Feldspar guest post - written by Will Green.

Feldspar
Feldspar

When I think about protest songwriting, two things come immediately to mind. First, Ricky Gervais' line about the 1984 song 'Free Nelson Mandela' - " And, just six years later, he was free" - and second, Tom Lehrer's scathing critique of the Greenwich Village folk singers of the early 1960s: " You have to admire people who sing these songs. It takes a certain amount of courage to get up in a coffee house or a college auditorium and come out in favour of the things that everybody else in the audience is against, like peace and justice and brotherhood."

Political songs are certainly not an effective means of affecting political change. Those at whom the song is aimed will most likely ignore it entirely, whilst those who already agree can justifiably accuse the singer of preaching to the choir. Protest songs didn't end the Vietnam war; Conservative ministers, not Billy Bragg, brought down Thatcher; and since the Sex Pistols scandalised Middle England with the promise of anarchy in the UK, the UK has actually seen a huge growth in wealth and income inequality, a reversal of the post-war Socialist experiment, and the entrenchment of a political and financial elite who are as untouchable to mere commoners as were feudal barons to medieval peasants.

So, what's the point of writing a protest song? Well, I can make the artistic case relatively easily. A song, like any form of art, is its own justification, and cannot be measured, like a corporate strategy document, based on its outcomes. If a song is beautiful, exciting, arousing, or sad, it has already achieved what it set out to do whether the initial impulse was based on a broken heart or war in Syria. One of my favourite 'protest songs' is so subtle and artfully crafted, it's very easy to miss its virulent anti-war message. " War bellows blazing in scarlet battalions / Generals order their soldiers to kill / And to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten" may seem a fairly forthright message, but you have to listen incredibly intently to 'Scarborough Fair' to pick it out.

As a songwriter, however, it would be disingenuous of me to say that when I write a political song, I only want the audience to engage with it as an artistic creation. Getting the message across is an important part of writing the song, because even if it achieves nothing more than registering my discontent, it also lets anyone else who is discontented know that they are not alone, and that is an achievement.

Our new single 'Hang Your Head' is undeniably a protest song and reflects what I see (or at least, I hope) is a widespread anger at the corruption and greed amongst those who have the most power in our society. Living in London at the moment, there are hundreds of examples which highlight the stark injustice of a society in which a select few have turned that most basic of human needs - having a roof over our heads - into a means of segregating wealth and suppressing large portions of the population.

Just in the last couple of months, the E15 mothers have courageously fought against eviction by Newham Council. The Council, as an exercise in efficiency, wants to turn people's homes over to private redevelopers who don't want the inconvenience of expendable low income single mums getting in the way of a tidy profit. More recently, Lyndsey Garratt has brought to light the disgusting profiteering undertaken by Conservative MP Richard Benyon whose company is effectively turfing NHS key workers out onto the street. Benyon, who inherited his estimated £200m fortune, represents the worst kind of free market hypocrisy: fiercely critical of the 'something for nothing welfare state', he nonetheless takes at least £2m in farm-subsidies every year.

On the other hand, it is undeniable that we have conspired in our own confounding. Policies in this county have disproportionately benefited older, richer people (increases to the state pension that amount to £500 per person since 2010, ringfenced Winter Fuel payment etc.) whilst George Osborne's austerity measures have attacked the under-25s, the disabled, and the poor. And this isn't just the Tories being evil: this bias goes back to New Labour who realised in 2001 that appealing to young voters was pointless because there simply weren't enough of them.

This is why Russell Brand's 'Revolution' is so infuriating: his diagnosis is largely correct, but his prescription - "Don't Vote" - is fist-gnawingly wrong. Our political leaders aren't losing sleep over the mass of people who agree with Brand's view of corrupt capitalism; the 'earthquake' in British politics is fuelled by Nigel Farage for the simple reason his candidates are winning votes and getting seats in parliament. Just think of what would happen if a broad coalition of young people who are pissed-off by student loans, wage stagnation, zero-hours contracts, and the fact that they spend half their income servicing a baby-boomer's third-mortgage started voting for Green Party candidates in by-elections all over the country. That would 'shake things up' a lot more than the Trews.

So, in short, protest songs are not going to change anything. We've got to do that ourselves - by petitioning, by picketing, and, most of all, by voting. But whilst we do all of those things, it's also good to have a few good tunes to sing along with.