Burn it down: 15 songs of riot and revolt

Two Brooklyn teenagers (Joey Bada$$ and the late Capital STEEZ) rapping like the golden age never ended, over a beat that sounds like an air-raid drill. From the 1999 mixtape (2012), it's the Pro Era movement's mission statement: boom-bap as insurgency.

The most direct protest song ever recorded: a mock trial with Dr. Dre presiding and Ice Cube as star witness, from 1988's Straight Outta Compton. It earned the group an FBI warning letter, the rare song with its own federal paper trail.

One riff, one escalating refusal, and the most cathartic profanity in rock history. From the 1992 debut, "Killing in the Name" connects police violence to institutional racism in about six words, then repeats them until the walls give.

One minute, three seconds. Jello Biafra watching fascists infiltrate his own scene and torching them at hardcore velocity, from 1981's In God We Trust, Inc. EP. Scene-policing as public service, still the genre's sharpest eviction notice.

Commissioned for Spike Lee's Do the Right Thing (1989), built by the Bomb Squad from dozens of samples, fronted by Chuck D at full sermon force. The definitive hip-hop protest record, the one every list like this is measured against.

The Clash's 1977 debut single, written after Joe Strummer and Paul Simonon got caught in the Notting Hill Carnival riot: a demand that white kids find the same fight against the system. Ninety seconds of punk as class consciousness.

"I am an antichrist" remains the most arresting opening line in rock. The 1976 single got the Pistols dropped by two labels before Never Mind the Bollocks collected it, anarchism as tabloid panic, and the template for every musical provocation since.

Ice-T's metal band pushed the N.W.A premise to its limit in 1992, and triggered a national firestorm: presidential condemnation, police boycotts, the track eventually pulled from the album. The most banned song on this list, which is rather the point.

El-P's beat stabs like an alarm that won't stop; Killer Mike and Zack de la Rocha (returning to the mic for the occasion) rap about prison riots and burning it all down. From RTJ2 (2014), modern rap's heaviest one-two of fury and craft.

Carol City's finest at peak aggression: "Ult" (Imperial, 2016) is Curry's double-time snarl over sub-bass pressure, equal parts battle cry and breakdown. The SoundCloud generation's contribution to the riot canon, mosh pit included.

Rebellion flipped to joy: a love song to Joe Talbot's Ukrainian immigrant best friend, shouted over Bristol post-punk muscle. From Joy as an Act of Resistance (2018), proof that in an age of border panic, celebration can be the loudest defiance.

"Why don't presidents fight the war? Why do they always send the poor?", the Iraq-era question, delivered in a song that whiplashes between thrash fury and party-pop chorus. From Mezmerize (2005); it won a Grammy while indicting the recruiters.

Peggy's production sounds like a riot caught mid-glitch: stuttering samples, blown-out drums, bars aimed in every direction. From Veteran (2018), the internet era's noisiest, most lawless protest music, made by an actual veteran.

Underground hip-hop's fiercest independent voice, rapping circles around the industry he refused to sign to. From Revolutionary Vol. 2 (2003), self-released and sold hand to hand, the anti-system stance practiced, not just preached.

"Can I scream?" Then the drop that launched a thousand bands. Refused's 1998 manifesto fused hardcore with rave dynamics and situationist politics; the band imploded within months, and The Shape of Punk to Come spent the next decade coming true.