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/

Richard writes:

‘While you make pretty speeches, I’m being cut to shreds’
‘My body’s floating down the muddy river’

When I was a small child, television consisted of just three channels – difficult to imagine these days. It was at least, in general, more of a communal experience than the way in which we connect with our screens today. The weekend was often dominated by family entertainment programmes like Sunday Night at the London Palladium. One of the most famous programmes of the time was Bruce Forsyth’s Generation Game, where contestants joined in short plays, dancing and games of skill before playing a final memory game at the end of the show – what you could remember you took home. Occasionally the show would feature a plate spinner who would attempt to spin more and more plates on top of vertical poles, hoping to keep them aloft without any falling to the ground. The act has ancient roots in Chinese acrobatic troupes who performed in groups, twirling and spinning plates in carefully choreographed movements and contortions. But in the Music Hall and circus traditions, it became a solo act often part of a comedy routine. One plate spinner, David Spathaky, once managed to keep 108 plates spinning at once, still a world record. It passed for entertainment then!

The phrase ‘spinning plates’ carries with it the sense of keeping too many balls in the air, of doing so many things that we feel overwhelmed, even perhaps crushed and destroyed. The Radiohead song, Like Spinning Plates, features on the album Amnesiac although a beautiful plain piano version is also available on the live album, I Might be Wrong. It began as an accident. The band recorded an unsuccessful version of the song I Will, which eventually found its way onto Hail to the Thief. Rather than discard the recording, they reversed the instrumental, creating a dissonant landscape onto which Thom Yorke’s lyrics could be projected. The reversal creates a mood of discomfort, of floating backwards, of deep disconnection in which a voice struggles for connection in the midst of emotional turmoil. It is a contemporary form of lamentation in which the singer expresses a sense of disintegration which works on a number of levels: personal, social and ecological. It is a song about being overwhelmed and traumatised by external pressures; of unease and disillusionment; of struggling to keep the plates spinning in a world where public words no longer bridge the divide but ring hollow and simply open up the ground between us.

While you make pretty speeches, I’m being cut to shreds

It is a world in which the plates feel fragile, about to fall from a height. How can they keep on spinning when the world is fractured, and my body feels like it’s floating in a muddy river?

The prophet Ezekiel seems an unlikely spiritual companion for Radiohead. Yet the prophet finds himself amongst exiles in a context of national ruin and loss of identity, adrift in a reality which overwhelms him. He is crushed, stunned into silence (3:15), traumatised, as he sits amongst his people, with his speech and movement shut down. Yet he offers a profound insight into a different kind of overwhelming. Sometimes we cannot escape the destructive forces that attempt to overwhelm us. Prophetic wisdom offers us ways of living within the ruins until the time when the landscape begins to change. In life, there are all kinds of overwhelmings, some of which are destructive, others of which are life-giving. Ezekiel offers us a way of comprehending reality which invites us to re-orientate our lives on God precisely at the point when it feels that we are dis-orientated and dis-connected. He offers us an invitation to re-order our lives on a stable centre which, whilst it does not remove the external threat, begins to provide us with a base from which we might prevent it from crushing us and perhaps even eventually subdue it. This re-ordering or re-centring has many names but is often found in practices like prayer, worship and community – the wellsprings of vocational identity.

One of the most famous chapters in Ezekiel, chapter 47, offers a vision of a new overwhelming. It is a vision not of a muddy river but of water flowing from the Temple like a life-giving stream. It is a vision of a new Eden which provides an alternative to a lament of disconnection and dissonance. As the text tells us, everything will live where the river goes (v.9).

…

Find out more about Radiohead at https://radiohead.com/

Gill writes:

Usually, the Friday Fix takes a break this week. It’s the end of summer and we’re all getting ready for a reset. It also coincides with the Greenbelt Festival (where you’ll find a number of our contributors this weekend) and so quite often, we share the Greenbelt playlist as a peace offering.

Given that it’s been a summer of one hit wonders, I thought we could go out with a bang of one hit wonders, rather than a whimper of just one. So, I’ve taken the liberty of choosing 3 from each decade from the 70’s to the 2010’s. These are the ones that stood out for me – although I struggled to keep it to three (especially in the 80’s!), and each track has a tiny thought with a Friday Fix feel.

You will find at the end of this Fix, a Spotify playlist of the tracks I’ve covered – just in case you miss the Greenbelt playlist.

