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Every now and then, we have a different reflection on a song we’ve had previously so here’s Mandy’s thoughts on ‘Don’t Dream It’s Over’

Mandy writes:

In the last few weeks, the UK news has been filled with images and sounds of violent protest and criminal damage, following the deaths of three young girls who were attacked at a dance workshop in Southport.

Misinformation and misplaced anger led to a storm of violent protest, mostly orchestrated by the far right. There were attacks on hotels housing refugees and on the police as they tried to keep order. Many rioters were arrested and some have already been jailed for these attacks. We are told that more arrests will follow.

This first wave of violence was countered days later by streets filled by peaceful protesters, with one or two arrests, but mainly populated by different and much larger crowds with a more positive message – we are stronger together, we are enriched living side by side, refugees are welcome and we choose to live in peace.

There has been a great deal of taking sides. A sense of ‘us and them’, whether that be protesters and counter-protesters, rioters and police, the far right and refugees/asylum seekers. These divisions have not disappeared, even though our streets now appear to be calmer.

Why does this song – Don’t Dream It’s Over – speak so deeply into our current times? It’s been covered by numerous artists, from Miley Cyrus and Ariana Grande to Bono, who sang it regularly during U2’s recent residency in Las Vegas, on one occasion dedicating it to the late Russian dissident Alexei Navalny.

During an interview with SPIN earlier this year, Neil Finn reflected on how he wrote the song in just one day. He said: “I was contemplating the end of things: relationships and the challenges that you face. It’s an exhortation to myself – and to anyone who’s going through that – to not think it’s the end, to keep on pushing, keep on believing. It’s a song of hope, I think.”

Watching footage of the funeral for one of the young girls in Southport, I could not imagine what her family have been going through. I could only reflect on my own range of emotions following the attacks and the rioting and connect them with the song – from feeling helpless and angry (“try to catch the deluge in a paper cup”) to resignation and even avoidance (“in the paper today, tales of war and of waste, but you turn right over to the TV page”)

For me, the power of Don’t Dream It’s Over is the fact that it reflects the human condition in a few short verses. There is melancholy, there is resignation, there is that sense of trying to doggedly carry on with life despite all the world throws at you (“there’s a battle ahead, many battles are lost”) and the ordinary challenges that grind us down (“now I’m towing my car, there’s a hole in the roof, my possessions are causing me suspicion, but there’s no proof”)

But there is also an emerging strand of hope. Battles are fought and lost, but there are fellow travellers along the way to provide encouragement (“but you’ll never see the end of the road while you’re travelling with me”) And ultimately, the (ridiculously catchy) and uplifting chorus:

“Hey now, hey now, don’t dream it’s over
Hey now, hey now, when the world comes in
They come, they come, to build a wall between us
You know they won’t win.”

When division threatens our streets and communities, one song is not going to solve everything. The hard work of listening and rebuilding trust has to be done alongside the protests and counter-protests. The role of social media cannot be underestimated, alongside the responsibilities of those who own the sites.

Yet Don’t Dream It’s Over works, simply because it points to hope – that those who seek to cause division shouldn’t and cannot win. And that hope comes through discovering how we connect with one another, dreaming of a better world, dreaming of justice and truth, dreaming that maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be OK.

Full SPIN interview: https://www.spin.com/2024/05/neil-finn-on-the-beautiful-melancholy-of-1986s-unstoppable-hit-dont-dream-its-over/

The fantastic live version at Glastonbury 2022:

Find out more about Crowded House at https://www.crowdedhouse.com/

A slightly different ‘Fix’ this week as David offers thoughts on an album

David writes:

An artistic collaboration is a complex enterprise. Think visiting organist. Or guest choir. Or in the past month, Cypress Hill joining the London Symphony Orchestra. Getting unlikely musical partners on stage together requires imagination, preparation, flexibility, and much negotiation. Which may be why I still turn the volume up on a thirty-year old album.

I like that a Mali-USA collaboration began with a gift. “Having long treasured each other’s recordings Ali Farka Toure and Ry Cooder first met in London in the summer of ’92. Their connection was immediate and the bond was secured when Toure presented Cooder with his prized possession – his first instrument, a little one-string lute called a n’jurkel. They agreed to try something together one day”.

That day came a year later when they sat down in a studio in Los Angeles and recorded ten songs that became the album ‘Talking Timbuktu’. Farka Toure observed the English title’s play on words: “For some people, when you say ‘Timbuktu’ it is like the end of the world, but that is not true. I am from Timbuktu, and I can tell you we are right at the heart of the world’. His soaring vocals, backed by electric guitar and calabash, banjo and mbira, congas and tambouras, all make the foreign seem less foreign, the far-off much closer.

