Katherine writes:

Whilst reading the lyrics of this song, I was immediately drawn to its sense of chronology. The songwriter reflects on what they might have done in a previous generation, considers what they are called to do in the present, and repeatedly asks, “What would I do in a next generation?” That movement between past, present, and future prompted me to reflect on my own journey and calling. In particular, it led me to think about two connected themes: the surprising ways God calls unlikely people into leadership and the barriers that can limit what we believe is possible. As I reflect on both David’s experience and my own experience of being an unlikely leader, as well as my path towards ordained ministry and the opportunities created by those who have gone before me, I find myself asking what part I am called to play in this generation and the ones still to come.

The Church of England had a section on its website called Call Waiting, which aimed to reach younger adults exploring their vocations. The website had a wonderful description of David and his calling.

‘David was a shepherd, the ‘runt’ of the family, apparently unqualified for the role, and yet the person called by God – something that came as a surprise even to the mighty Samuel himself. Perhaps it was something about his care for his flock, making him the forerunner of our great Good Shepherd. Samuel was convinced God had chosen the immediately obvious, handsome, physically strong sons of Jesse, but God had other ideas.‘

When I read this story, I related to being an unlikely leader. Someone who people don’t automatically think of. A while ago, I applied for a leadership position at a school where I was working. Logically, I didn’t have a lot of experience, and one of the senior leaders sounded quite unsure when I said I was going to apply. During the process of deciding to apply, I felt God say, ‘I’ll persuade them; you just need to persuade yourself’. When I told my husband, he said it might be about more than just this job. Although I didn’t get the position, I now see the experience as part of God’s preparation for my leadership journey in the Church.

I started training to be a priest within the Church of England in 2024, but in a previous generation this wouldn’t have been a possibility. Women were first ordained as priests in 1994, and it was not until 2015 that women were able to be ordained as bishops. I am so thankful for the women who have gone before me and paved the way through both prayer and action. I wonder what part I have to play in this generation of ordained female leaders and in generations to come. An area of theology that I have greatly enjoyed learning about is practical feminist theology, where women’s voices are heard, and their gifts are celebrated. A line in the song says, ‘Would I fight for justice?’, which makes me think about advocating for people. Maybe my call is to advocate in this generation of ordained women to make things better for those in future generations.

David and his story are a key part of my vocational journey, in the past, present, and future! When I feel unsure of my calling, or whether I have the right skills, gifts, and talents, I need to go back to God and the story of David. I am also not alone in my journey of growing, changing, advocating, and overcoming barriers, both in my own life and in enabling others to do the same.

As the song states:

‘And it’s not just me, it’s a whole generation of people gradually makin’ change
There ain’t a greater task’

I lift up the prayer below to you, Lord…

‘God who calls us all to contribute to your Kingdom. Take our insecurities and vulnerabilities and weave them through with your holy confidence, which always reassures us that we have something to offer.As we explore what you are asking of us, we pray for integrity of heart, clarity of mind, and a yearning to love and serve others wherever that may take us;For deep peace about this next step, and for God’s Light in our eyes. Amen.’ – from the Call Waiting website.

…

Find out more about Dave at https://santandave.com/

Fidge writes:

By the time that this Friday Fix comes through, the winner of the Mercury Prize will be announced the night before. It would be fabulous if Jade won for the album That’s Showbiz Baby but honestly, I doubt she will. Although the fact that she has been shortlisted, is a credit to her growing reputation as a serious musician.

Perhaps it would be good here to start with a confession – I have been (and probably still am!) a huge Little Mix fan for the very simple reason, that unlike many other all girl bands, all four of them are actually very good singers. Like most bands who separate, each have taken their own paths, but Jade is probably the one who has had the most successful solo career. I love the way she has pushed and developed her musicianship exploring different genres and last year performed a highly successful concert Jade at the Proms with the Royal Northern Sinfonia at her local, The Glasshouse in Gateshead, filmed by the BBC and possibly still on iPlayer.

But back to the album in question. There is much here at first glance that would draw Friday Fixers to the album: song titles like Church, Angel of my Dreams, Unconditional might all resonate with us. But long before the album was released, my chosen song Plastic Box was on my 2026 playlist.

Plastic Box is about retroactive jealousy, that painful, sometimes obsessive habit of comparing yourself to a partner’s exes. At the heart of the song is the wish to have her partner’s heart kept in a plastic box never used, spotless, untouched. A heart with no history. The song lives in that tension between control and vulnerability. Real love though doesn’t come in a sealed box. It comes with fingerprints, history, other names, other chapters. My wife Lin and I have a saying, “BD” which technically means ‘Before Diva,’ a recognition of the life and experiences I had before we were together.

