As a counterpoint to his trademark brand of rousing heartland rock, Fender sings of a bloke – possibly semi-autobiographical, possibly not – pounding the running machine, in a futile bid to outpace “a year on the cans and blowouts” as he puts it, and all the self loathing heaviness those months of misdecisions have heaped upon his heart like his hips.
“Sean and Rosie getting married,” he sings in the chorus, “I can’t even tie my shoes. Will I be alone forever?”
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Credit to Sam Fender for having the guts to sing about his gut. We’ve heard much in recent years about the bodily neurosis that the music industry unjustly lays on female musicians, with artists like Lizzo, Self Esteem, Megan Thee Stallion and CMAT leading a powerful “body positivity” movement challenging unrealistic beauty standards. But how often do you see men mustering the same bravery – or perhaps more accurately, vulnerability – required to question damagingly unrealistic expectations for them too to look ripped and beautiful?
Seeing a guy just letting it all hang out on stage can be refreshing. Fantastically spam-filter unfriendly Swedish punk-rock band Viagra Boys had a huge year in 2025, gigging all over the world to massive crowds. Leading the charge was the band’s iconoclastic Swedish-American frontman Sebastian Murphy – a towering, tattooed totem of no fucks who plays every show shirtless; beer-belly dangling defiantly below the waist of his tracksuit bottoms as he dances.
Conspicuous consumption is, shall we say, a theme in Viagra Boys’ darkly funny music – there are copious references to food, booze and especially drugs. One of the band’s best-known songs, “Sports”, is a sneering takedown of jock machismo in which Murphy drolly lists different types of sport with dripping disdain.
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I met Murphy for an interview last year. Appearances proved, as they so often do, deceiving. He has, he told me, been held up by some as “a beacon of male body positivity”, and he’s OK with that. But thoughts of mortality (one of the band’s founding members died a few years ago), plus a happy homelife and Viagra Boys’ growing success have inspired him to tidy up his ways. He’s off drugs, goes to the gym, plays squash, tries to keep his drink intake to a modest “30 beers a week… maybe a little less”.
In an increasingly uptight world full of joy-sapping, anxiety-compounding social media fitness gurus and wellness industry snake-oil salesmen, it’s not hard to see why many find inspiration in one man’s choice to live life loosely (Murphy literally has the Swedish word for “loose” tattooed on his forehead).
But we’re all privately fighting our own fight with our physique and self-image, and no one way of living can be definitively declared The Right Way. I find the thought of Murphy swinging a squash racquet about as punk rock as anything he’s ever done.
Possibly my favourite song of last year was “Dog Dribble” by Getdown Services – a Bristol-based duo whose joyfully scuzzy blend of power chords, disco beats and sardonic spoken-word lyrics has put them on a rapid rise. Their sweaty, chaotic live shows invariably end with them both stripped to their waists, leaving little to the imagination. The band frequently uses food references as part of a dry, humorous commentary on consumerism, social class, and the struggles of modern living.
One of their best songs, “Get Back Jamie”, lampoons Jamie Oliver and the pressure to slow-cook “nice food” in a world where most people struggle for time and money and can easier dial up an Uber Eats than they can throw together a blushing spaghetti vongole. Another great Getdown Services tune is simply called “Crisps”.
Much of the resplendently rocking “Dog Dribble” is food-based nonsense – daft lines about sausages, burgers and “prawns in my belly”. But in between come flashes of more complex feelings around diet, self-control and self-esteem. “I’m a burnt chip getting sent to the food bin,” goes one line. “Waking up every day on a food binge, I down three Rennies and exercise discipline.”
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The delicate art of living well will be a struggle probably realer and more present in music listeners’ everyday lives than just about anything else an artist could sing about. Even more than love – the finding of which body issues real or imagined can so often prove a barrier to (something Sam Fender’s “The Treadmill” speaks to eloquently).
It’s not something that needs to be served with hand-wringing seriousness – the funnier and franker the better, I say. It’s just something I’m pleased to see on the menu at all. Now, pass the Ferrero Rocher.
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