I am the kind of person drawn to lyrics in songs, and if you were to examine my regular playlists of choices you might find a lot of honesty and deep pain in the words of songwriters I prefer. I do do happy tracks too but find songwriting to be at its best when it’s plumbing the depths of the human soul and settling there.
I was travelling with a friend recently and they said I’d do well to listen to less of that and more of stuff that carries positivity within it. It’s obviously settled with me. Whilst I can’t change the habit of a lifetime and my love for all things soul-searching, I did think that maybe this year I might start to collect songs of support, encouragement and affirmation.
This is one such song
It’s a song from my childhood. A track on a fabulous album that I was allowed to listen to with my older cousins at their house. It’s epic especially if played loud and very hard to sing along to in my experience because of the vocal capability of Art Garfunkel. It has a brilliant ebb and flow to it – as well as saying all the things you might want to someone struggling or in a bit of a spot .
When you’re weary Feeling small When tears are in your eyes I’ll dry them all I’m on your side Oh, when times get rough And friends just can’t be found
Like a bridge over troubled water I will lay me down
In the old days, people created cassette tapes for those they cared for and sent messages of love and support. These days I guess you’d share a Spotify, Apple Music or Amazon playlist. Even one track might hit the spot.
So today dig out your favourite track of love and encouragement, send it to whoever needs it and in that moment be that bridge for another. Traverse the troubled waters with them. Be that neighbour that God calls you to be. Tell someone you’ve got their back. Be the one that cares – you never know how much the other might need it.
Oh, and collect a playlist of similar songs if you feel like it. Ain’t music great!
I’m stood in a field on a Somerset farm with thousands of other people – a farm in a village I have been privileged to call home. I’m there principally because I had been hoping to see one of the biggest bands in the world play my back yard. They had pulled out because of injury so instead, at the end of three days not seeing U2 play, I’m stood there, waiting to watch the legend that is Stevie Wonder. But this is the Glastonbury Festival, so there are other bands on beforehand, and second-billing on the Pyramid Stage this night are a group whose electronica defies categorisation and fills dancefloors – Faithless (whose lead singer, Maxi Jazz, died in the run-up to this past Christmas).
I’ll admit that dance music is not my top choice of music style, though my need for good quality drums and bass sounds means I do, nonetheless, have time for well-crafted electronica, from the ground-breaking garage beats of Goldie’s “Inner City Life”, though the trip-hop of Massive Attack and Leftfield, to, yes, the dance-floor vibes and intellectual lyrics of Faithless.
My favourite track by Faithless is “Reverence”, but the track that sticks in my mind from that night at Glastonbury 2010 is another of their anthems. I can close my eyes and hear its pounding beats, see the lights and the crowd, Maxi Jazz on the big screen bouncing and conducting as together he and the crowd, including me, and my sister, and her mates next to me, scream the lyrics which are the track’s title: “We Come 1”.
Ostensibly a love-song, “We Come 1” speaks of the way in which love brings a sense of unity with the one, or ones, whom we love and who love us. And I phrase it that way, with an acknowledgement of possibly multiple participants, because my experience of that song, there in that Somerset field, was beyond simply I and one other – the whole crowd became, in some sense, one. We were joined by a shared sense of love and companionship. It seems to me that in some way this is a lived experience, as well as a lyrical description, of what the Church is supposed to be: whether the picture provided in Revelation of the Lamb and his bride (and in marriage two become one), or the unity described by Christ in John’s Gospel as he prays that his disciples might be one as he and the Father are one, or the bodily unity we find in the Pauline letters and in the Communion service where we declare that, “though we are many, we are one Body because we all share in one Bread”.
Of course, we are all unique individuals, and our faith does not seek to claim that unity is the same as uniformity, that unity with God and with one another is to be merged into some homogenous blob – after all, as Christians we have faith in a Triune God, ever-One yet ever-Three. Most of the time, I’ll be honest, I struggle with what we mean by unity, especially when I look at the breadth of the Church of which I am a part. Yet when I need reminding of what that shared experience can be like, I turn to that moment in a field in my home village, and a band called Faithless, and my faith in the unity God calls us to is restored, even if just for a moment.