The more I sit with the song, the more I see that the plastic box isn’t only about exes. It’s about our deep human urge to put things and people in boxes. A box keeps things neat, sealed and predictable. It means nothing can surprise us, and nothing can hurt us.

Some boxes we’re put in, some we climb into because they feel safer than being seen for who we really are. All of this makes me wonder: which box am I living in? Who have I put into a box? Who do I need to look at anew and see them beyond the label, the role, the packaging and simply see them for who they are?

What I particularly liked about the concert Jade at Proms was how she described performing there as a coming home. She first sang there as a 15 year old from South Shields long before Little Mix was even thought of. It was a full circle moment. The North East didn’t welcome a shiny new product. It welcomed someone whose whole story it knew: the girl before the fame, the band years, the solo reinvention. She was received with all of it, not in spite of it.

For me, this is where faith speaks. None of us comes to God or to each other in a plastic box. We arrive scuffed and storied, carrying old loves, old griefs and old mistakes. And the good news is that we are not loved because we are untouched, but loved as we are, history and all.

…

Find out more about Jade at https://www.jadeofficial.com/

(The Mercury Prize 2026 winner was indeed announced last night. This year’s winner was Raye.)

Marc writes:

It’s not all my cup of tea, but I can tell that it’s good – there’s a reason it’s been shortlisted! So many of the artists featured have won the Mercury Prize for themselves already. As a charity album, it’s an eclectic collection that really “demonstrates what is possible when the creative community comes together behind a shared purpose.” (https://www.warchild.org.uk/news/help2-shortlisted-2026-mercury-prize)

With so many different people to learn about, and so many different songs to consider, and a brilliant cause being raised for through the sales and streaming of the album, there’s plenty I could reflect on… But here’s the thought that’s stuck with me through every listen (and there have been a few listens!):

If “the Mercury Prize promotes the best of UK and Irish music and the artists who produce it” and “the judges’ decisions are based solely on the quality of the music on the albums” (https://www.mercuryprize.com/about-the-prize/) then it must be deemed that these artists have all given their best to something that will reputationally do them no harm, but won’t necessarily be immediately profitable to them. 

I don’t know if there were fees agreed prior to recording in the same way as charities can pay for celeb endorsements when they go on game shows, for example, or perhaps they had their costs covered. And cynically, perhaps some are just involved in charity work for a bit of publicity and a tax write-off… But whatever the arrangement, it’s been noted that they’ve not held back from giving their best.

I wonder if I do that? Do I apply myself as much to the less glamorous or less evidently self-beneficial things? What gets the best of me (perhaps I need to revisit a reflection – one “Best of You” by Foo Fighters…), and what gets the rest of me?

I’m not convinced I’ve heeded the wisdom of Ecclesiastes 9:10 in its all-encompassing “WHATEVER” – “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might”… I’m not sure that I always remember the “ALL” of 1 Corinthians 16:14 – “Let all that you do be done in love”…

What would that look like for me?

One final observation: I’m not aware of any faith-rooted influence in War Child as an organisation, and yet the founding of an organisation that was born to transform the lives of children who have been impacted by war, conflict, violence and ethnic cleansing “in response to how much indifference there is to this back in the UK” (https://www.warchild.org.uk/who-we-are/our-history) is undoubtedly (in my humble opinion) something that echoes the heart of God for wholeness, peace, and life in all its fulness.

To me, this charity album is an embodiment of what is being described in 1 Peter 2:15 – “For such is the will of God that by doing right to the best of your ability and making noise about love and injustice you may silence the ignorance of foolish men.” (Italics my own addition…)

Whether this album wins or remains celebrated merely in the shortlisting, may it have a lasting impact in the lives of those it helps.

—

Find out more about War Child and their love of music at https://www.warchild.org.uk/music

Tom writes:

Last year when we explored Mercury Prize nominees on the Fix, I picked a couple of artists I’d never encountered before. This year, I took the opposite direction and picked an artist I am very familiar with. I’ve listened to Florence + the Machine since the release of their second single, “Dog Days are Over”. (I somehow missed the furore over their first single, “Kiss with a Fist”, which songwriter Florence Welch is adamant is not to be taken literally and is a figurative exploration of what might be called love-hate relationships, and a reflection on open displays of anger by someone who admits to be a conflict-avoider.) Indeed, I’ve written about the band before on the Fix – almost exactly 2 years ago.