1970s

• Clout – ‘Substitute’ (1978) – I didn’t know this until I researched it but this is a cover of a Righteous Brothers song, by a South African band, that ended up on Top of the Pops. This was possibly my most favourite song from 1978. A reminder, perhaps, that ‘recycling’ can make some things as good as new.
• Driver 67 – ‘Car 67’ (1978) – a track that set out as a bit of a joke, playing around in the record studio. A taxi radio drama set to music, all delivered with a deadpan Black Country voice. There’s something a bit holy about the ordinary voice in the background, doing the job nobody sees and being alongside you.
• Jilted John – ‘Jilted John’ (1978) – “Gordon is a moron” is possibly the most quoted line from a 70’s song. My slightly older (and cooler at the time) cousin played this relentlessly. Even heartbreak can be looked at gently and lightly. Laughter has always been one of faith’s better coping mechanisms.

1980s

• Fiction Factory – ‘(Feels Like) Heaven’ (1983) – such a classic 80’s song and complete with a synth intro. A little bit of 80’s optimism. A song that reminds us that a glimpse of heaven doesn’t have to arrive with bells and whistles.
• Furniture – ‘Brilliant Mind’ (1986) – wistful and slightly melancholy – just how I liked music in the mid-80’s. Oh, and from the soundtrack of my favourite 80’s film – Some Kind of Wonderful. Just like the film, it feels like a gentle revealing of the soul where pride falls away and shows us the obvious.
• The Icicle Works – ‘Love Is a Wonderful Colour’ (1983) – hailing from my favourite city with music in its DNA (Liverpool). A lovely image of love painted as colour rather than words, and capturing the way that grace tends to work quietly and everywhere at once.

1990s

• The Boo Radleys – ‘Wake Up Boo! (1995) – Radio 1’s unofficial start-of-summer anthem for a good few years. Throw those curtains wide (a nod to Elbow there) with instant sunshine (whatever the weather’s actually doing). For me, this song is as good a description of hope as any.
• Chumbawumba – ‘Tubthumping’ (1997) – I know many who find this a useful life philosophy. Resurrection set to a football chant maybe?
• The La’s – ‘There She Goes’ (1988, rereleased 1990) – this is definitely in my top 5 of One Hit Wonders. I know that The La’s did release more music, but this jangly joy (with quite a dark edge if you believe the rumours about ‘she’ being a drug) was a perfect song that The La’s gave us that we actually noticed. Some songs just capture moments of joy.

2000s

• Spiller ft. Sophie Ellis-Bextor – ‘Groovejet (If This Ain’t Love)’ (2000) – the song that launched a thousand club nights and gave Sophie Ellis-Bextor a big break. A proper turn of the millennium vibe. We already know that a dancefloor can be a place of communion – bodies moving together in something bigger than themselves.
• Feist – ‘1234’ (2007) – we can thank an iPod advert for this sweet, skippy tune which is great for a summer trip. In fact this was on my 2026 Canada Trip playlist. Counting things out loud isn’t so different from counting your blessings maybe?
• The Calling – ‘Wherever You Will Go’ (2001) – a long-distance-relationship song, smothered in angst. Don’t you think that a promise to go wherever love leads is as close to a vocation as a pop chorus can get?!

2010s

• Owl City – ‘Fireflies’ (2009/2010) – a song that straddled the decades of the 10’s and 20’s. Can’t help liking the ethereal nature of this song. Small lights in the dark, ten thousand of them is not a bad image of how faith often rocks up – in scattered and flickering ways.
• The Lumineers – ‘Ho Hey’ (2012) – that “ho! hey!” shout probably started to annoy us at some point. But a lovely crossover moment for folk-pop. A shout that everyone joins in with, offering a sense of community for not only those who join in, but for those looking on tofrom the sides too perhaps.
• Passenger – ‘Let Her Go’ (2012) – this song lolled around for ages before creeping up the charts – and then it finally clicked with everyone almost at once. And what a heartfelt message it had. Knowing what you had once it’s gone is one of the oldest and most human of lessons, and love keeps gently teaching us that.

And so we bring our One Hit Wonders summer to a close. Thank you to everyone who shared their picks, their memories, and the odd unexpected theological insight along the way – from JCB diggers to Cold War protest songs, from school playgrounds to breakup ballads, you’ve reminded us that a single perfect (or timely) song can carry more than its three minutes of fame. Here’s to the one-hit wonders, and to whatever seeps into the airwaves at just the right moment to catch us. See you next week.