to every lyric of Scarlett, buzzing in soft anticipation for Sam Fender.

I couldn’t stop looking around at the people hugging and raising beers to the atmosphere around us as the sun sank lower in the sky. Full of present contentment, I said to my friend, "I just love people watching." The second the words left my mouth I remembered in delight that People Watching is the very appropriately chosen title of Sam’s album, and it all clicked into place.

That’s what it’s all about, this swarm of people we were part of. We were enveloped in a throng of black and white striped jerseys in Sam's local Newcastle colours and smiling strangers from every age and demographic. It’s hard to describe, but I just couldn't stop thinking - these are normal, everyday people.

And I say this in the best possible light, in the way that - Sam Fender's music just feels like it’s for everyone. For the train ride home or a glance out a window. It transcends social divide and creates a place amongst the mundane for the everyday person to feel. I think it's such a tribute to how he explores such everyday yet universally massive topics with such an unfiltered honesty - from politics and illness, to grief and love. He sings of his hometown, and it feels like our own. As normal people all living our big little lives, we can see ourselves in his songs.

I’d also like to make a particular mention to the number of young men in the audience - "the boys" Sam sings about so often.

In a present-day world where toxic masculinity runs rife and terms like 'the manosphere,' and 'male loneliness epidemic' are everywhere, Sam’s music does something invaluable: he creates a space for boys to be sensitive, vulnerable; to let themselves feel with honesty. I have this vivid memory of watching an interview that summarises it, where he spoke about the moment that he realised his sensitivity was not a weakness. Sam Fender does more than create magic music - he stands for something. He’s a role model for softness and strength co-existing in a world that conditions us to be harsh and hard.

And standing there in the audience I witnessed it in real-time. I watched as the boys beside me slung their arms around one another, singing along to every word of Spit of You and Talk to You, thumping each other on the backs and tapping their hearts with "I love you bro."Spit of You was even accompanied by a projected collage of photos of Sam and his dad, leaving us all a little choked up as they shaped into the same original childhood picture. And you’ll never guess what, this all went down on Wednesday the 19^th of November – National Men’s Day. Somehow it just feels right. Gives me hope.

Now I'm not a football girly by any means, but in Sam's crowd, for a moment I get it. Hoarse-voiced and singing along to the addictively anthemic chants shoulder to shoulder with thousands of strangers. In that moment, the intangible, universal euphoria translates all boundaries. We're all part of the same thing, the same moment, the same feeling, and it's the best thing in the entire world.

Sam Fender turns the stage into a stadium and the show into a football game. All with songs that say something.

I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face, shouting along to his addictively hooky riffs and melodies. It’s music to ascend to. The type that reminds you yep this is exactly what life is about.

Speaking of singing along, one of my absolute favourite moments in the set always has to be Getting Started. Singing with the crowd from the depths of your soul to "felt like giving up so many times before but I’m still here fighting" feels so incredibly special. It’s one of those songs that grows with you; like you can feel it blossoming bigger, brighter and sweeter in the centre of your chest every single time you experience it live. He sings the kind of songs that inspire thousands.

At one point, Sam even welcomed someone with a cardboard poster up from the crowd to share in the moment from the stage, announcing that "It happens every night, it’s become a thing. I love it!" It was a girly in a football sweater called Izzy and she shone onstage, picking up an acoustic and playing the chords of ‘The Borders’ along with the band. A core memory in creation no doubt.

The band is larger than life, and the entire set is exquisitely live. You can feel the tight-knit dynamic of the band from all the way in the audience, weaving together the synths, soaring sax lines and guitar solos into a massive wave of exultancy. You can tell they’re all stoked to be up there together. The show sounds exactly like the recorded tracks, but even bigger, and injected with all the adrenaline and elation of live music.

My all-time favourite part of the entire show had to be the encore (which he endearingly explained to the crowd first). The crowd was left singing our football-chants out to an empty stage, echoing across the hillside long after he left. Then Sam raced back onstage, meeting the entire audience with their torches up, swaying along to that aching intimate honesty, before the whole band rejoined in triumph.

Hypersonic Missiles was the final song of the set. In the exultancy of the last chorus, the heavens opened and a cloud of streamers descended, cloaking us in a soft layer that connected every single person in the crowd as we jumped up and down, dancing as one. Ecstasy. Everything. A religious experience really.

I can’t summarise the night without paying mention to what happened on the way home. We were walking to our lift, and my best friend and I heard music alight on the air drifting from the Botanical Gardens. Naturally, we followed the sound, and it led us to find something out of a movie. A busker had set himself up on the pathway leading from River Stage and had gathered a whole crowd of strangers, singing along to One Summer and Ed Sheeran's Perfect. Still adorned in streamers and smiles, we twirled down the garden, connected in the shared delight and spontaneity of the moment. It just felt like such an extension of the Sam Fender effect - a continuation of that ‘yep this is what life’s about’ feeling. Humans can be so flipping cute sometimes!!

The entire night left me with a buzz that lasted all week. All in all, I came away from Sam Fender’s ‘People Watching’ tour feeling so inspired, a little more human and so glad to feel it all.