This is a band that intrigues me as much as it excites me. (By which I mean I wouldn’t always list Welch and her band as being in my top lists, but I find the lyrics that Welch writes incredibly interesting.) It has always seemed to me that for Welch, song-writing is a therapeutic process, and her lyrics an open exploration of what it means to be human. And on the latest album, Everybody Scream, she has much to delve into given that it was written after a life-threatening illness that occurred during the tour of their previous album.

Welch has also never been one to shy away from exploring the spiritual side of life – frequently her imagery has been borrowed from Christianity, though recently, and particularly on this album, there is much more leaning on pagan spirituality (to be clear, I offer this as a neutral description rather than to offer any judgment on changing use of imagery) – with song titles such as “Witch Dance”, “Sympathy Magic”, and “The Old Religion”. Even the title track can be read as a reference to the practice of primal screaming.

The track that stood out most to me as I listened through the first time (ignoring the title track, which was overly familiar to me from radio play) was “One of the Greats”. Rather than being a self- aggrandising piece of egotism, it is a reflection on mortality in the wake of her near-death experience, the process of record-making, which Welch describes as dying a little each time she does it, and her experiences of building a career in music as woman.

It is this last element that gives the track the line that spoke out to me most immediately: “It must be nice to be a man and make boring music just because you can.” The song is a reflection on both the fickle nature of the music world (by which Florence has been both pushed into the limelight and also told she doesn’t deserve it), and also a reflection on the privileged position men continue to have in so much (all?) of life.

I write this with the “Cornell 7” an ongoing topic in the news (and even as I write that I am appalled at myself at the easy way I can write of these men and their appalling, sickening actions as simply a “topic” and to reference the story without even needing to mention the young woman whose life
has been shattered by them). I write this as particular political actors in our country make continual appeals for the safety of women and children in the light of immigration while failing to acknowledge that most violence against women and children is enacted not by strangers but by those known to them – in our own nation’s context, that is British men who (without the actual statistics to hand) I would hazard a guess at being predominantly white and straight.

This is, indeed, a world in which women are notably under-represented in the list of greats in whole fields of excellence – even in those areas which are supposedly feminine: write a list of the most famous chefs and fashion designers and notice how many of them are men. And if this is going to change, then men need to recognise the privilege they have and work to step away from it.

And I should hasten to add that the Church is not immune to this, even in those denominations which like to think we are more advanced in the inclusion of women. I have lost track of the horror stories I have heard from female colleagues (I am a Methodist minister) as to the ways they have been treated – assumptions made, questions asked, expectations placed, dismissive reactions given, spaces invaded, voices ignored, and not simply in the past but in the here and now.

I’m not going, strangely, possibly controversially, to hold Jesus up as the model of perfection – his reaction, for example, to the Syrophoenician Woman offers an interaction that cannot lightly be dismissed as perfection in lifting up women downtrodden by a male-dominated society. Yet it seems to me that the general direction of Jesus’ ministry is one that seeks to set aside male privilege to the benefit of the women he encounters. And that is something the Church continues to frequently fail to do, despite being called to live the life of Christ in the world today.

I picked Florence because I thought I knew where I’d go with it, looking forward to reflecting on the use of religious imagery in secular music. Instead, I find myself reminded of the power of music to show us ourselves in a mirror, reflecting uncomfortable truths back at us and reminding us there is more to be done if we truly live out our call to live as images of God, seeking to truly love our neighbours as we love ourselves, including recognising where life has given us unasked-for privileges and seeking ways of stepping aside of them so that others might truly shine.

…

Find out more about Florence + The Machine at https://florenceandthemachine.net/

Gill writes:

I have a confession to make (well, it’s always good to start with a confession) – Raye’s music hadn’t really been on my radar. In fact, I think all I knew of Raye was that song about the husband, which TikTok has now worn thin. The fun thing about our Mercury Prize Friday Fixes is that we get to choose the album, so I deliberately opted for hers to see how her music lands with me.

All I can say is ‘wow!’ It opens with a proper explosion of sound: big band, hip-hop, the lot. And then, about halfway through comes the calm (until about three quarters in), yet thought-provoking ‘Life Boat.’

It’s mostly a montage of one line: I’m not giving up yet. And it’s that last word that I really honed in on. It’s not a song about being fine or that things will all work out; instead, it is song about resilience and persistence.

‘We are made to persist. That’s how we find out who we are’ says American author Tobias Wolff. This, for me, is what the ‘yet’ signifies.

