The Friday Fix

  • Incident at 66.6 FM – Public Enemy

    Marc writes:

    I’ve recently started listening my way through the 1001 greatest albums in the order that they’re offered to me by the generator at https://1001albumsgenerator.com/. So far, I’ve had a mix, including Muse and Radiohead, Cat Stevens and Little Richard. It’s meaning that I’m being introduced to old favourites, and new classics, unfamiliar genres, and ticking off some of those musical “musts” that so many people rave about.

    On the day I’m writing, I’m listening to Public Enemy’s “Fear of a Black Planet” which was released in 1990.

    The beauty of this project is that you’re encouraged to listen to the whole album, in order, in the way it was created and intended… It’s not just the single snapshot of the specific release aimed at a hit. And that means I’m encountering the songs that I didn’t just pick up with the masses. This album isn’t one I’ve listened to before, and so there are plenty of new songs for me to meet for the first time.

    Tucked in the middle of the album is “Incident at 66.6 FM”. Labelled as an “instrumental” track, it’s a collection of clips from a radio interview and call-in, leading into the next track of the album.

    Over the last few years, I’ve been more intentional about recognising my whiteness and educating myself about the impact that has historically had on the world. I’ve tried to read and listen to the lived experiences of those who don’t have my “privileges”. But here’s my confession: when this album appeared on my listen-list today, and when I got to this track, my gut response was to consign the experiences and influences of the album to the past and to somewhere else in the world. I don’t think I belittled the realities of the experience being sung about, but I definitely, and shamefully, thought “that was 1990’s America” and, in my thinking, implied that the injustices were then and there.

    It was only momentary, but it was enough for me to need to apologise for. I’m trying to change myself and my thinking, but just like with the system, the issues run deep, and it needs to be an ongoing and intentional work!

    Because it’s not just there. And it’s not just then. It’s here, and it’s now, and it’s just as deeply ingrained as ever. The issues are more than I can understand, and whilst we might pretend that we’re better than we were, whilst we might have more EDI and JDS and Unconscious Bias training, we’re still blind to the more subtle ways in which our prejudices have hidden themselves in the way we engage with the world around us.

    It’s not just then. It’s not just there. It’s here. And it’s now. And I don’t understand it all. I’m not qualified to speak of the pain and the real experiences of those who have been hurt.

    But I am committed to being better, doing better, to reparation and repentance, to solidarity and truly celebrating and recognising dignity and worth and working towards a world of justice and righteousness to which God calls us.

    What I’m most sure of is that it starts with me continuing to listen, and to notice how uncomfortable listening to the stories, experiences and voices that this album represents makes me. I need to hear, and really hear, those voices and the cry of the Spirit within me towards the better story of God’s gospel for humanity and step out of the way of that gospel becoming a reality, until I am both asked and given permission to take my place alongside others in the future story of justice.

    You can find out more about Public Enemy at https://www.publicenemy.com/

  • We’re on the hunt for Friday Fixes…

    We’re on the hunt for Friday Fixes — the thoughtful, the hopeful, the half-formed, and the holy-in-the-ordinary.

    Have you got a short reflection on a song that inspires, provokes or reveals love, justice, mercy..? It doesn’t need to be clever or polished — just real.

    If you’ve ever thought, “I wonder if this might be a Friday Fix?” — this is your nudge.

    Drop us a message to fridayfixmail@gmail.com if you’d like to contribute. We’d love to share your voice.

  • ‘If You Tolerate This Then Your Children Will Be Next’ – Manic Street Preachers

    Sometimes life just calls for us to revisit past thoughts and ponderings because they seem as pertinent now as they did then. Jane wrote this Friday Fix when Covid was still prevalent. It’s funny, isn’t it, that we humans don’t move on that much really…

    Jane writes:

    In the winter of 1998, the tiny bundle of joy that is my daughter was born. 1998 also marked the release of “This Is My Truth Tell Me Yours” by the Manic Street Preachers and for the last couple of months of me being pregnant, the house was filled over and over with the dulcet tones of James Dean Bradfield. It was one of those albums that was rarely out of earshot and got played at home, in the car or indeed anywhere you could manage it.

