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Pop Grenade: From Public Enemy to Pussy Riot - Dispatches from Musical Frontlines
An adrenalin-charged trip through some of the cultural flashpoints of the past few decades, Pop Grenade celebrates the power of music as a force for change. Based on first-hand, personal reportage from raves, riots and rebellions, it explores how music has been used as a weapon in struggles for liberation and attempts to create temporary paradises. From Berlin’s anarchic techno scene after the fall of the Wall to outlaw sound systems in wartime Bosnia, from Moscow during the crackdown on Pussy Riot to New York in the militant early years of hip-hop, it tells the extraordinary stories of some of the world’s most audacious musical freedom fighters, disco visionaries and rock’n’roll rebels with a cause.
- GenresMusic
260 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2015
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Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
August 13, 2016
Matthew Collin seems to have one of those jobs designed to make us middle aged, lefty, just a bit too young to be a boomer types green with envy, tripping around, writing about music and politics… yearn. Yet, we know that it can in no way be all that easy, and that behind the polished reporting (and from time to time a moment or two of disbelief) there is an awful lot hard graft, insecurity, precariousness, waiting, waiting, waiting and writing about all those other things journalists need to cover to pay the bills.
The outcome of all that toil laden precarious waiting, in this collection, is an engaging series of essays/studies of the meeting points between music, politics, subcultural machinations and ongoing (and still continuing) political struggles of the most intense and often most quotidian kinds. Of the six cases explored, three are of recognisable dissident political activism of various kinds, two of activism as cultural intervention with a kind of Situationist bent and one of bizarre state- and régime-building – and in each case, although in some more convincingly than others, Collin manages to outline a political/historical context that gives the ‘frontline’ in question meaning and power.
Music at the frontline is most clearly recognisable as a form of leftist activism in the final two cases, looking at Turkey through the lens of the occupation of Taksim Square/Gezi Park in 2013, and the trial of three Pussy Riot members in Russia in 2012: given their media profile these also are likely to have the most pressing resonance with contemporary readers. Collin’s grasp of the cultural and political contexts is sharp: as he works from a journalistic position much of it comes through the words of others but he seems more confident in the Russian case than the Turkish, and allows himself more writerly lee-way (which might also be an effect of what seems to be his own language competence).
These two cases end the book and provide a contrapuntal bookend to the opening discussion of Public Enemy, its potent transformative force in bringing hip hop to a political mainstream awareness and the intense political problems of the band’s discursive form and position, including the allegations of sexism and antisemitism. Collin focus this, effectively, through the images of the band’s three central members, their contradictory forms of masculinity, austerity and hedonism, their political differences and similarities, and the suggestion that if your principal political spokespersons are musicians barely out of their teens than your movement may need to look at itself. This critique (partly imposed by me) sits alongside the longevity of Public Enemy’s impact, the role of hip hop in the Arab Spring moment and other resonances to highlight the band’s and the form’s continuing significance. Politically, however, there is also a vital point that Chuck D is of a generation that means he straddles both the consciousness of the 1960’s civil rights campaigns and the 1980’s cultural activism: there is an important message here the role of generational knowledge transfer and development in activism that Collin does not develop but that we, as analysts of popular movement, should.
In between we have the case of techno as a form of Year Zero music and culture for young Germans in the wake of the fall of the wall and the building of a new, unified Germany, as told through the contested politics of the Love Parade. This parallels an exploration of Europe’s peripatetic hard core/techno festivals and dance parties developing alongside and then in the wake of a collapsed English rave scene. These are two subcultural explorations of forms of cultural rejectionism, of degrees of retreat from a mainstream drawing on images and practices of earlier subcultures and imbuing them with new life through new cultural practice. This rejectionist politics then takes on a more powerful and potentially transferable aspect through the vision of this as a self-managing, temporary autonomous practice.
