Is political protest music dying? Or already dead?

Last week, the punk-ska-folk outfit The King Blues announced they were splitting up, signalling the end of arguably the UK’s biggest overtly political band. Considering their highest charting single came in at number 68 in the hit parade, it might be a fair assessment to say that the political music scene is not currently in the rudest of health. The King Blues were not so much riding the crest of a wave created by music with a social conscience, stepping aside to allow us to view fully the tide of protest songs that were about to wash over and cleanse us; as they were stood in a stagnant puddle, their departure enabling us only to see the paucity of their genre.

No wonder they were so angry.

I come here, however, not to praise them but to bury them. They were ok, but by no means brilliant. A lot of their songs were a little repetitive, and their lyrics, like so many political bands before them, were often a bit ham-fisted (especially their oddly recurring fascination with three-piece suits). For people who wanted to listen to social commentary set to music over the past few years though, they were the best around. Such is its’ non-existence, I’ve even at times succumbed to playing Emeralds’ ‘Does It Look Like I’m Here?’ album over the top of PMQs.

Now, that is one sure fire way to freak out at noon on a Wednesday.

So now, what’s left? In a world where the Tory Housing Minister is the cousin of Mick Jones from the Clash (no, really), where does the political music scene emerge from? The fact that Billy Bragg, for so long the go-to-guy for protest music in the country, has less interest in keeping his finger on the pulse of the disenfranchised, and more in keeping it on the absent pulse of those who died in the Atlantic’s icy waters exactly a hundred years ago seems sadly fitting.

What we have is the union-funded rap effort of ‘The Andrew Lansley Rap’ and the oh-Lord-it’s-awful-won’t-someone-end-it-all, cod-reggae of Captain Ska’s ‘Liar Liar’. The trade union movement has much to be proud of over its long history, and I suppose we (especially people like me) should be grateful that they are willing to spend money on getting their message out in a different way, but their brief foray into the music industry shouldn’t be making its way onto a lapel badge anytime soon. Something about both songs feels forced and fake, a stark warning against the dangers of astroturfing.

Otherwise, there’s those who sing the praises of Frank Turner, whose managed to make acoustic protest songs called ‘Thatcher F*cked the Kids’ sound every bit as bland as you can imagine a man who was educated at Eton could. Or there’s the re-emergence of the Enemy, whose name is surprisingly their most original aspect, spending the rest of the time pretending to be Oasis playing Jam songs.

The only remaining name is east London rapper Plan B, and his song ‘Ill Manors’. Heralded in the Guardian and by at least one Labour MP, it is not so much a protest song as one born directly out of last summer’s riot. Politically it’s vague, but it’s certainly a track written for the disenfranchised young people of the UK.

Already commercially and critically acclaimed, it’s a bold move for Plan B to make. But will this be the start of something new, or the dying howl of a forgotten beast?