But oh, to be a fly on the wall during those recording sessions! How were the pieces chosen? Who nodded to whom to take the lead? Who taught? Who learned? Who learned a new rhythm? Who knew enough to go piano when someone else went forte? I serve in a setting of ministry where every day presents some type of cultural exchange across boundaries. Some are navigated adeptly. Others sound more like clashes. The real test of the Church of Jesus born at Pentecost was in the ‘ordinary time’ which followed. In fact, the New Testament is the story of one tentative collaboration after another, with mixed result but lasting results. Dunamis, as I understand the word, can be both holy power… and dynamite.

Playing another person’s music is a political act. It can be perceived as an act of conciliation. It can be also be received as an aggressive intrusion. There is a fine line — in church and in music — between a good-will gesture and cultural appropriation. Decades after the Graceland album, Paul Simon and Dali Tambo can still debate the issues of artistic freedom, political boycotts and whose rules we follow.

‘Reverend, we really like it when you wear the Ghanaian stole in worship,’ says one church member. Another flicks the same liturgical garment with a playful smile: ‘You’re a white guy. Why are you wearing one of our stoles?’ A fine line, indeed.

One wise friend told me, ‘The line between cultural appropriation and a conciliatory act always has to be negotiated. If there is no prior relationship, the potential for miscommunication is great. But where there is some level of trust already established, that is the place to negotiate that line, again and again.’

…Which makes me appreciate Ali and Ry’s mutual project even more. Although they seemed to have recorded on American territory, the songs are all from Mali (in four different languages, the liner notes tell us). Most riffs sound West African, while an occasional baseline sound more Southern R&B. The leadership team of this musical community looks to be numerically and culturally balanced. Presumably, some multilingual ambassadors of reconciliation did their work on headsets. I envision lots of deferential nods, dramatic motions, and repeated sign-language. But the tone is set by the two men on the album cover – seated face to face, instruments in hand, both smiling. (God may just save the world, one Christian theologian once wrote, through unlikely friendships). And the result of this musical friendship is an ancient blending of sound, producing a whole new kind of song.

Of the making of ‘Talking Timbuktu,’ one observer wrote, ‘…language was merely a difference, not a barrier. That indefinable spark which ignites a special session was lit and recording was completed in three days’.

With an initial gift, a holy encounter, ‘three days’ and a little light, a lot can happen.

You can find out more about the album and artists at https://worldcircuit.co.uk/

Tom writes:

Artificial intelligence is major headline news nowadays. Recent leaps forward in its abilities mean that, as ever, we seem to have jumped from reflections on AI being the role of Science Fiction writers and futurists to anybody and everybody. Within the conversation there are many positives and negatives discussed – from the ways in which AI can make life-saving decisions at a speed unavailable to the human mind, to the ways in which those building AI models seem to make use of intellectual property they may not have rights to. We also regularly note that AI still has significant imperfections (such as the ending of a pilot programme using AI in ordering processes at McDonald’s after numerous mistakes, such ice-cream topped with vast quantities of bacon, went viral), as well as being aware that much of what we use AI for is pretty banal (for example, the software I’m writing this on uses AI to suggest words I might write before I’ve finished writing them).

Of course, some of these conversations are shaped by the art of science-fiction, which has been reflecting on artificial and robotic intelligence for almost as long as its existed as a genre – Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is about many things, but it’s certainly arguable that one of its subjects is about the kind of intelligence we might consider the eponymous doctor’s creation has. Much more recently, artificial intelligence has been at the heart of stories such as 2001: A Space Odyssey, Terminator, A.I. (of course), the Matrix series, and many more. It is noticeable that in much of the reflection that sci-fi has created around this theme, it is the problems that have been highlighted – which is hardly surprising, given that one of the keys to successful story telling is conflict.

So, we have HAL 9000, the murderous supercomputer on Discovery One in 2001, the rise of Skynet in the Terminator films, and even in the fantastical setting of my hobby, Warhammer 40,000, the rise and then destruction of artificial intelligence is part of the story behind the stagnation of technology so far into the future.

Amongst philosophers and theologians, however, the questions asked tend to be more around the independence of intelligence. When, we might ask, does artificial intelligence become a person? Can it only be a person if it has a body (therefore entering the realm of robotic intelligence)? If it is not a body but the level of rational thought that is necessary, then what is it that defines that level – the ability to play and create, or the ability to have and express emotions? And which emotions are the key ones? Clearly, from what I write above, what we fear is an artificial intelligence that can experience existential fear and hate – the emotions needed in order to see humanity as an enemy that needs to be fought and conquered.

In Kasabian’s song, however, we find a different reflection on artificial intelligence. It is, without doubt, a sceptical piece of art, questioning the validity of AI beyond being machine thinking. Yet it approaches it from the direction not of hate, but of love. The singer and their object are humans, in love with one another, and wanting to spend time together (the theme of a very many pop songs in history), but the comparison is with AI. The song seems to be a critique of both internet dating, where websites match people based on algorithms rather than interpersonal chemistry, and also AI itself, suggesting that AI cannot love – at least, not like humans can.

