The Role of Politics in Music Part One: The History

As those who know me are aware, my main focus in student journalism is music. It is one of my core interests and I chose to write about it for that reason. However, my other core interests are politics and history. I admit I chose to write about music because it’s less divisive, something I’m more qualified to discuss, and it’s better for my sanity. So, I decided to combine the two things into two essays/articles about politics in music. This first part tackles the history of political music before 2000, and the second part will examine current politics in music.

Friendly disclaimer: I will be “attacking” this from a left wing perspective. This is just my personal politics! I’ll do my best to be objective with the facts, but I will certainly share my opinions and make quips. Let’s begin, shall we?

1950s and Before: Patriotic Songs, Propaganda, and Anti-fascism

For a long time, music has had at least some political undertones every now and then. The existence of the national anthem as a concept is the perfect example of this. But when we’re not dealing with national anthems, some of the first examples of political music come in the form of war/patriotic songs, especially in World War II. Think “Katyusha” by the Soviet Union, “Erika” by Nazi Germany, or “White Cliffs of Dover” by the British. Most of these songs are still well-known today, for better or for worse.

One of the first American artists to go explicitly political was Woody Guthrie. In 1943, he labeled his guitar: “This machine kills fascists.” This was around the time he wrote the anti-fascist song “Taking Hitler’s Head Off Blues,” a track also published in the Communist Party USA’s newspaper The Daily Worker. Many political musicians—even today—view Woody Guthrie as the blueprint for overt anti-fascism in music.

1960s: Flower Power, Counter Culture, and Anti-War Activism

The first half of the ‘60s were fun. Every song was about surfing or young love. The Beatles were making waves in England and eventually the United States. Other than the Cuban Missile Crisis scare and JFK’s assassination, nobody had too much to worry about—even when it came to the big bad Soviet Union—until Vietnam began. 

The US, especially under President Johnson, had been eyeing the tensions between North and South Vietnam. North Vietnam was run by Ho Chi Minh and the Communist Party of Vietnam, while South Vietnam was a Western-backed liberal democracy. The division had come from the First Indochina War in 1954 when the Viet Minh—a left-wing independence coalition—partially overthrew the French colonial government.

On August 2, 1964, there was a massive naval confrontation between US and North Vietnamese naval vessels in the Gulf of Tonkin. Allegedly, at least—there are certain doubts that have been cast about the Gulf of Tonkin incident’s very existence. As a result, the United States openly involved itself in Vietnam and implemented a draft for all able-bodied men ages 18–26.

As the ‘60s went on, discontent—particularly among hippies and artists (which were often one and the same in the counter-culture movement)—was growing about Vietnam. The war was seen as pointless bloodshed by many. Why was the United States getting involved on the other side of the world? For many, the official narratives were unclear. Massive demonstrations began, many resulting in violent confrontations with the police. And it was in these confrontations that the art began to emerge.

One of the first anti-Vietnam hit songs came from these demonstrations. It was a song that hit the Top Ten in the United States and explicitly called out police brutality against anti-war demonstrators. It is still known today. The song in question is “For What It’s Worth” by Canada’s Buffalo Springfield—a band that gave birth to the careers of icons such as Stephen Stills and Neil Young. Even today, it’s a song used in the context of protests and resistance against oppression. 

Many iconic songs and artists came from the anti-Vietnam War movement. One of the more visible artists, known for her appearances at protests and rallies as well as protest songs, was Joan Baez. A key figure in the folk revival of the ‘60s, Baez was an outspoken critic of the Vietnam War and was arrested several times due to her involvement in anti-war demonstrations. Her most explicitly anti-war song—a song many people don’t consider—is called “Saigon Bride.” The song tells a story from the perspective of a soldier leaving his partner behind to fight knowing he will die in a war he doesn’t even agree with, which was a fate many men experienced in Vietnam.

Perhaps the most well-known anti-Vietnam song, released at the very tail-end of the ‘60s, is “Fortunate Son” by Creedence Clearwater Revival. Ironically, it’s used in a lot of online content that glorifies the Vietnam War. This issue of lyrical ignorance—if not illiteracy—is a topic I will touch on later.

Woodstock was the culmination of the counter-culture movement. Hundreds of thousands of people descended upon Bethel, New York (not the town of Woodstock as many would believe) to listen to their favorite bands perform live. While not explicitly political, I cannot discuss the counter-culture movement without mentioning Woodstock. The most well-known political moment at Woodstock was Jimi Hendrix’s rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” While iconic in that it completely re-invented guitar playing at the time, many miss that a lot of the noises Hendrix’s guitar makes are meant to simulate munitions and people screaming. The patriotic movement lamented him for this “butchering” of the anthem during a politically sensitive time. It was amazing, though.