This leaves the most bizarre case explored: Mikheil Saakashvili’s pop culture nation-building on Georgia in the years before the 2008 war with Russia, told through a régime supported Boney M concert in South Ossetia, the contested territory in that war, as an example of the “disco road to peace” (Saakashvili’s phrase – he was a master of the soundbite, if not the state). This essay sits uncomfortably alongside the others, partly because it is a case of music in state-building, but also partly because it ends in the murderous war, corpses and destruction, but throughout this there is some good material on pop as régime propaganda, and a sharp exploration of the contradictory cultural and geo-politics of the south Caucuses and post-Soviet politics. It is also hard not to read this case as an antecedent of current Ukrainian politics, full of ethnic conflict, intervention, annexation and big power meddling.
But does this all hold together: well, don’t expect it to – these are six (discrete) dispatches with a common theme of music as a site/form/style of political resistance and assertion. The Georgian case is significant because it reminds us that music is used by Power as well as by dissent to play out its politics, while the two techno-based cases remind us that seeming hedonistic rejectionism can, in some case, involve and assert political positions – although that can also be a post hoc analysis. The other three cases take us into a much more convention politics of dissent – of a band giving voice to a not-yet-clearly-articulated dissent in a form of hip hop, or of a powerful but possibly not-likely-to-succeed-in-the-current-moment movement in Turkey and Russia.
Through all of this, there is subtext, made clear in Collin’s citation of Public Enemy’s Professor Griff that the revolution is not a thing, but is a process. Those movements may not succeed now, but Collin loses by reminding us that Nadezhda (as in Tolokonnikova, of Pussy Riot fame) means ‘hope’, and that is essential for any movement. So for a not-quite old enough to be a boomer lefty cultural analyst, this set of cases finishes up being optimistic despite their not-yet-successful aspect.
The outcome of all that toil laden precarious waiting, in this collection, is an engaging series of essays/studies of the meeting points between music, politics, subcultural machinations and ongoing (and still continuing) political struggles of the most intense and often most quotidian kinds. Of the six cases explored, three are of recognisable dissident political activism of various kinds, two of activism as cultural intervention with a kind of Situationist bent and one of bizarre state- and régime-building – and in each case, although in some more convincingly than others, Collin manages to outline a political/historical context that gives the ‘frontline’ in question meaning and power.
Music at the frontline is most clearly recognisable as a form of leftist activism in the final two cases, looking at Turkey through the lens of the occupation of Taksim Square/Gezi Park in 2013, and the trial of three Pussy Riot members in Russia in 2012: given their media profile these also are likely to have the most pressing resonance with contemporary readers. Collin’s grasp of the cultural and political contexts is sharp: as he works from a journalistic position much of it comes through the words of others but he seems more confident in the Russian case than the Turkish, and allows himself more writerly lee-way (which might also be an effect of what seems to be his own language competence).
These two cases end the book and provide a contrapuntal bookend to the opening discussion of Public Enemy, its potent transformative force in bringing hip hop to a political mainstream awareness and the intense political problems of the band’s discursive form and position, including the allegations of sexism and antisemitism. Collin focus this, effectively, through the images of the band’s three central members, their contradictory forms of masculinity, austerity and hedonism, their political differences and similarities, and the suggestion that if your principal political spokespersons are musicians barely out of their teens than your movement may need to look at itself. This critique (partly imposed by me) sits alongside the longevity of Public Enemy’s impact, the role of hip hop in the Arab Spring moment and other resonances to highlight the band’s and the form’s continuing significance. Politically, however, there is also a vital point that Chuck D is of a generation that means he straddles both the consciousness of the 1960’s civil rights campaigns and the 1980’s cultural activism: there is an important message here the role of generational knowledge transfer and development in activism that Collin does not develop but that we, as analysts of popular movement, should.
In between we have the case of techno as a form of Year Zero music and culture for young Germans in the wake of the fall of the wall and the building of a new, unified Germany, as told through the contested politics of the Love Parade. This parallels an exploration of Europe’s peripatetic hard core/techno festivals and dance parties developing alongside and then in the wake of a collapsed English rave scene. These are two subcultural explorations of forms of cultural rejectionism, of degrees of retreat from a mainstream drawing on images and practices of earlier subcultures and imbuing them with new life through new cultural practice. This rejectionist politics then takes on a more powerful and potentially transferable aspect through the vision of this as a self-managing, temporary autonomous practice.
