Seventeen Going Under
by Sam Fender

What an incredible album. Something between Bruce Springsteen and The War on Drugs with a teenage angst and a thick british accent.

From DeusExMackia 07/25/2022 17:36 | #287811

Seventeen Going Under represents a wind of change for male pop stars with guitars. The dregs of the 2010s capitalisation on them are on the way out, and none could even come within eyeshot of Fender’s genuine, essential writing. Heck, few things in music can right now: the pride with which he wears his hometown of North Shields on his sleeve, and the love he puts into his depiction of Newcastle, is magnificent.

There’s a sting, however, that of the poverty, hegemonic masculinity and social issues impossible to escape from. In a country where we can’t even agree on what we disagree on, his anger feels relevant and essential, while his riffs are supremely catchy and wholesome. Like all the best protest music, there is hope laced throughout, and Fender’s indie-ready heartland rock was born to inspire it.

Fender has struck a remarkable balance on Seventeen; he doesn’t present himself as a preacher or a politician, he doesn’t allow for his experiences to be romanticised by his radio-friendly riffs, and he appeals to a need to acknowledge the times we’re living through in a way that doesn’t drag into “oh dear”-ism. The sharp-jawed man who stares back at you from the album’s artwork is fully aware that he could cash it in to become the next safe industry heartthrob, or just another white guy with a guitar and a Twitter individuality complex. And the beautiful thing is that he doesn’t.