1970s–80s: The End of Vietnam, Funk & Punk, and Working Class Lament

As the 1970s kicked off, Vietnam was still raging. After Woodstock, though, it seemed that the hippie movement was dying rather quickly. Those who truly believed in the ideas decided to go further to the left. On May 4, 1970, a group of protesters at Kent State University were protesting against President Nixon’s expansion of the Cambodia campaign in Vietnam, as well as the draft and the on-campus presence of the National Guard. And on that fateful day, the National Guard opened fire on them. Four died (two weren’t even in the protest), nine were injured, and one was paralyzed.

The country was filled with anger. How could the federal government do such a thing? The Vietnam War was becoming more and more unpopular by the moment, compounded with the 1971 release of Daniel Ellsberg’s Pentagon papers which revealed that the war was unwinnable. And yet, the government was still stifling dissent. Students were losing their brothers and parents were losing their sons all because the government could not afford to look weak by pulling out of Vietnam.

I brought up Kent State because it was the source for one of the most well-known political songs of the 1970s: “Ohio” by Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. The song mourned the dead students and lamented that the war should have ended. It was a massive success, and was one of the last popular anti-Vietnam War songs.

On the other side of the country, at the same time, Black communities in inner city America were facing a problem of their own. Despite the passing of the Civil Rights Act, many Black communities felt no difference than before. White city councils were still cutting down Black neighborhoods to build highways and gentrify in the name of “urban renewal”—the racism was just quieter this time. Groups like the Black Panther Party were calling for a revolution against White America. And this is where another song came in: Gil Scott-Heron’s “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised.” The song was conceptualized as a response to The Last Poets’ lyric, “When the revolution comes, some of us will probably catch it on TV.”

The message of Scott-Heron’s song was simple: The revolution will not be advertised or in the media—the first step of the revolution is in your head, when you transform how you think. Once you break free of the distractions of modern-day culture consumption, then the revolution can begin. It will be live and in the streets, not consumed on television.

Iconic soul singer Marvin Gaye’s album What’s Going On featured several other political tracks, most notably “What’s Going On”—a plea for peace on Earth—and “Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology)”—a lament about environmental destruction.

In the latter half of the ‘70s, industrial and working-class conditions were worsening mainly in the United States and United Kingdom. In addition, music was getting more corporate with major labels signing everyone under the sun. According to some, you couldn’t get signed to a label if you were outspoken or did things against the mainstream. Music was becoming a commodity and not an art form. This is where punk comes in.

Punk rock got its starts in New York City and London. Both cities were at low points in their history economically speaking—many young people in those cities felt hopeless. They turned to music as an outlet, but refused to subscribe to record label norms. Punk rock developed a “do-it-yourself” (DIY) ethos and encouraged rebelling against authority. Gigs were chaotic and violent. Riots were incited. It was like nothing anyone had ever seen before in music. The movement was spearheaded by now-legendary groups such as the New York Dolls, the Sex Pistols, and the Ramones—some more political than others.

As the ‘80s began, despite the glitz and glamour that we view the period with in retrospect, things were still difficult. Veterans from Vietnam were being shunned due to the perceived humiliating defeat the U.S. experienced. Conservative culture was at an all-time high thanks to Reagan’s overwhelming victories in 1980 and 1984. Punk was reinventing itself as punk does, turning into a more synth-driven sound known as new wave. But the overt anti-political stance of the movement was calming down.

The single most misinterpreted political song of all time was released in 1984. We all know it; a lot of us love it—even if for the wrong reasons. It is none other than Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the USA.” The song is written from the perspective of a Vietnam veteran who was being ostracized from his community, despite the fact that soldiers in Vietnam were once viewed as heroes. The misinterpretation part comes from the idea that it is somehow an explicitly patriotic song. People only hear the chorus of it; they don’t listen to the verses which tell the song’s true story. Many people of conservative or patriotic ideals say it’s their favorite song and blast it every Fourth of July at their barbecues. In my (harsh) opinion, it’s a way of admitting you don’t listen to the lyrics.

1990s: Liberation and Rage Becomes a Commodity—Or Does It?

On December 26, 1991, the Soviet Union collapsed—the last major bastion of communism in the world other than China, who we would certainly not try to start a second, quieter Cold War with. A term being used by many politicians and scholars was the “end of history”—it was the idea that American capitalism had won the historical battle against Soviet communism, and therefore, had won history. Anything after this point was just America doing victory laps in front of the whole world. The political climate was conservative and patriotic thanks to the success of Desert Storm and Reaganite after-effects. Maybe America was invincible. Well, if you don’t count the often-forgotten 1990s recession, or the Rodney King riots, that is.