This leaves the most bizarre case explored: Mikheil Saakashvili’s pop culture nation-building on Georgia in the years before the 2008 war with Russia, told through a régime supported Boney M concert in South Ossetia, the contested territory in that war, as an example of the “disco road to peace” (Saakashvili’s phrase – he was a master of the soundbite, if not the state). This essay sits uncomfortably alongside the others, partly because it is a case of music in state-building, but also partly because it ends in the murderous war, corpses and destruction, but throughout this there is some good material on pop as régime propaganda, and a sharp exploration of the contradictory cultural and geo-politics of the south Caucuses and post-Soviet politics. It is also hard not to read this case as an antecedent of current Ukrainian politics, full of ethnic conflict, intervention, annexation and big power meddling.
But does this all hold together: well, don’t expect it to – these are six (discrete) dispatches with a common theme of music as a site/form/style of political resistance and assertion. The Georgian case is significant because it reminds us that music is used by Power as well as by dissent to play out its politics, while the two techno-based cases remind us that seeming hedonistic rejectionism can, in some case, involve and assert political positions – although that can also be a post hoc analysis. The other three cases take us into a much more convention politics of dissent – of a band giving voice to a not-yet-clearly-articulated dissent in a form of hip hop, or of a powerful but possibly not-likely-to-succeed-in-the-current-moment movement in Turkey and Russia.
Through all of this, there is subtext, made clear in Collin’s citation of Public Enemy’s Professor Griff that the revolution is not a thing, but is a process. Those movements may not succeed now, but Collin loses by reminding us that Nadezhda (as in Tolokonnikova, of Pussy Riot fame) means ‘hope’, and that is essential for any movement. So for a not-quite old enough to be a boomer lefty cultural analyst, this set of cases finishes up being optimistic despite their not-yet-successful aspect.
September 6, 2020
A book about music and politics by Matthew Collin, which has been described by Irvine Welsh as “an amazing collection of tales of inspirational courage and madness from the front line of popular culture”.
The story begins in desert expanses of Tunisia, crosses four continents and ends up in Russian prison colonies. When I took it, I was unable to put it down before finishing it. Sounds like a thriller? That’s not far from the truth. But Matthew Collin’s ‘Pop Grenade’ is so much more: it is a dizzying journey across the contemporary soundtrack of rebellion, war and social unrest, imbued with personal experiences, lyrical landscape descriptions and colorful portraits of some of the most important contemporary figures around the world.
‘Pop Grenade’ is a series of highly personal reports from the front lines of contemporary culture – the story of the writer’s relationships with various musicians who left a mark on their times, from hip-hop stars to techno DJs to bizarre pop singers from tiny countries and world-famous punk heroines. Hence the subtitle, ‘From Public Enemy to Pussy Riot: Dispatches from Musical Frontlines’.
Collin is a journalist experienced in music magazines as well as a former foreign correspondent for international media like the BBC and Al Jazeera. His career and adventurous spirit have taken him to various parts of the world at their most interesting moments, and his narrative skills also gave us the books ‘Altered State’, a guide to the history of the rave scene, ‘This is Serbia Calling’ and ‘The Time of the Rebels’.
‘Pop Grenade’, however, is something completely different. In the book, Collin combines autobiographical memoirs with notes about recent events, as well as some
newspaper article and book quotes, recounts of conversations and television reports. All these fragments have been craftily integrated to convey the atmosphere generated by these musical events and their creators.
Collin's prose takes the reader to the secluded rooms where rap music was produced to provide a tune to the Arab Spring, to Long Island's radio stations where Public Enemy started their
musical and political struggles, to the Love Parade in Berlin after the fall of the Berlin Wall and the subsequent commercialization of this unique techno phenomenon. Even more curious are the less-familiar stories like the one about the European Teknival sound-system scene that reads like a thriller set amid the war in Bosnia whose main character exists in a trance induced by electronic beats and various substances; contrasted by romantic descriptions of Istanbul during the struggle for the preservation of the city’s urban culture, or the tragic stories of the darkness that lies behind modern Russian expansionist politics personified by Vladimir Putin.