Lucy Spraggan has a new single out! Woo Hoo! It’s called Balance and immediately spoke to me as a piece of music that might speak to us at the start of a new year.
For those of you familiar with the Friday Fix or if you know me, you’ll know I’m a Lucy Spraggan fan. But that wasn’t always the case – when she first appeared on X Factor in 2012, I wasn’t terribly impressed, but over the past decade her music has grown on me, as has her personality. I really like the way she talks openly about her desire to create a better self and her journey of self-improvement is of course reflected in her music and lyrics. There is something incredibly raw, vulnerable and real about her songs which is perhaps why she connects with folk.
In Balance she reflects on her life:
All the stuff, I know right now It came from messing up most of my 20’s It’s changed for now, and I hope it lasts I spent most of my life feeling quite empty
There’s lots of reasons I’m messed up I grew up around things that weren’t that healthy I’m working hard and it’s looking up If I stick to routines, it’s gonna help me
I love the way that in spite of her desire to be a better person, she realises that this is never going to be perfect or polished as she says:
I’m tryin to learn to love myself And what’s good for my mental health I read a lot about self-help I’ll never be polished
I see the cycles happening now I’m responsible for shutting them down It took a while to figure that out But it’s my job to stop it
But what does this song say to us about a new year? Perhaps there is an invitation here to explore what living our lives in balance might mean for us?
It is my belief that most of us live our lives out of balance. We are too busy, life is too noisy, we are too rushed, our lives are fragmented. To find some balance, we may need to slow down, deepen our awareness, connect with the environment, live a more open life, acknowledge our vulnerabilities. Lucy describes being sober as one of the biggest improvements she’s made in her life. The video of her song Sober is a beautiful, tender and almost painful watch.
At the start of a new year, Balance might provide an invitation to explore what a better self might look like. What is it that you need to do to find some balance? Is there a path you need to take? Something you need to let go off? A something new to take on?
In the lyrics of the song making changes in our lives is not something we do alone – we need people to accompany us, to journey with us, to be a buddy. If you could offer to be a helping hand to someone this year – what would you do? What difference might a helping hand make not just to the other, but to you?
If you could stand back, I used to say that I thought I needed space to find my balance But I might need a hand and if you could be that I might need some help to find my balance, balance
Perhaps as we start this new year, we are being invited into a place of balance.
The Friday Fix is a bit different this week as the reflection has been taken from a book. I came across it in John Green’s ‘The Anthropocene Reviewed’ and thought ‘well this is surely a Friday Fix.’
The book is a series of essays that Green wrote during 2020, and it’s a beautifully eclectic mix. I highly recommend adding it to your ‘To Be Read’ list (there’s a link below to Hive Books if you feel so inclined).
Green writes:
“…’New Partner’ has been my favourite song not by ‘The Mountain Goats’ for over 20 years now, but I’ve never been able to make sense of the lyrics.
One couplet goes ‘And the loons on the moor, the fish in the flow / And my friends, my friends still will whisper hello.’ I know that means something; I just don’t know what. This is soon followed by a line, equally beautiful and baffling: ‘When you think like a hermit, you forget what you know.’
Palace Music is one of the many incarnations of Will Oldham, who sometimes records under his own name and sometimes as the dandyish Bonnie Prince Billy. I like a lot of his songs; he sings about religion and longing and hope in ways that resonate with me, and I love how his voice often seems on the edge of cracking open.
But ‘New Partner’ is not just a song for me. It’s a kind of magic, because it has the ability to transport me to all the moments I’ve heard that song before. For three minutes and 54 seconds, it makes me into people I used to be. Through the song, I am brought back both to heartbreak and to falling in love with enough distance to see them as something more than opposites.
In ‘The Palace,’ Kaveh Akbar writes that ‘Art is where what we survive survives’ and I think that’s true, not only of the art we make but also of the art we love.