This whole facade of unbreakable, patriotic invincibility certainly got a dent in it the next year in November of 1992, around the same time Bush Sr. lost re-election to Clinton, especially if you were into rock music and politics. A rock-rap band out of Los Angeles just released their debut album, fueled by the post-Rodney King anger permeating the city. And boy, oh boy, was it making waves in the rock scene.

While many (not all) artists who chose to pursue extreme/heavy political topics in their music often never went further than vague leftist progressivism or anarchism in terms of their beliefs, Rage Against the Machine’s beliefs were rather clear. Firstly, the band—particularly frontman Zack de la Rocha—were ardent supporters of the Mexican far-left militant group the Zapatistas (aka EZLN). Secondly, they did not shy away from explicit condemnation of the United States. Not just Bush-era war policies, or police brutality in the wake of the Rodney King riots—no, the entire existence of the American system. From the top down. And they got huge for it.

Rage Against the Machine identified explicitly as communists in a time where communism was seen as a lost cause thanks to the “end of history.” Their music became a rallying cry for the disenfranchised, those who had grown up during the Reagan era of hyperconservatism. Far-left revolutionary politics had an outlet in music, and it was topping the charts. Rage’s 1996 sophomore album Evil Empire and its 1999 followup The Battle of Los Angeles both hit Number One on the U.S. album charts. Rage only released those three albums of original material; their fourth album, 2000’s Renegades, was a collection of cover songs released two months after the band’s first (of several) disbandments.

Unfortunately, there were also those who I can only describe as having no media or political literacy who enjoy this band. Even now, nearly 34 years on from their debut, people still misinterpret Rage Against the Machine and their beliefs. They tend to fall into one of two camps:

1. Those who say that RATM’s music is more centrist than people think; it carries a universal message of anti-authority that even applies to the right wing. A lot of Republicans are huge fans of the band even though they’re polar opposites in beliefs.

2. Those who say that RATM are sellouts to the very machine they raged against. I don’t think that requiring masks or vaccines on a tour right after a deadly pandemic is “selling out.” Also, that never actually happened—but if it did, it would be good, actually. Safety is paramount.

Guitarist Tom Morello had a lot to say about their new right-wing fanbase in a February 2025 Twitter (X) post, responding to a user who wrote the following:

“Tom. I would like to personally thank you for red pilling me with your first album. At the time it applied to Republicans. Now it applies to the dems. Let’s decentralized [sic] the power structure.”

Morello answered:

“You’re welcome. But as a reminder the first RATM record came out during the Clinton administration. Then, as now, that music critiqued a capitalist/white supremacist power structure that was and is still in full effect. Currently more so than ever. Listen more closely. Like really listen and it’s quite clear. [...] No one from RATM has ever publicly supported a dem or repub candidate. EVER. Also, no RATM show has EVER required proof of vax or mask to attend, and anywhere you heard either of those things, or anyone who has echoed those things, is very probably lying to you about a whole lotta other stuff in the service of a racist/fascist agenda.”

So, have liberation anthems à la Rage Against the Machine become a commodity? Not quite. Unlike what their detractors argue, Rage Against the Machine (and its members) never backed down from their revolutionary politics. Tom Morello still wears T-shirts and hats with the communist Red Star. Singer Zack de la Rocha—although a very reclusive person—has been seen at pro-Palestine protests and openly called for a ceasefire. As recently as January of 2026, Morello held a concert in Minneapolis called “Defend Minnesota” in the wake of the deaths of Alex Pretti and Renee Good at the hands of ICE. 

I will analyze further examples of modern politics in music in the next part of this article.

The ‘90s were also home to the rise of hip-hop. While not always explicitly political, it dealt with political issues in inner city America. N.W.A. had perhaps the most well-known example of these types of songs, in their iconic track “F*** Tha Police.” Believe it or not, a lot of people only listen to that specific lyric in the beginning of the song, and treat it as a catchy rallying-cry anthem. It’s really not—it’s a rather graphic yet accurate description of the lives of Black men in Black cities when dealing with white cops. This time period was likely the most overtly political era of hip-hop; another example of this being Tupac Shakur’s beliefs, which were deeply rooted in Black nationalism and communism—the core ideologies of the Black Panthers, of which Shakur’s mother was a member.

We have now reached the end of the first part of this essay on politics in music. The second part will touch on more modern examples of political music, such as the post-9/11 patriotic movements, police brutality and protests, and the debate over what role popular artists should have in terms of using their platforms. Stay tuned.