Some months prior, I encountered Sam Ryder in a backstage field at Glastonbury.
The hour was early, seven AM. Ryder was preparing for a Radio 2 interview with Scott Mills, while I was in dire need of caffeine.
“Alright, mate!” he greeted me, arms open for a hug. (It’s worth noting, Sam Ryder gives excellent hugs).
The singer’s characteristic energy – bright, enthusiastic, and full of life – was amplified at Glastonbury.
“I literally handed in my new album on my birthday, two days ago,” he revealed, beaming.
“Hay fever was in full force, but I was in my home studio, finalizing files and sending everything off.”
Ryder’s allergies are even audible on his latest single, “Better Man,” a result of a last-minute decision to discard the original vocal take.
“It lacked authenticity. It felt contrived,” he explained during a subsequent meeting in October.
“The genuine emotion emerged when I was battling hay fever, just six hours before the deadline.”
Ryder has invested deeply in this record, titled “Heartland.”
In one perspective, it represents a risk: abandoning the upbeat retro-rock sound of his Eurovision hit, “Space Man,” for a more reflective and genuine approach.
Alternatively, it could solidify his image as an artist of substance, moving beyond the perpetually cheerful “bearded hippie with the big voice,” as one publication put it.
“I understand why people perceive me as consistently positive,” Ryder acknowledges.
“But that’s simply a matter of etiquette. People are giving you their time, so you show up and express your gratitude.
“Naturally, I’m not a one-dimensional being. I experience the same range of emotions as everyone else.”
Indeed, the preceding years have tested Ryder’s positivity.
His second-place finish at the 2022 Eurovision Song Contest marked the culmination of a lifelong ambition.
From the age of 16, he performed in numerous bands, supplementing meager incomes with jobs in construction and at a vegan café in Essex.
The pandemic brought about a turning point when he began posting covers on TikTok, his remarkable falsetto attracting attention from Alicia Keys, Justin Bieber, and, crucially, the team responsible for selecting the UK’s Eurovision entry.
However, in the whirlwind following his Turin success, Ryder’s debut album felt rushed and uninspired.
The Evening Standard commented that the music “offers no surprises and takes no chances,” while The Guardian described it as “so toothless it makes Ed Sheeran look like Nick Cave.”
Fans disagreed, propelling Ryder to number one and selling out his tour.
Then, on the final date, the singer learned that his record label had effectively dismissed the team responsible for signing, developing, and working with him.
In a show of solidarity, he also departed, declining the offer of a second album to pursue an independent path.
“It’s incredibly empowering when you make that decision and announce it, because everyone is behind you,” he remembers.
However, reality soon set in as he began working on new material.
“You turn on the tap, and it’s not connected to the plumbing.”
“You lack the resources you once had – the manpower and the driving force to move things forward. Doubts creep in, and you begin to question your trajectory.
“And the most significant fear for anyone who has achieved a dream is the prospect of losing it.”
This crisis of confidence turned his world upside down. Ryder put away his phone and entered what he describes as “a state of depression.”
“I lost my self-esteem, my positivity, and my optimism,” he shares.
“I felt that my work was meaningless. I felt worthless.
“Whenever I sang, I experienced the same internal monologue you get on a treadmill: ‘Give up, give up. It would probably be easier to stop and just get off’.”
For nearly a year, he isolated himself, even questioning his belief in music.
“With so much suffering in the world, you begin to question the value of music,” he explains.
“I’ve never felt closer to giving up. Where did that come from? It was a new experience, and I didn’t know how to cope with it.”
Two factors helped him regain perspective.
One was recommitting to his faith, and the other was his partner, Lois Gaskin-Barber, “who reminds me that as long as we have each other, we can overcome any challenge.”
When they met 14 years ago, Ryder shared his dream of living in Nashville, the spiritual home of country music. Together, they relocated to a log cabin in the Tennessee woods.
This marked the beginning of his recovery.
“I love it there. I feel so inspired,” he says.
“Everyone seems to be making music every day, but it’s not this manufactured process of, ‘Okay, we’re meeting at noon in central London, ordering takeout, and trying to write a chorus.’
“In Nashville, if you want to write, you simply go outside, take a walk, or sit on a boat in the lake. It’s my favorite thing to do.”
These long, solitary walks gave rise to Ryder’s new album, a revelation in its own right.
There is a newfound maturity to his delivery, and at 36, he resists the temptation to let emotional exhaustion devolve into cynicism.
On “Armour,” he acknowledges that his positive outlook became a trap, preventing him from acknowledging doubt or disappointment.
“Take off all that armour / You can’t carry all that weight,” he sings over a gentle slide guitar.
Elsewhere, the title track makes the bold decision to incorporate the same phrase used by Will Smith during the actor’s infamous Oscars incident.
“You’d better keep my name right out of your mouth,” Ryder directs at his critics. “‘Cos I can do anything.“
With shuffling drum beats and impassioned vocals, the album finds a comfortable space alongside artists like Teddy Swims and Hozier, a sound Ryder has dubbed Frontier Soul.
“It’s a desert aesthetic with a soulful vocal. Think a Tarantino soundtrack or a Nancy Sinatra album – the twang of the guitars, the sultriness of the production.”
While there are songs of struggle, a significant portion of the record is a tribute to his partner, especially on the yacht rock-inspired “Better Man,” and the dreamily devoted “Electric Marine Blue.”
Which is fortunate, considering that earlier this month, Ryder committed a major relationship faux pas.
“I was in the studio, and Lois texted me, ‘By the way, we forgot our anniversary’,” he admits, cringing.
Fortunately, he compensated with a luxury hotel getaway, courtesy of a recent concert booking.
“That’s one perk of this profession,” he laughs. “We used that opportunity for a little escape… You can achieve a lot in eight hours.”
It’s a return to the lighthearted humor he’s known for – because, true to form, Ryder prefers to count his blessings rather than dwell on his emotions.
“I’m grateful for those trials of the spirit, because what is optimism if it hasn’t been tested? It’s disingenuous, even a little sociopathic.
“So I’m thankful that my positivity was put under pressure, because now I know what it’s made of.”
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