Like any magic, you have to be careful with a magical song – listen to it too often, and it will become routine. You’ll hear the chord changes before they come, and the song will lose its ability to surprise and teleport you. But if I’m judicious with a magical song, it can take me back to places more vividly than any other form of memory’
(Extract from The Anthropocene Reviewed ‘New Partner’ chapter p.257-258 (2021))
Cousin Jack: “John Wesley gave us a voice” – for God’s sake use it
Trouble is brewing – poverty, real-term pay cuts, a lack of productivity, worker shortages and a resultant cost of living crisis – are causing more and more people to have no choice but to turn to their union and vote for strike action. In the 1830’s, there was also trouble brewing. Life for workers was hard and wages were being cut.
In Dorset, the workers decided to fight back. In the village of Tolpuddle, six leaders of workers were arrested and sentenced to seven years transportation to Australia for taking a secret oath. A huge protest erupted which resulted in freedom for the workers and the foundation of modern-day trade unionism. The leader of the group, George Loveless, was a Methodist lay preacher. He and four of his fellow ‘Tolpuddle Martyrs’ eventually emigrated to Canada, helping build a Methodist Church at Siloam. And that brings me to my Friday Fix song …
I’ve long been a fan of contemporary folk band ‘Show of Hands’. I saw them in concert last month, and they ended their set with one of their most popular songs – ‘Cousin Jack’. It’s a song about miners in the days of old who left their homeland in search of better times. It’s a song that very much resonates with the former mining communities of Nottinghamshire where I saw ‘Show of Hands’ perform:
This land is barren and broken Scarred like the face of the moon Our tongue is no longer spoken And the towns all a-round face ruin Will there be work in New Brunswick? Will I find gold in the Cape?If I tunnel way down to Australia Oh, will I ever escape?
As this verse portrays, in the mid-nineteenth century new mining frontiers in North and South America, Australia and South Africa opened up. Driven by hardship and in search of their fortune, thousands of people from the UK set off to these ‘new’ worlds. Generations of Cornishmen in particular used their skills and emigrated all across the world to earn money as miners. Collectively, these people became known as ‘Cousin Jacks’.
Where there’s a mine or a hole in the ground That’s what I’m heading for that’s where I’m bound So look for me under the lode and inside the vein Where the copper, the clay, the arsenic, and tin Run in your blood and under your skin I’ll leave the county behind I’m not coming back Oh, follow me down Cousin Jack
I’ve heard the ‘Cousin Jack’ song many times, and seen it performed live many times but when listening this time around, one line jumped out at me: “John Wesley gave us a voice”. Against the backdrop of struggle, the song describes how the Good News, communicated by Wesley, gave the miners hope in the darkest of times:
The soil was too poor to make Eden Granite and sea left no choice Though visions of heaven sustained us When John Wesley gave us a voice Did Joseph once come to St Michael’s Mount Two thousand years pass in a dream When you’re working your way in the darkness Deep in the heart of the seam
Despite huge opposition, physical violence and Establishment repulsion, John Wesley made Methodism the main faith practice in Cornwall. He preached to 32,000 people at Gwennap Pit, near Redruth and local people used their voice to protest against the ‘Parish Rate’ – money that people had to pay to the Church of England – until it was abolished. Many Methodists refused to pay the rate and some were imprisoned because of this.
Trade Unions and Methodism, in my opinion, are two sides of the same coin – both good news, seeking justice, fighting poverty and speaking up for the rights of others: faith and works dovetailing together in the hope of better times. The Good News of Jesus and the inspiration of Wesley still bring me hope and give me a voice. However, we can’t just leave it to telling stories of old or modern-day figures like the inspirational union leader, Mick Lynch, to speak on our behalf. We need to bring our faith and our voices together and speak out today – for the sake of ourselves, each other, and for God’s sake. That’s my intention …
Whether it be because of the inspiration of people like the church-planting, trade union Tolpuddle Martyrs; the hope in desperate times of journeying to somewhere new; refusing to pay unjust ‘taxes’, and/or the efforts of prophetic figures like Mick Lynch, I hope to take encouragement that we do indeed have a voice and we can speak into the void. Thanks for reminding me, ‘Show of Hands’, and thanks for the inspiration, John Wesley.