The book is rich in skillfully painted landscapes and portraits, but these are by no means the grand total of Collin’s style. His storytelling is dynamic, witty and I promise it will make you laugh out loud at times. I highly recommend this entertaining, vertiginous journey from one end of the musical world to another.
The story begins in desert expanses of Tunisia, crosses four continents and ends up in Russian prison colonies. When I took it, I was unable to put it down before finishing it. Sounds like a thriller? That’s not far from the truth. But Matthew Collin’s ‘Pop Grenade’ is so much more: it is a dizzying journey across the contemporary soundtrack of rebellion, war and social unrest, imbued with personal experiences, lyrical landscape descriptions and colorful portraits of some of the most important contemporary figures around the world.
‘Pop Grenade’ is a series of highly personal reports from the front lines of contemporary culture – the story of the writer’s relationships with various musicians who left a mark on their times, from hip-hop stars to techno DJs to bizarre pop singers from tiny countries and world-famous punk heroines. Hence the subtitle, ‘From Public Enemy to Pussy Riot: Dispatches from Musical Frontlines’.
Collin is a journalist experienced in music magazines as well as a former foreign correspondent for international media like the BBC and Al Jazeera. His career and adventurous spirit have taken him to various parts of the world at their most interesting moments, and his narrative skills also gave us the books ‘Altered State’, a guide to the history of the rave scene, ‘This is Serbia Calling’ and ‘The Time of the Rebels’.
‘Pop Grenade’, however, is something completely different. In the book, Collin combines autobiographical memoirs with notes about recent events, as well as some
newspaper article and book quotes, recounts of conversations and television reports. All these fragments have been craftily integrated to convey the atmosphere generated by these musical events and their creators.
Collin's prose takes the reader to the secluded rooms where rap music was produced to provide a tune to the Arab Spring, to Long Island's radio stations where Public Enemy started their
musical and political struggles, to the Love Parade in Berlin after the fall of the Berlin Wall and the subsequent commercialization of this unique techno phenomenon. Even more curious are the less-familiar stories like the one about the European Teknival sound-system scene that reads like a thriller set amid the war in Bosnia whose main character exists in a trance induced by electronic beats and various substances; contrasted by romantic descriptions of Istanbul during the struggle for the preservation of the city’s urban culture, or the tragic stories of the darkness that lies behind modern Russian expansionist politics personified by Vladimir Putin.
The book is rich in skillfully painted landscapes and portraits, but these are by no means the grand total of Collin’s style. His storytelling is dynamic, witty and I promise it will make you laugh out loud at times. I highly recommend this entertaining, vertiginous journey from one end of the musical world to another.
January 17, 2025
This took me 3 and a half years to get through because unfortunately I found it incredibly boring and borderline self important.
It’s a great premise. Music, and art in general, is inherently political as it stands so examining how music can influence or affect a political moment or movement is an interesting topic.
However, this just didn’t land. It felt muddled. Only two of the essays (the first and last) kept my attention for any extended period of time.
The author comes across as a snob also so it was hard to read his essays on music and politics when he was throw in snarky lines about other genres he doesn’t particularly enjoy.
It’s a great premise. Music, and art in general, is inherently political as it stands so examining how music can influence or affect a political moment or movement is an interesting topic.
However, this just didn’t land. It felt muddled. Only two of the essays (the first and last) kept my attention for any extended period of time.
The author comes across as a snob also so it was hard to read his essays on music and politics when he was throw in snarky lines about other genres he doesn’t particularly enjoy.
March 22, 2017
Really enjoyed this novel. Whilst it charts how certain music forms (hiphop, techno, indie electro) are important tools in rebellion against fascist political ideas, they never seem to follow-through and ultimately the fasicst ideals tend to stick.
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews