From Dylan to dead air: The disappearance of the protest anthem

Whatever happened to the protest song? We live in an era of dissension, polarisation, geopolitical conflict, climate crisis and all those large epigrammatic issues. Yet if you look at the popular music charts, you would be forgiven for thinking we live in the age of, well, Aquarius.

I readily admit, I’m biased. I grew up in the age of the protest song, so it’s part of my personal heritage. When Bob Dylan sang, “Come mothers and fathers / Throughout the land / And don’t criticise / What you can’t understand / Your sons and your daughters / Are beyond your command / Your old road is rapidly agin’ / … / For the times they are a-changin’” he might as well have been reading my mind.

Dylan’s ability to articulate the political and personal moment for huge numbers of the Vietnam generation was just uncanny. This was the era of the self-consciously categorised “protest song”, even though youth culture – and Dylan himself too – eventually discarded the genre of the “finger pointing song”, as he once called it.

But it’s still surprising to me how generic and flaccid modern songs are. The most popular musician of our age is Taylor Swift, who famously endorsed Kamala Harris in the most recent election. But you struggle to find anything in her lyrics where she complains about anything other than some aspect of her personal relationships. How long can you mine that particular seam? Well, at least 270 or so very popular songs, it appears.

It’s not that there are no protest songs out there; one of the best examples is probably Childish Gambino’s This Is America, a multimedia protest against gun violence, racism and cultural distraction. You could add to that Kendrick Lamar’s Alright, which became a Black Lives Matter rallying cry, albeit hopeful in tone. But these songs are almost a decade old now.

Just compare the current crop to the quality, popularity and overall cultural impact of this list: Sam Cooke’s A Change Is Gonna Come (1964), a deeply personal, hopeful cry for racial justice; Nina Simone’s Mississippi Goddam (1964), a raw, furious response to the murder of Medgar Evers and the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing; John Lennon’s Give Peace a Chance (1969), which was chanted at Vietnam War protests, almost like a hymn; Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On (1971), a plea for peace, justice, and compassion during a time of war and racial tension; Bob Marley’s Get Up, Stand Up (1973) a universal anthem of empowerment and resistance; and Fela Kuti’s Zombie (1976), a blistering attack on Nigerian military rule so powerful it provoked violent retaliation. And I’m not even mentioning Creedence Clearwater Revival, Buffalo Springfield, all the other Dylan songs and a host of other examples.

Here in South Africa, some of the best music ever produced in the country was written in the protest genre – understandably, given the country’s history. Apartheid was such a huge and present topic, it spawned great songs in almost every corner of the country, from Stimela (1974) by Hugh Masekela to Soweto Blues (1977) by Miriam Makeba, Asimbonanga (1987) by Johnny Clegg & Savuka, Hillbrow (1989) by Johannes Kerkorrel & the Gereformeerde Blues Band,  Onder in my Whiskeyglas (1985) by Koos Kombuis, and my personal favourite, Weeping (1988) by Bright Blue.

Indeed, South Africa itself was a popular subject for writers all over the world; think The Special AKA’s Nelson Mandela (1984), and Peter Gabriel’s Biko (1980). That period was also rich in British protest songs, like The Beat’s Stand Down Margaret (1983), The Specials’ Ghost Town (1981), an anthem of urban decay and unemployment in Thatcherite Britain, and Elvis Costello’s haunting Shipbuilding (1982).

Obviously, those times and places and events made the latter part of the 20^th century replete with stuff to protest about. But here is the weird thing: about a million Vietnamese people and 58,000 US soldiers died in the Vietnam war. So a lot of popular music about the war is totally understandable. We don’t know the actual numbers but it seems possible that in total, about half a million people have died in the Russia/Ukraine conflict and perhaps 70,000 in the Israel/Gaza conflict so far. Total number of songs that have made it to the global charts about either conflict: zero.

In both conflicts, there have been plenty of songs. I mean plenty. In 2023, 25 different artists from 11 Middle Eastern and North African countries published a song called Rajieen (We Will Return). It’s had about seven million listens so far. That’s more or less the same number of listens as For What It’s Worth by Buffalo Springfield, published in 1966, has had every month this year. I mean really.

As Marvin Gaye would ask, what’s going on? I think five things.

First, the fragmentation of the media. From the 1960s to the 1980s, a handful of radio stations, television channels and record labels determined what the public heard. When Dylan, Marley, or Fela Kuti sang protest songs, they reached mass audiences. Today, music is atomised: Spotify algorithms, YouTube channels and TikTok trends funnel listeners into micro-niches. Protest songs may exist, but they don’t easily become collective anthems.

Second, music and branding. The music industry has become tightly intertwined with brand partnerships, streaming metrics and corporate sponsorship. Political content is often seen as risky – potentially alienating segments of the audience, advertisers or governments. Artists reliant on algorithmic discovery appealing to the largest common denominator typically avoid controversial material in favour of “safe” content. Hello Taylor Swift. By all means, get up, stand up. But not if it risks your brand partnership.

Third, protest culture itself has shifted. Once there were marches and rallies where songs were amplified and created momentum. But today, hashtags, memes, and viral videos often serve as the cultural glue. A tweet, TikTok, or visual symbol (like a raised fist emoji) can mobilise faster than a song that takes months to write, record, and distribute.

Fourth, this is the age of cynicism and disillusionment. In the 1960s or 1970s, music carried the belief that art could change the world. Today, many listeners are sceptical that songs shift policy, and probably rightly so. Activism has moved toward direct action, NGOs or digital campaigning – or frustration and avoidance.

Fifth, there is authoritarian pressure in some countries and a “Don’t rock the boat” attitude in the remainder. It’s noteworthy that the BBC has always been a great supporter of the Glastonbury Festival. But this year it chose not to livestream (or air live) the performance of Kneecap, an Irish-language rap group, which included pro-Palestinian chants and messages. 

It’s easy for critics like me to question the lack of protest songs. But the fact is that artists face intense scrutiny or cancellation for political statements. And then there is another thing: many of the issues we face today are complex and nuanced, which makes universal protest anthems harder to craft.

But not impossible, you would think, especially for songs about something like global warming. And on that note here is a great song, Eve of Destruction, produced locally and written in the 1960s about precisely that modern issue which ticks all the boxes. A call to action, surely?

_{Top image: Anti Vietnam war demonstration New York by Bernard Gotfryd.}