    Just after she was born. In that space when the nurses had gone to make me some toast, and dad had gone to call the people who needed to know, there was just me and her. I wondered what I’d say to her and, or how, I could reassure her that she was in good hands and actually what happened was that I sang to her the chorus of this Manics track. I thought it would be familiar to her and that the tune and rhythm would already have been a constant background to her growing. I figured she need to hear something she didn’t even know she had already heard.

    Looking back it does seem rather odd to sing to a newborn a track that’s about the horrors of the Spanish civil war. Even the words I sang have a strange menace.

    If you tolerate this then your children will be next

    Yet it served as a great reminder to me that I had new responsibilities for a tiny human now and whatever I did I had to pay attention to what really mattered. I’m hoping it set her off on a love of realising that music is soooo important in a person’s life and I think maybe it did if her grown-up self is anything to go by.

    Our ability to tolerate the intolerable has really ramped up during the last 12 months or so. Our scant regard to the level of death here in this country on a daily basis, and across the world, whilst being worried if we can go out to the pub is astounding. Our willingness to see even larger scale tragedy in countries without the infrastructure or the political will to deal with a pandemic put in a “there but for the grace of God go we” kind of box.

    Lets face it though we’ve got form and its not new. We don’t necessarily pay attention to what is or has happened.

    I’ve walked La Ramblas

    But not with real intent

    We walk through places and situations paying little regard for the atrocities that happened there. We walk past statues for people who committed great wrongs and simply put it down to history rather than noticing the real impact on people just a step away. We watch documentaries about issues relating to basic civil rights and think that its history when we know that it is happening every day still.

    Gravity keeps my head down

    Or is it maybe shame

    How we deal with our failure as human individuals or as a collective is fascinating. We know that people are starving every day and living under the most intolerable of circumstances. That they are impacted on by our desire for goods at cheaper cost, for more and more electronic communication and the resources required to make the next gadget, by our hunger for travel and exploration, by our need of convenience and things that make our lives easier. By the struggle for power that brings war and oppression. By our island mentality that seeks to keep out the refugee rather than offer welcome. Yet we seem somehow powerless to act.

    But we’ll forget it all again

    Monuments put from pen to paper

    Turns me into a gutless wonder

    I have no idea how we really fix it but I do know that it’s not enough to ignore it, forget it or bury it on the pile of “jobs that are too hard”. God calls us to do what we can. God calls us to do more than we think we can. God calls us to pay attention. I think I’m a bit scared by the enormity of it all but I do recognise that we have to stand up and be counted however we can.

    If you tolerate this then your children will be next

    Frankly though, it’s already someone else’s child. Someone else’s loved one. God’s beloved.

    The most haunting part of this track for me comes at the start and end. The sound of a tiny little tune – maybe from a child’s mobile. I don’t think the driver for our intolerance of injustice should be just because it might come to catch us out one day but rather because its what God requires of us. Because we bound up into one great big human family – and each and every one matters.

    It’s a cracking tune. It’s a cracking album from the Manics. But believe me much of what they write is not for the faint-hearted and neither should it be.

    You can find out more about the Manics and their music here https://www.manicstreetpreachers.com/

  • ‘Shellshock’ – New Order

    Gill writes:

    Faithful followers of Richard Curtis films will know that the opening words of ‘Love, Actually’ are “Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport.” Well, whenever I get gloomy, I throw on an 80’s ‘Brat Pack’ film (never very keen on that title if I’m honest) like Sixteen Candles. Some Kind of Wonderful, The Breakfast Club or in this case, Pretty in Pink.

    Pretty in Pink is perhaps my favourite of that film genre – not least, because of the soundtrack, which includes, of course, this track. Hearing it this week filled me with complete yearning for what seemed like a simpler past initially, and then I realised that this song seems to capture how it feels (for me) to be human right now.

