Over fifty years ago, Edwin Starr’s “War” climbed to the No.1 spot on the Billboard Hot 100. Its incendiary lyrics begged the question: War, what is it good for?
In 1985, some of the world’s biggest musicians like Michael Jackson, Diana Ross, Stevie Wonder and others united to create the song “We Are the World” to raise awareness for African famine relief.
More recently, in 2018, Childish Gambino broke the internet with “This Is America,” a song and visual spectacle that sparked conversations about the Black experience and gun violence in the United States.
All of these songs reached No.1 and held a mirror to society, urging listeners to confront social justice issues—be it war, race or famine. Today’s music landscape tells a different story, dominated by club bangers and love songs.
A 2020 study found that popular music has become “more self-focused over the last 27 years,” while “words associated with social interaction and community values diminished over the same period.”
So, where did the protest anthems go? And is this shift driven by the artists or the listeners?
In recent years, there has been a lack of protest anthems that go viral and it’s not because our social and political environment has improved drastically—if anything, this new era may be one of the most politically turbulent.
Many rights for marginalized groups are under attack, from the erosion of LGBTQ+ and reproductive rights to the struggles for racial and gender equality. Globally, we’re witnessing unrest in Gaza and Ukraine, and here at home, the political landscape under this Trump administration has only seemed to deepen the divides, fueling anxiety and frustration and leaving us wondering where this generation’s What’s Going On is.
The absence of a strong protest anthem today is alarming, especially considering how often music has been a vehicle for political expression. Throughout history, people have produced art and music in response to the political and social climate they are undergoing.
In the early 1960s, during the Vietnam War, according to historian H. Bruce Franklin, “some of the first organized activities against the Vietnam War centered on the singing of songs at concerts, in clubs, and on campuses.”
Artists like Bob Dylan critiqued the war with “Blowin’ in the Wind.” Then, during the Civil Rights era in 1964, Sam Cooke gave us “A Change Is Gonna Come,” a hopeful anthem imagining a bright future amid the bleak nature of Jim Crow, and Nina Simone’s “Mississippi Goddam,” where she expressed her anger over the treatment of Black people and the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing in Alabama.
Most recently, during the height of the Black Lives Movement, we saw another spike in protest anthems: Beyoncé’s 2016 “Freedom” and musician H.E.R.’s 2020 song “I Can’t Breathe.”
Lately, popular music features songs like Sabrina Carpenter’s “Espresso” and Charli XCX’s album “BRAT.” While these artists make great music and dominated the summer of 2024 and this year’s Grammys, their songs focus more on personal narratives—party, love, romance and self-expression—rather than social commentary. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it does signal a shift.
Part of this change stems from how music is marketed and consumed today. Capitalism has reshaped the industry, streaming numbers dictate success and songs are designed for virality. Music nowadays tends to favor short, catchy moments built for TikTok and playlist placements. It’s far safer and more profitable to create a track that fuels a viral dance trend than one that critiques systemic issues.
In the past, a lot of protest anthems critiqued the government: it was the people vs. the government but now, it feels like the people vs. the corporations. Corporations control the music industry itself.
According to Chris Huff of Disk Makers, The biggest three record labels—Universal Music Group, Sony Music and Warner Music—own “68 percent of the recording market share, and their publishing wings own 58 percent of the music publishing market.” This means the financial interests of these corporations often align with the same systems artists might otherwise challenge.
Streaming platforms like Spotify and Apple Music further shape the landscape, as their algorithms favor digestible repeatable content which may leave out protest music that demands deeper engagement. In short, the music industry isn’t just reflecting cultural shifts—it’s actively steering them.
And even when artists do release politically charged music, the modern industry makes it difficult for those songs to gain the same foothold their other songs did. Records like Beyoncé’s “Black Parade” and H.E.R.’s “I Can’t Breathe” won Grammys in 2021, but they haven’t had the same mass impact as Public Enemy’s smash hit “Fight the Power.” Why? Because today’s music ecosystem prevents sustained engagement.
Another reason popular songs might not address the world around us anymore is that consumers may have reached a tipping point in the constant inundation of information, leading many to seek refuge in their earbuds as a form of escapism.
This idea aligns with the concept of “Recession Pop,” Recession pop is music that pushes out feel-good, upbeat anthems during times of economic struggle, offering a temporary escape from harsh realities. This is something some think we may be experiencing now with the economic uncertainty and exorbitant prices plaguing American citizens.
So, with so much chaos and uncertainty in the world, people may simply want music that allows them to disconnect, rather than engage with the complexities of their social and political environment. And this isn’t a crime. It makes sense. Sometimes, people just need a break.
The constant barrage of information, the doom scrolling, the never-ending cycle of crises—it’s exhausting. Music, for many, is an escape, a way to momentarily step away from reality.
Nevertheless, 20th-century singer Nina Simone once said, “An artist’s duty, as far as I’m concerned, is to reflect the times.” So music shouldn’t drift too far from that responsibility, otherwise, it risks becoming hollow, turning escapism into apathy.
Copy edited by Anijah Franklin
