Three Lessons That Classic Protest Songs Can Teach Us About Developing Messaging That Stands the Test of Time
For the last two years, I’ve been part of a team developing rock radio content to talk to listeners about human rights. The goal is to help audience members throughout the United States better understand these critically important concepts that impact both their lives and the lives of their neighbors.
Rock radio, of course, lives or dies by the music that’s played. And so, for the musical portion of the programming, we’ve been relying on modern renditions of classic protest songs. And despite these songs having been written 40, 60 or 100 years ago, they are strongly resonating with listeners in their teens, 20s and 30s. Why is this music working so well? I think there are three key reasons — and I believe these reasons provide a road map for developing messaging that connects with audiences in turbulent moments in history and that stands the long-term test of time.
1. These Songs Practice Intentional, Courageous Vulnerability
In an age of always-poised social media influencers and never-apologizing politicians, authentic vulnerability is as surprising as it is courageous. The expectations of our culture are clear: always have an opinion, always know what to say, and always know who to blame.
In the face of those impossible-to-live-up-to standards, the opening lyrics to a song like U2’s “Sunday Bloody Sunday” are almost shocking: “I can’t believe the news today Oh, I can’t close my eyes and make it go away.” The lyricist is acknowledging both grief and powerlessness, at the very least. These two states are common to the human condition but rarely acknowledged at cocktail parties. Yet the vulnerability is magical: listeners, even 40 years later, can breathe a deep sigh of relief and say, “Yeah, same here.”
The question for content creators today: As you construct your messaging, are you being intentionally and courageously vulnerable?
2. These Songs Acknowledge Reality Without the Need for Hyperbole
In his retelling of the ancient Greek myth of Cupid and Psyche, Oxford Professor and author C.S. Lewis writes: “To say the very thing you really mean… nothing more or less or other than what you really mean; that’s the whole art and joy of words.” I believe Lewis is correct here, and I believe that classic protest songs embody this principle effectively.
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In Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Fortunate Son,” the songwriter laments unfairness, injustice and inequality. But he does so simply by pointing to our shared reality. Without any affectation, he reminds us that this is the world in which we find ourselves.
As an example, speaking on behalf of those who have served in the military, the lyricist writes: ”And when you ask ’em, ‘How much should we give?’ Hoo, they only answer, ‘More, more, more, more’”
This experience, unfortunately, is far too often true to life. It requires no exaggeration to make the point, no hyperbole to stoke the outrage machine. It simply tells the truth.
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The question for content creators today: As you construct your messaging, are you acknowledging reality in a way that speaks for itself?
3. These Songs Bring Together Hope and a Call to Action
For many of us, to live in difficult times is to grapple with despair. At moments, we can wonder if things will ever improve in the world, or if improvement is even still possible.
The great protest songs of the past recognized two complementary principles: that hope is always possible, but that hope takes work to be realized.
These songs do not wish for better days. Rather, they call us to work for better days.
In “Down By The Riverside” (a song whose original authorship has been lost to history), the lyricist speaks of choices — from “shaking hands” with every person to “laying down” our weapons. And the refrain insists that these choices will lead us to a world of greater peace.
The question for content creators today: As you construct your messaging, are you pointing your audience to hope, but also calling them to action?
Our younger radio listeners are connecting with these songs, but, in truth, that sense of connection is unsurprising. These songs do what an effective discussion of human rights requires: they speak to what we all share. We all need a space where we can be vulnerable. We all need a chance to speak our unvarnished truth. And we all need reassurance that hope is possible, with a clear sense of the path that may lead us there. (One might even say that we have a right to these very things, just by being human.)
A radio listener in their teens responded they loved the music and they noted that, in their opinion, these topics really need to be talked about more. In other words, the messaging resonated, even with a multigenerational time delay between writing and delivery.
The principles that allow these songs to be heard as fresh several decades later are yours for the taking. Be vulnerable, tell the truth, and, in the words of Harvey Milk, “You’ve got to have hope.”