    “Shellshock” is what we used to call Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and particularly brings to mind those returning from combat, such as the WW1 trenches. That sense of being battered and overwhelmed by forces you can’t control. And honestly, without wishing to diminish and disrespect those suffering the effects of combat, it feels to me like we’re being constantly bombarded by crises, news cycles, doom-scrolling, and information overload at the moment. I think I’m feeling a bit shellshocked.

    But here’s what strikes me. Here’s what the message of this song imparts to me: the song refuses to give up. There’s this relentless, driving beat that just keeps going. And that feels deeply Christian to me – not some cheerful ‘everything’s going to be fine’ optimism, but a grittier kind of hope-filled determination. There’s a bit in 2 Corinthians (4:8-9 (NIV)) where Paul talks about being ‘hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed’. That’s the hope glimmering through the gloom. Wounded but not finished.

    I realise that I actually do have hope. I believe things can change. I believe humans have the potential to make the world better. Not by sitting around waiting for God to fix everything, but by getting our hands dirty and participating in the work of peace and restoration. That’s what the Incarnation tells us, isn’t it? That this world matters. That what we do matters.

    For me, it comes down to something simple: every single human is valued and loved. Every person deserves to feel that. We all bear God’s image – that’s not something you earn, it’s given already. The hard part is making that real in people’s lives, not just believing it as an idea.

    I do try my hardest to see each person as a child of God, though I’ll admit this becomes difficult when witnessing humans harming and even killing others. This is one of the hardest tensions in Christian life. But seeing someone as God’s child doesn’t mean excusing their actions or abandoning justice. It means refusing to reduce them entirely to their worst acts while taking those acts with complete seriousness, holding space for the possibility of transformation while protecting victims.

    It’s not that easy, though, is it? And at times like this, I turn to prayer, to pondering, and to rest. In a shellshocked world, sustaining hope and perseverance requires spiritual practice, deep reflection, and caring for ourselves. And then maybe we’re in a better state to get our hands dirty and participate in the work of peace and restoration

    We may be wounded, but we’re not finished. We keep going, keep loving, keep believing the world can be better.

    Find out more about New Order at https://www.neworder.com/

  • Friday Fix Playlist 2025

    We’re taking our usual end-of-year or start-of-year Friday off this week – but why not check out our Spotify Playlist of all the songs that the Friday Fix reflected on in 2025!

    Here you go:

  • ‘On Christmas Night’ – Nelson Can

    Tom writes:

    A few years ago, I found myself putting together an alternative service of Christmas readings and songs, in which the songs would be secular pieces rather than the usual hymns and carols. It was in this context that I found the band Nelson Can, and their (to me) fantastic indie Christmas track, “On Christmas Night”.

    I love the way it offers upbeat vibes while acknowledging the darker notes of midwinter – the desire to hibernate like the Polar Bears (a favourite animal of mine), and the pangs of grief and loss that can hit at this time of year. (It probably helps if you’re aware Nelson Can are a Danish trio, so very used to long, cold, dark winters!)

    I also love the way it does not shy away from the fact that, in the Northern Hemisphere at least, Christmas and the Winter Solstice are linked. To be honest, the annual debates about the timing of Christmas bore me. Of course, Jesus was unlikely born in December – what kind of government organises a census when travelling is most difficult? Of course, the early Christians borrowed already existing festivals to make their point – why wouldn’t they? Things can be more than one thing at the same time. I don’t think it inappropriate that the Christian faith might celebrate the birth of the Light of the world at the point of the year when nights begin getting shorter and days become longer (although this begs the question of whether we need different liturgical years in different places, but that’s for another time and place!).