There’s a theory called ‘Frequency illusion’ – also known as the Baader–Meinhof phenomenon – that we touch upon in Unconscious Bias training. It’s a theory that explains why after noticing something for the first time, there’s a tendency to notice it more often. For example, you may have bought a new car and suddenly it seems like everyone is driving cars like yours, or, like in the case of this song, the same song or word/s keep cropping up in conversation, on the radio or just in strangely random ways.
‘Titanium’ appeared on my playlist in September, and then I added it to our ‘Piano to Oslo’ journey playlist when we drove from Dorset to Oslo and back in October – transporting a family heirloom (the piano) to our nephew who lives in Oslo.
This last weekend, we watched ‘The Swimmers’ – a film about the true story of two sisters, Yusra and Sara Mardini, fleeing Syria who are also talented swimmers (no spoilers – you can find it on Netflix) and guess what – this song appeared more than once on the soundtrack. If ever a song was more appropriate to the narrative of ‘The Swimmers’ then it’s this one.
As you can imagine the journey across Europe to Germany (where Yusra and Sara sought asylum) is harrowing, frightening and anger-inducing. It’s also one full of hope – where the sisters are surrounded and protected by love, an armour of love just like titanium.
You shoot me down, but I won’t fall I am titanium You shoot me down, but I won’t fall I am titanium
I don’t know how much you know about titanium – apologies to the geologists, chemists and engineers amongst you. It’s a natural metal with low corrosive properties which was discovered by Rev William Gregor, an English vicar and amateur mineralogist, in Cornwall in 1791. It’s one of the strongest metals, it’s pretty lightweight, heat-resistant and doesn’t react with body tissues (so it’s great for prosthetics). It really is an impressive, natural metal.
I have to admit that I’m not a big listener of ‘house’ or ‘urban-dance’ music, so this song is a little outside of the usual genres I listen. I’m thankful, therefore, for random ‘chosen for you’ playlists that expand my musical horizon. I’m also grateful for those who choose and write soundtracks for films that marry the imagery of a song with a film so perfectly. In this case, the notion that there are things that can try to destroy you but having an inner strength enveloped by an exterior of love can help to deflect or ricochet. No matter what, you can’t hurt me. I refuse to be destroyed.
I’m bulletproof, nothing to lose Fire away, fire away Ricochet, you take your aim Fire away, fire away
Titanium does have a weakness, however – oxygen is titanium’s ‘kryptonite.’ The song may not allude to such a weakness, but I find this strangely reassuring. Oxygen is crucial to human survival, and so this reminds me of our organic, vulnerable, human state. We aren’t invincible. We can fall. We are hurt. We will die. But that doesn’t need to worry us because there is something bigger than us; we are part of something bigger than us.
Lots of us in the Learning Network in the Methodist Church gathered together on Zoom this week and we heard some very powerful words from Carolyn Merry, Director of ‘Place for Hope.’ She concluded with the thought that whether you are alive or whether you are dead, whatever circumstance you might find yourself in, God is always in there with us.
We can be shot down; people can take their aim at us; we might be cut down; sticks and stones may break our bones – but all that doesn’t need to matter because God is with us. Catholic Trappist monk, James Finley says ‘If we are absolutely grounded in the absolute love of God that protects us from nothing even as it sustains us in all things, then we can face all things with courage and tenderness and touch the hurting places in others and in ourselves with love.” In other words, God does not prevent us from life’s experiences of pain, suffering and trauma. Instead, God’s love sustains us through the most difficult times when we might be hurting excruciatingly.
We have nothing to lose, so fire away. God is with us. Emmanuel.
This week, we’re sharing a reflection from David who not only writes reflections for The Friday Fix, but also has his own blog – https://socalledsecular.org/ – and this reflection comes from there.
