Staff Reports
In today’s world where protest music as a genre seems to be fading into obscurity, we’re met with one of the last remnants trying to keep it alive: Bruce Springsteen. At 73 years old, he’s still out there cranking out ballads meant to stir the hearts of those who think that Instagram posts count as activism. His latest release is a tribute to so-called freedom fighters. This is a generation that grew up on a steady diet of superhero flicks and wizard fantasies, now playing dress-up as though they’re the Avengers in real life.
Honestly, the irony is rich. It’s almost like a scene from one of those superficial, punch-happy movies. Except in this case, our reluctant heroes are out in mismatched outfits instead of capes. Instead of a well-choreographed fight scene, all they can muster are TikTok videos that echo lines from protest ballads of yesteryear. The only thing missing? Some CGI special effects and a decent script.
Springsteen’s song attempts to capture the fervor of protest, sounding like a record spun for the hundredth time. To say it was done in haste is quite the understatement—you can almost hear the creak of his rocking chair amidst the instruments. Yet this doesn’t stop today’s masked crusaders from embracing it as if it’s some kind of profound, revolutionary anthem.
Rock music used to have spirit, a defiance against the establishment. What it has now is a whisper of its former self, overtaken by pop tunes about heartbreak and high school romances. Years ago, the powerful chords went silent, just when a conservative like Trump came into the White House. Today, you’d have better luck finding an old-timer with anecdotes from the Cold War than a rock star willing to criticize a Democrat. Perhaps that’s why all that’s left to spotlight are performers who should have called it quits before the color TV was invented.
Predictably, the song has become fodder for internet dramatics. Picture this: self-righteous influencers in their parents’ bathrooms, earnestly mouthing lyrics, all the while surrounded by bath towels and rubber ducks. It’s theater worthy of a comedy sketch and a testament to the times—a digital generation putting on a show, with production budgets lighter than their wallets.
At its core, these demonstrations are hollow. Folks who are stuck in a perpetual adolescence, playing out fantasies rather than penning their own, real world legacies. But still, they crave their moment in the spotlight, desperate for likes and virtual applause. Perhaps it’s time to drop the faux rebelliousness and try something new—like getting back to actual rock ‘n’ roll and rolling up sleeves for real jobs.