    In relation to the Friday Fix theme for this year’s Advent and Christmas, however, it’s something else that makes this track vital to me. We’ve been journeying to Bethlehem, where in the Christmas story we encounter Jesus’s birth amongst us, the Word become flesh and dwelling amongst us. Yet, as Scrooge discovers in Charles Dickens’ classic tale, Christmas isn’t just a one-day event. “[I]n the eyes of every child shines a little piece of the sun,” sing Nelson Can. This isn’t true just on Christmas night, it’s true all the time.

    Likewise, the final destination of our journey is not ultimately Bethlehem. It’s ourselves. The God found lying in the manger as a little, weak and helpless baby can also be found deeply embedded in our own flesh. Having found the gift of the child in which God offers themself wholly to us, and having offered in return the gift of our very selves to God, we find that we too can carry the Christ-light beyond Christmas into the world beyond the trees, and tinsel, and wrappings, and TV specials. The sun, and the Son, can shine in our eyes, and through us the world can be enlightened by a Love that will go so far for us that it will come into the world as one of us, that a world that might seem like never ending night might know the dawn has come.

    Check out Nelson Can’s music at www.nelsoncan.bandcamp.com

  • ‘ I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For’ – U2

    Final Destination?

    Jane writes:

    In my humble opinion, any song that sounds like it starts somewhere and plans to go somewhere else is a winner. This is one such song and brings with it memories of buying the cassette tape and travelling to London in the car with it as a companion, using the rules of a “first listen.” Play, eject, turn over, play, eject, turn over, play… – well, you get the picture. A song and an album for a journey. (You can find out about cassette tapes on the internet if this language isn’t familiar to you😉)

    I’m not sure what other fun rules or games you have when travelling, but one we didn’t play much as a child was – follow the brown sign and see where it takes you. My dad was a man who liked to get from A to B without even a stop for the loo, let alone a diversion. So when me and Mum were in Ireland a few years ago, travelling around looking for Binghamstown (that’s a story for another day)
    and we saw a sign that said Spanish Armada Wreck, it was time to go off the chosen road. Mum even remarked we wouldn’t be doing this if Dad were here! I rest my case. We got to the designated layby and Mum, less than enamoured with the idea of getting out of the car on the wild Atlantic west coast, said, “you go.” With excitement, I went. I’m not really sure what I was expecting to see. Some wood on a beach, maybe with a sticky-up configuration. What I got was the sea and one of those panoramic signs explaining where the wreck was – deep, deep under the water. To be frank although the promise of the brown sign brought optimism, the result was a bit boring. In a way, I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I knew it wasn’t that. (Apparently, Ireland is littered with Armada wrecks after a very roundabout journey home from defeat on the English south coast, via Shetland and the west coast of Ireland. 24 in fact – but this one was hiding. History lesson over 😅)

    Sometimes we set out on our faith journey as a result of testimony or a particular situation in our lives. We think we are to get many things maybe, salvation, healing, clarity, rescue, energy, honesty, explanation, hope, purpose, forgiveness, eternal life – you can add your own to the list if you like – but often it is much more complicated than we expect. It’s a real adventure in navigating a new way.

    I guess faith for me is like the brown sign game. You enter into the situation imagining you know what you’re going to get, it turns out to be quite different and often in a beautiful way, but sometimes in a disappointing one. Your expectations are built on the things of life, and what you need is the reality of what God brings to you. You may not have found what you’re looking for when
    you made the choice to follow, and that’s a plus because it drives you on from a temporary destination to new places and things unseen – in this case, when God is revealed. A baby in a manger. The humility of a God incarnate.

    So this Christmas, find your way to this story of the birth of Jesus and all it encompasses. Rest a while, and when you’re read,y set off again. In the journey of faith, every ending and destination is a beginning of something new, so if you still haven’t found what you’re looking for, don’t give up – discovery is just around the corner.

    Find out more about U2 at https://www.u2.com/

  • ‘Driving Home for Christmas’ – Chris Rea

    A Disrupted Journey

    Sally writes:

    Driving Home for Christmas by Chris Rea is the Christmas record about a disrupted journey. It’s a journey which is disrupted by the combination of snow and the sheer number of people all seeking to get home for Christmas.