The world feels pretty daunting at the moment, and I suspect you might feel it too. I find it oddly reassuring to hear Raye sing about something to cling on to. I sense the divine here. I feel the prayer.

Lord, send me a lifeboat
Something I could cling to

The topic of lifeboats has had another meaning lately. A divisive one sadly, which has prompted me, on a daily basis, to remember what Jesus asked of us: love your neighbour.

As a Jesus follower, a neighbour (to me) is every single person I encounter. People who are lovable and those who are more difficult to love. And part of loving my neighbour means taking a stand for people who are being trampled on, and making that stand without hatred in my heart for those who might not agree with me.

I’ve supported the RNLI ever since I heard about Grace Darling as a child. Just like Grace, today’s lifeboat crews don’t ask who’s in the water before they launch. They just go. That seems like the clearest picture of loving your neighbour I can think of.

Whether you’re going through darkness, there is a future
There’s a way forward
There’s, there’s hope

I came to Raye by accident, via our Mercury Prize ‘challenge’ and a very overused TikTok track, and I’ve ended up with a lifeline I didn’t know I needed.

Like Raye, I don’t know how troubles in our world will work out. But I’m not giving up yet. And maybe I can be the hand that reaches out, just like there have been hands that have reached out for me.

And if you’re in a similar place, perhaps take comfort in that three-letter word – don’t be giving up yet. It’s small enough to carry you and strong enough to hold on to.

…

Find out more about Raye at

https://rayeofficial.com/

Jane writes:

When Suede were in their absolute heyday, I was in my late 20s/early 30s.  They were the kind of band that had “a sound” and plenty of presence. The lead singer Brett Anderson had a vocal quality that was distinct and as that happens to be one of my favourite things then all sorts of boxes were ticked. I may even have had one of their albums on my shelves but suspect it got lost in the spoils of a broken relationship like things do.

To my, now, distress, they drifted from my mind apart from the occasional radio listen and even in the lockdown they didn’t appear on my dancefloor fillers playlist.

As soon as I saw the Mercury Prize list, I was both shocked and surprised. My music radar had been woefully damaged, I’d missed a new album, and I immediately wondered, many years on, if they would impact me as much as the first time round.

Spoiler. I really like it!

I was a bit at a loss to choose a track to represent this album so I chose the title track, largely because of its ability to capture the sound of a band that bounds back like a familiar friendly puppy after youve been on holiday. Also though, it has something to say about the state of the nation and our hurting souls.

Lyrically it captures the complexity of facing up to our frailties

• Teenage bathroom angst
• Anxiety of running a home
• The reality of overstretching ourselves in the face of our own  desires

Depression is a deeply serious situation to be in and medication becomes a neccesity. Many people find themselves having to rely on antidepressants and carry on regardless in the rush of modern life ‘cos there is no alterative but to, and root causes have no time to be investigated. I suspect that the protagonist in this song is far from happy despite his protestations otherwise. He may be reflective of many who grapple with mental ill health, riding an emotional rollercoaster.

This song is a marker of a whole album that pokes ito the psyche of how we are having to live life in the 21^st century

• Love falling apart
• Disconnection from the joy of being alongside other cultures
• The need for speed
• Addiction
• How our frailty will be the saving grace of humanity

I could go on…

As an album – ooo I discovered an extended version – it has an almost relentless guitar rock sound that draws you into it. Releasing your own energy and drawing you into big lyrical lines and catchy choruses before you unpick what it all means.

As a person of faith, I am reminded that the book we call holy tells stories of people facing all sorts of life issues – some similar to our own and some not. It seems the human condition, in all its variety, is similar through the ages and nothing goes unnoticed by the God who calls us into connection. This album is simply an extra record of what we face and remains seen.

In life you can easily lose track of what has given you joy. You carry on dealing with what’s in front of you but not pausing to recapture what matters. This album is a reminder to go back and grab the joy with both hands. Let life get into your bones in a way that is irrisistable and literally dance inducing. Try to stay connected to any faith that wakens within you. Pick up meaning by osmosis but have proper good fun in the process…..

…

More can be found out about Suede here – https://www.suede.co.uk/homepage/

If you are struggling with what life is throwing at you then you can look here for helpful partners who will accompay you – https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/

Sally writes:

I have a confession as I start; before the album came out my not so unconscious bias about an album by an octogenarian made me cynical.

The fact that is up for the Mercury Prize shows how wrong I was. It might be 60 years, almost, since the Beatles did Sargeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band but McCartney is still an incredible writer and storyteller.

