When Protest Songs Sound Like Yesterday

In 2026, we're still singing songs that sound like 1970. Bruce Springsteen's new track "Streets of Minneapolis" makes that time warp impossible to ignore.

The Kent State Echo Chamber

The opening chords of Springsteen's latest feel familiar—that classic Boss sound promising a rollicking anthem about rough American towns and resilient people. But listen closer, and you'll hear something sharper. He names names: Kristi Noem, Stephen Miller, "Trump's federal thugs." He memorializes Alex Pretti and Renee Good—Americans killed by federal agents—and the "whistles and phones" still carried by demonstrators.

The song's DNA traces directly to Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young's1970 masterpiece "Ohio," written after the National Guard killed four students at Kent State University. Where Neil Young sang "Tin soldiers and Nixon coming," Springsteen now delivers "King Trump's private army from the DHS."

Same story, different decade. Armed agents versus civilians. Authority crushing dissent. The details change, but the fundamental shape remains stubbornly familiar.

Anger Without Apology

Springsteen has never sounded this purely furious. His voice slithers and spits, reserving extra venom for Donald Trump's name. Yet strategic moments of grace peek through—the chorus's slowly intoned slant rhymes: Minneapolis, stranger in our midst, and that haunting number 26.

Twenty-six as in 2026—this exotic-sounding year that feels simultaneously futuristic and trapped in ancient patterns. Who expected to live this far into the future while fighting the same old battles?

The New Folk Revival

Interestingly, Springsteen isn't alone. 33-year-oldJesse Welles has been crafting scathingly anti-Trump songs with titles like "Join ICE" and "No Kings." He's played Stephen Colbert, performed with Joan Baez, and earned four Grammy nominations this year.

Welles musically imitates Dylan and Springsteen to the point of parody, blending modern buzzwords with Woodstock aesthetics in ways that can feel injuriously hokey. But Springsteen's latest has shifted my perspective on this emerging wave of conscientious folk rock.

The Fractured Culture Problem

Here's why it matters: Culture has become fractured. The easiest path for Trump to achieve his goals is for opponents to fail at speaking with a unified voice. Looking back to when such unity seemed possible isn't nostalgic—it's practical.

"Streets of Minneapolis" isn't "Ohio"—it lacks that paradigm-shifting power. Springsteen's language feels more like Facebook posts than poetry. The wordplay about fire, ice, and ICE is cheap. The music is heavy-footed and formulaic.

Yet the song succeeds at something crucial: It transposes classic protest rock into the present moment, suggesting we're living through times that will be sung about for years to come.

The Boomer Blueprint

The immediate acclaim for both Springsteen and Welles reveals something telling about our cultural moment. Artists routinely engage with their times, but prestige often goes to music that copies the Boomers' glory days. That era shines in public memory for a reason—it's when popular music felt capable of catalyzing real change.

But is recycling 56-year-old formulas the answer? Or is it the only language we have left for collective action?