Which, to me, raises the interesting question – what if it could? Is the resolution of the question around when AI moves beyond the artificial to the personal to be found in whether or not it experiences and lives out the emotion of love? And if it does, then what will our response be? Not just in terms of secular society, but also theology – can a computer-based intelligence that can clearly express love be seen as an image of the divine, can it, should it, be given Baptism and Communion, might it be able to be a Member of the Methodist Church?

In some ways, all of this is just rambling, from the basis of one fairly short yet reasonably catchy pop-rock song. Yet, as the developments in AI continue, they’re questions we need to be asking. Thankfully, I know some people out there are. Maybe it’s time more of us joined them – if we can just escape the algorithms that ensure what we get to see are cute cats, popular products, and the latest memes…

You can find out more about Kasabian at https://www.kasabian.co.uk/

Marc writes:

The question I have is this:

Will the religious language help others to understand what Tom’s getting at, or will what Tom is implying help others understand the religious language we use?

This is the latest (at time of writing!) release off the upcoming album titled “I Am”… Again, I note the reaction I have to the album title, but what does it mean to Tom, and what does it mean to others?

It’s not the first time I’ve heard him singing about grace, but there is so much in this song that shouts at me because of the church culture I’m immersed in, including:

“I’m on my knees at your altar”

“You’re the kind of grace that you can’t replace”

“Better men have died for love like you”

“Erase my sins, my communion, Till death do us part, it’s a union”

And the Methodist in me leaps at the reference “You’re my love divine”

And then there’s the chorus:

“Your love is spiritual

When you hold me close

Only heaven knows

Your touch is biblical

Everywhere I go

You’re my holy ghost”

I’d love to sit round a firepit with a glass of something and hear where his knowledge of the language he uses comes from and what his experience entails. It feels to me like there is a story and a numinous journey that has led to lyrics like this…

But that’s because he’s speaking my language, and my experience is that the words he sings point to the Divine…

But what happens if someone unfamiliar with the language and symbolism of this beautiful song recognises the notion of an ever-present love, a clean slate and the peace of feeling held? How will we help them not merely to assimilate the language we are familiar with, but to have their own numinous encounter with the divine who offers the same?

I guess what I’m rambling my way through is the fact that the language is helpful to me because it’s familiar, and it is the sort of language I use in church. But is that language as helpful to others? What do they hear? Could we use different words?

Either way, as Tom said on his X tweet announcing the release: “Go listen to it and belt it out”…

… And I’d dare to add “Maybe even in worship.”

——

LYRICS:

I’m on my knees at your alter

When I bleed, give me shelter

You’re my evergreen

You’re my world unseen

My heart it beats to your rhythm

It’s not what you take, it’s what you’re given’

You’re the kind of grace

That you can’t replace

I watched you turn the skies from grey to blue

Better men have died for love like you

Your love is spiritual

When you hold me close

Only heaven knows

Your touch is biblical

Everywhere I go

You’re my holy ghost

I swear I’ve known you for centuries

You’re heaven-sent, how you save me

In our final hour

Call on higher power

Erase my sins, my communion

Till death do us part, it’s a union

A guiding light

You’re my love divine

I watched you turn the skies from grey to blue

Better men have died for love like you

Your love is spiritual

When you hold me close

Only heaven knows

Your touch is biblical

Everywhere I go

You’re my holy ghost

Find out more about Tom Walker at https://www.iamtomwalker.com/

Dawn writes:

I’m writing this the day after the General Election of 2024. I didn’t stay up to watch the result come in live. Honestly, I’m pleased that the Tories are no longer in charge of the government but I have a feeling we’re just replacing like for like.

What causes me alarm, like many people on my own social media, is the rise of the far-right campaigns. I’m no political commentator but even I can see the 4 seats (now 5 – Ed.) that the Reform Party have gained are in particular areas with possibly the exception of one (Ashfield in Nottinghamshire) are eastern coastal towns that are in some of the poorest areas of Great Britain.

I grew up in Clacton-on-Sea and when I visit friends I see a ghost town, with few jobs and low prospects for those living there. Many are the reasons for this, not least underinvestment in our coastal towns who relied in the past on either fishing or tourism.

This song is on my favourites playlist to remind me that looking to the past with ‘rose-tinted glasses’ isn’t beneficial to either my mental health or being in the present moment. Political ideologies that prey on people’s dodgy memory of a past that never was are repeating the same mistake we made (in my opinion with Brexit).