“So much of our intake of music is fleeting and transient. The muzak of the shopping mall. The radio playing in the corner of the workplace. The pub soundtrack drowned by our own banter and laughter. Occasionally, in these situations, we become vaguely aware of it’s presence. We may even declare to those we are sharing a drink with that we love this tune, but then our attention quickly returns to our chatter.
Music becomes the person we sit next to and ignore on the tube. Yet, any song however unknown, is a song waiting for hospitality. Waiting for the chance to be known to you.
Even in our homes, where we can choose the music we want to listen to, it often finds itself unnoticed next to us. Friends visit, drinks are poured, music is chosen, the conversation flows, and the song is drowned. Background music from your collection is an old friend waiting to be welcomed again into your midst.
To relegate music in these ways is to silence a voice that has a right to be heard, to ignore the stranger and to make our life poorer.
‘Listening is a form of spiritual hospitality by which you invite strangers to become soul-friends’
(Community of Spiritual Formation)
To offer music hospitality is to intentionally sit and listen. To be generous with our time and pay attention at the expense of all the other competing voices and noises in our world. It is to place music firmly in the foreground.
‘Spiritual listening is at the heart of all relationships. It is what we experience when we become a quiet, safe container into which the speaker is able to express his or her most genuine voice. There is a communion of souls.’
I don’t believe any artist writes or plays for their music to lurk in shadows, to be the ignored traveller on public transport. A true piece of art is birthed from deep within the soul of the artist and is offered to the world in the hope that there will be connection. That connection has no chance of being made if we keep the song in the background. If we become a safe container into which the music can express its most genuine voice the connection is possible.
When this connection is made, we allow the artist to speak into the space we create. With no other distractions we can immerse ourselves in the whole song. As we listen our brain will work in so many different ways to interpret rhythms, tunes and meaning of lyrics as well as interpreting the emotion of the piece. That moment when nothing else matters, when our eyes close, feet tap and our breathing falls into the rhythm of the song we have a true connection. We have a communion of souls. Our soul with the soul of the music and the artists and creator of the piece.
This is the way music is meant to communicate. This is the way music is meant to be listened to. Allowing music to speak directly to us, by not having to fight for attention, ensures that the true voice of the music is heard.
Intentionally listening to a fresh piece of music is to listen with the anticipation and expectation that we experience at the start of a new relationship. When we hear a new song that touches us deep down, we can experience the same excitement and thrill as at the beginning of a new love affair. A relationship with limitless possibilities, in which there is a deep desire to know all we can and, simply, to be known. It is to offer a generous welcome to the unknown troubadour and begin to walk an unknown path.
It obviously takes more than one listen to become soul-friends. Revisiting the exercise of truly listening will take us into a deeper and richer relationship. It will open up many different avenues and there is no real knowing where it will lead. This is true for all spiritual journeys.
There is a spirituality in listening to music, even to so-called secular music. Definitions for spirituality abound but at the heart of many definition is the idea that spirituality is concerned with more than the physical and material things of this life and focusses on the soul, the spirit of a human.
‘Hands’ was the second single from The Raconteur’s debut album Broken Boy Soldiers. Released in the summer of 2006, it reached number 29 in the UK singles chart.
It is a love song, a song about a relationship. As I listen I hear a song about knowing and being known. A song about the deep connection between two people. A song that is concerned with the spirituality, rather than the physicality, of love.
Help me get in touch with what I feel…
Help me find the good that’s inside me…
When you listen there’s a hope and I know I’m being heard
When you smile at me and I know, and we don’t have to speak a word
When you’re with me there’s a light and I can see my way
When you speak to me it’s a song and I know what to say
Offering spiritual hospitality to a song can form the sort of connection that helps us get in touch with what we feel, help us find the good inside.
To welcome and entertain a song is to expect that the experience will lift us above the everyday, stretch us beyond our own limits and reshape us. This is what makes listening a spiritual experience. This is why offering generous hospitality to music deepens our connection with songs and why our lives are so much poorer if we only ever leave music in the background.”
The Friday Fix 