This album is an act of reminiscence about a place and time in the past. This album is an act of oral history put to music. Down South is a standout track with a beautiful bluesy feel on a great album.

It tells the story of George Harrison and Paul McCartney getting to know each other, hitch-hiking and bumming around the south of England prior to Hamburg and their legendary careers.

Yes this is a highly produced album but it is one which has the elements of great lyrics, strong guitars & beautiful harmonies.

For me the most important message coming out of this album is don’t write off old people and their memories. This album highlights in spectacular form how they can be beautiful.

…

Find out more about Paul McCartney at https://www.paulmccartney.com/

Kerry writes:

I begin with a confession – I don’t really get jazz! I’ve tried, and while I can embrace the early forms that emerged from swing, blues, and gospel, I am one of those people who finds many of its more fluid, modern expressions a bit meh! I can sit back and be amazed by the incredible musicianship, the chord structures, the tones, the syncopation and scales, but it just doesn’t touch my soul.

Why then am I writing about a Jazz album that features in the Mercury Music Prize shortlist? It is partly as an act of challenging myself, trying to be surprised, and embracing what I don’t understand. While on the surface it is about as attractive as cold, milky, weak tea, or Taylor Swift (how dare I!), I genuinely wanted to try and be surprised and to be moved by what is not part of my self-determined musical world. When I listened to the album, I truly admired the musicality of tracks like Gainsborough Grove, Messy-In and Azure Blues, the outstanding audiophile recording, which sounds pristine and sharp, but I still struggled to feel my soul moved. However, it was in the tracks that carried the spoken word of the Geordie poet, Cooper Robson, that I became enamoured and stirred. They became my gateway to the album’s possibilities.

The opening track is 7 Bridges to Burn. It is not musically radical, it gently invited me in with light tempting notes, before delivering the first lines of the stories of working-class life. The poetry played into me over what felt like a romantic film’s soundtrack. The words offered the story of a boy, a man, “who lives on a street you wouldn’t clock on your Strava”. A backstreet world where the implication is that lives are affected by disorder, even threat. There I was invited into struggle, to meet the outsider, the economically marginalised, and socially non-mobile. I listened to the story of those some might label as the underclass, where escape can be restricted to drugs, drink, and crime.

He skives with his lass
They skip class to get off their lips
Blast off their brains on the sawn-off shot glass
The pupils that dilate
Are the students that die early
That found substance in abuse

The difficult truth is the Northeast has consistently had the highest rate of drug-related deaths in England for a decade, and the rates have been twice that of other parts of the country. To this, another story told about is crime:

He got a ring for her finger
A bracelet for his ankle and
Chains for leaving the house
Half his life in the nick
And then I’ll see him at a wake
And he’s nicking pickled onions off my paper plate
And he says,

“Son,” “Don’t do what I’ve done”

And he’s back behind bars…

The cycle can appear inescapable, and the words speak honestly about it, but these words are somehow musically caught in a romance scored by Knats. A reminder, love is more than our limitations. Love is more than one incident, one thing, love transcends and holds on, even when there is little. The song rises to a place of defiant hope, community, and belonging. It blossoms in people who gather and worship, not in church but in St James’ Park. It is manifest in the resilience of Geordies as witnessed by every football fan who has ever seen Newcastle fans dispute the winter weather, and afront sub-zero temperatures with naked torsos and chests!

Call hailstones and gale force “T-Shirt weather”
We dress ourselves in pleasure

Magpies
One for sorrow
Two, for joy
Fifty-two thousand make the ground shake
Make no mistake
Magpies
Magpies

There is a sense that here people are faithful to who they are. They are rooted and they have a story that unites them, that transcends other realities, and they become a prophetic sign. Knats are a band who have left Newcastle to complete their music degrees in London, and yet they know where they come from, and they love where they come from.

Stanley Hauerwas wonderfully wrote about the Church as a narrative-formed
community. He wrote about how the stories of faith form us from their past, but also form us by narrating our future hope. Knats write and perform in a more immanent frame than that. They are more reflective of the past remembered than ordered to a future hope. The album is a strange love song to their city; its title and cover are a homage to the 57 jazz musicians in a black-and-white photo called A Great Day in Harlem, taken in 1958. Formed as musicians by their home city, and the jazz from many other cities, they are inspired to tell their stories anew. I don’t fully appreciate it, but I have at least had some of my prejudices challenged by it.

Let those who have ears, hear, I think someone once said. Maybe I haven’t fully heard, but I did notice more than just the blue notes coming from my speakers.

…

Find out more about Knats at https://knats.bandcamp.com/