The President of the Methodist Conference in her opening address this year
spoke of holding the past accountable and seeking justice in the present (full address here). Those who serve predominantly in the institutions of the Christian church are often met with congregations who will frequently tell you that ‘it was always full in my day”, “the stage was full of children on Sunday School anniversary” and some other remarks offered sometimes as a criticism of the way things are now.

It’s true there are fewer people attending formal Sunday worship in established buildings, BUT there is a rise in many places that are offering something different, building relationships with non-religious social charities. Joining social action movements, in my mind, is worshipping God through Jesus’ call to seek justice for the oppressed and the hold those in power accountable.

The world has changed, and we must be salt and light in the present age rather than trying to recreate a past that never was as rosy as we would like to believe.

Find out more about The Proclaimers at https://the.proclaimers.co.uk/

Dawn writes:

I am a self confessed experience junkie, and I’ve spent most of my life rushing
from one high to the next; anything from extreme rollercoasters to ‘spiritual’ highs of large arena-style church worship. Some of that is due to being neuro-divergent and some as a trauma response.

Music has always been important to me throughout it all. My GCSE Chemistry
teacher once said if there was an exam in song lyrics I would get an A but alas in chemistry I would go on to score an F. Unfortunately I’m also not musically gifted, in truth I can’t hold a tune in a bucket but song lyrics, like all good poetry have the power to transport me somewhere deep inside myself and in some respects have been the best therapy I’ve received.

This particular song came into my life about 5 years ago and since then I’ve seen the artist Passenger 4 times live. He writes completely from the heart and yes, while most of his music isn’t exactly cheerful it speaks to a part of my soul that needs to hear those words.

As I practice living a vocation that requires me to ‘be’ more than ‘do’,
contemplation doesn’t come easy and the lyrics of this song serve as a reminder
to me about chasing down the sparkly, shiny stuff of life that doesn’t always last. Leading me back to the edge of the lake to be still and know.

Hey can’t you show me something I’ve not seen before
Magic tricks and pirate ships – they just don’t work no more.
I’ve given up on treasure chests that wash upon the shore
‘Cause fool’s gold never seems to keep its shine.

Hey can’t you give me something I can hold in my hands
The sick of gold rush promises and empty suitcase plans
I won’t go back to treasure maps and digging in the sand
For I always seem to lose whatever I find
Yeah, I always seem to leave it all behind

Hey, give me golden afternoons in May
Give me silver moons that light my way
And I won’t ask for fool’s gold anymore

Hey, can’t you make me feel like I haven’t felt for years
When we laughed like we did when I was a kid until I burst into tears
And count the diamond stars and drink the water crystal clear
And I’ll be richer than any man that lives with fear

I think it’s a part of being human to chase the rainbows, hoping we will reach the pot of gold and the culture in which we live is so consumer driven we forget to press the pause button and appreciate the life we have.

I hope this song brings a moment of peace to you when you listen and let go of the need to chase ‘fools gold’ and just be.

Find out more about Passenger at https://passengermusic.com/

Jane writes:

I first saw Luke Jackson and Shrewsbury Folk Festival what seems like a lifetime ago (2012ish). He was a bright young thing with a new EP out and under the wing of Martyn Joseph. He wrote of life experiences as he saw them. Stories of leaving home, playing in the woods and affection for the streets near his home. He still does the same but with more subtlety and anger now. He sees what life is like as a young man and has an eye for the society he lives in and the impact of the situations they are thrown into.

One of his latest tracks then is this – The Wire

The lyrics are scarily cracking and make scant reference to God seen as the never present help in times of trouble. I think that the sense that everyone is operating at the lowest ebb is a universal truth at present. It may be about finance, poor mental health, work stress, family hassle, “bad luck”, grief, ill health or anything you care to mention but everyone is almost certainly carrying something which means that they are down to the wire. Maybe not everyday. Maybe all the time or part of it. Maybe when they are let down by others. Down to the wire nonetheless.

What do we do now?

There’s nothing new in life about this and biblically there are many many characters who are handling the same sort of stuff. There’s hardly a chapter goes by without some stress or pain. Some tough situation to resolve and the responses are many. Everything from praying, running, weeping, promising through to laying out fleeces and dancing naked.

This song has a kind of fatalism to it. A kind of no-hope hope. A kind of acceptance that life is this way and some of it we are complicit in but the constant refrain may give us a key to finding a way out. What do we do now?

Whatever we do may make the shift for us. A small incremental one but nonetheless, a shift. It may be a change of scenery. It may be a new viewpoint. It may be a chance to get back to what matters at the heart of us. It may be a rest and a chance to take stock. We may need help – friend or faith – but however we get there doing nothing is unlikely to be a sensible option in the end.

If you’re down to the wire, reach out, whatever the reason. It may be the shift you need

You can find out more about Luke here https://www.lukepauljackson.com/