    I have to be honest, it’s a cheesy song and not my normal taste in music. However, it is a Christmas Classic, and it makes the point that whilst some journeys might be straightforward, many aren’t, and you find yourself stuck not being able to move at the pace you’d like to.

    In that situation, you have to make a choice about how you respond. It can either get really frustrated at the situation and perhaps succumb to road rage or chill and use it as a time to reflect and remember, understanding you’ll get there in the end. 

    In the song, Chris Rea decides on the second course of action and gets lost in his memories, noting that those beside him seem to be doing the same. He also refers to getting home as “putting my feet on holy ground”. At this point, I could get quite cheesy myself about how it relates to faith and Christianity. But I’m going to try not to.  

    Rather, I want to use it as a metaphor for life more generally this Advent. You might feel that you’re stuck in a rut and going nowhere fast. Life is frustrating; you had a plan for the journey, but it seems that you are going through the same routine day after day. In that situation, you have a choice whether you get frustrated and angry about it or if you choose to take it steadily and use the time to reflect and plan, knowing you will get where you’re going in the long run.

    I advocate the second approach, and if you’re a Christian or somebody who is open to it, chatting to God, praying, as you’re feeling stuck in that place. 

    Find out more about Chris Rea at https://christmas.chrisrea.com/

  • “Where Love Lives” – Alison Limerick

    Navigating the Wilderness

    Marc writes:

    When the list for the Advent fixes comes out the same time as the John Lewis advert (see below), it’s an opportunity too good to miss! All you have to do is work out which of the weeks and themes you can shoe-horn it into…

    The official line is this:

    “If you can’t find the words, find the gift. We don’t always know how to say how we feel. Not out loud. Not properly. But then comes Christmas and something in us wants to try. This is the story of a dad and his son, and the gift that helps them find their way back to one another. Because, sometimes, a gift can say the things we can’t.”

    I got to wondering “what is the gift that gets us through the wilderness and into restored relationship? What is the gift that draws us beyond the trappings and isolation of the past and present and into the place where love lives?” But the biggest question for me became:

    I wonder where the wilderness really is in the life and narrative of John the Baptist?

    John 1:19-23 says (in “The Voice” translation):

    “The reputation of John was growing; and many had questions, including Jewish religious leaders from Jerusalem. So some priests and Levites approached John in Bethany just beyond the Jordan River while he was baptising and bombarded him with questions:

    Religious Leaders: Who are you?

    John the Baptist: I’m not the Anointed One, if that is what you are asking.

    Religious Leaders: Your words sound familiar, like a prophet’s. Is that how we should address you? Are you the Prophet Elijah?

    John the Baptist: No, I am not Elijah.

    Religious Leaders: Are you the Prophet Moses told us would come?

    John the Baptist: No.

    Religious Leaders: Then tell us who you are and what you are about because everyone is asking us, especially the Pharisees, and we must prepare an answer.

    John replied with the words of Isaiah the prophet:

    John the Baptist: Listen! I am a voice calling out in the wilderness. Straighten out the road for the Lord. He’s on His way.”

    The lives that we live in our normality may prove to be the biggest wilderness.

    For John, and perhaps for us too, I’m not sure the “wilderness” of the desert is the problematic place that we often make it out to be. I think the wilderness for him, and often for us, is found in the business and the bustle, even in the noise and hubbub around us. In the advert that’s the headphones and the distance, the knowledge that you’ve tried but your gift hasn’t been found or appreciated. It’s seeking approval and recognition. It’s wrestling with all the rubbish and trying to tidy things up. It’s that discontent of things not fitting. It’s walking away to find your own space. That place can hurt…

    You’ve been hurt, And you’ve been down
    You’ve been set out of your course, boy, And pushed around
    Flying high, but, oh, you felt so low

    So you’re longing for the warmth of somebody
    You’ve got nothing in this world to lose
    Let me take you down where love lives
    Come away, come on out of your blues