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Dave Randall is a musician, producer and activist. He has toured the world playing guitar with Faithless, Dido, Sinead O’Connor and many others. He also teaches guitar and creative industries courses at BIMM University Bristol.

For issue 158 of The Internationalist, Randall discusses the newest edition of his book, Sound System with Tanya Singh. Here he reflects on how the music's political battleground is more urgent than ever, as industry gatekeepers attempt to silence solidarity.

To read an excerpt from Sound System, click here.

Tanya Singh: The first edition of your book laid out a powerful historical framework for understanding music as a site of political struggle. Now, this second edition arrives amidst the ongoing genocide in Palestine, a context that has ignited global protest and a profound cultural response, including from musicians.

Given your book's central thesis - that music is never neutral - what is the significance of bringing this analysis back into the world today?     

Dave Randall: Recent events certainly vindicate my insistence in the first edition on the importance of Palestine solidarity work. They have also exposed how hostile many music industry executives are to such work. The attacks on the Irish group Kneecap have been particularly illuminating. I happened to be at the gig where Kneecap’s alleged offence under the Terrorism Act was said to have taken place – a Gaza solidarity concert held in London last November and organised by Paul Weller. Kneecap were accused of waving a Hezbollah flag during their show (a Lebanese political organisation who have been deemed terrorists by the British state). If they did wave that flag, then no one in the audience noticed or seemed bothered – I suspect most would have no idea what a Hezbollah flag looks like or signifies. Kneecap’s set received nothing but rapturous applause. There were no complaints made that night, or the next day, week or month. Indeed, it was only when Kneecap's criticisms of Israel started to reach a vast online audience following their appearance at the Coachella festival in the USA in April that someone trawled through recent footage of the band looking for excuses to have them silenced. When they thought they’d found something, the Metropolitan Police dutifully took up the case. So, it’s worth noting that whatever you think of Kneecap (I’m a fan), they were subjected to targeted political policing intended to silence a particular political narrative – namely that Israel was committing genocide in Gaza.

Next to join the fray were the big-cheeses of the British music industry. Due to a leak, we now know of a secret letter sent to the organisers of the Glastonbury Festival, trying to get Kneecap cancelled. The letter was written by David Levy of William Morris Endeavour and signed by around thirty music executives (some of whom I have worked with closely in recent years). This incident joins a long and ignominious catalogue of examples of music industry gatekeepers acting in ways that serve to perpetuate oppression (something I detail in the new edition, particularly regarding racism and misogyny). The good news is that growing numbers of artists and music fans can now see this. They recognise how culture is politically contested – often aggressively so by the beneficiaries of existing power structures. Those of us who love music and want to see progressive political change need to take the music back. That challenge is the subject of my book.

TS: The book traces how each attempt to ban a musical form led to a new, more resilient innovation. In today's context, where censorship can be algorithmic and financial, what are the modern equivalents of the oil drum? Where do you see this spirit of creative resistance manifesting now?

DR: Creative innovation usually comes from outsiders and others who are sufficiently disinvested from the system to see things differently and take risks. Effective political resistance comes from below – from ordinary people taking to the streets, going on strike and demanding political representation. So, creative resistance requires a coming together of those forces. There’s no doubt that the algorithm has sometimes helped to facilitate that. In the Arab Spring, subversive songs from unsigned artists went viral before becoming anthems of revolution sung by thousands in city squares. But it’s also true that much of the online world is now controlled by politically odious tech billionaires. Effective political activism must use the tools of new media but recognise that they are most effective as a means to expose and amplify real-life events. When it comes to music, the live (in-person) experience remains as popular as ever – and it’s possible that in a world of digital connectivity but widespread loneliness, its importance to people will only grow. So creative resistance will continue to be forged in-real-life: onstage and in the streets. 

TS: You argue that the dominant themes in popular music - loneliness, alienation, a yearning for connection - are not accidental, but a direct reflection of our 'social moment' under neoliberalism. If music consoles us for our alienation, and festivals offer a temporary escape from it, does this mean our most popular cultural forms have become a safety valve that helps maintain the very system that creates these feelings in the first place?

DR: To some extent, yes. But not completely. Sometimes, glimpsing a different way of being gives us a taste for more. It expands our sense of what’s possible and nurtures hope and confidence. It prises open the cracks that let in the light, to paraphrase Leonard Cohen, illuminating the path to a better world. For that potential to be realised, we need to connect culture with clear, creative and ambitious political campaigns and organisations. Rock Against Racism did this very effectively in the late 1970s. A contemporary equivalent is urgently needed again now. The so-called 'political centre’ (business as usual) cannot hold, even with safety valves in place. People with power do not have the answers to the challenges we face, and politics is polarising. If a vision of a fairer, kinder and more democratic world fails to win hearts and minds, then barbarism will prevail. 

TS: How should we assess the legacy of revolutionary music? Is its primary value now historical, a document of a moment of hope? Or does it remain a potent, dormant force for future generations?

DR: The struggle continues, and the importance of culture remains. We must learn lessons from the past and apply them in a fast-changing world. At the moment, music is very much in play on the political battlefield. Certainly, it can act against our shared interests – wielded as a weapon of mass distraction, bolstering big business. But its potential for stirring souls and bringing us together can still be harnessed by progressives, radicals and revolutionaries. As Edward Said put it: ‘We must use the power of culture against the culture of power’. That is the challenge.

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