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Rage Against the Machine’s debut album turns 30

Thu 3 November 2022 4:00, UK

Regarding revolutionary political intrigue in music, none have been as explicitly direct as Rage Against the Machine. Formed in 1991, Rage served as the early precursor to the wave of nu-metal that would emerge throughout the decade. Yet the central defining feature of Rage’s output was that it captured political dissent in a thoughtful, intelligently captivating, and, ultimately, caustic manner.

Today marks the 30th anniversary of Rage’s gloriously angry self-titled debut album. It had fittingly been released on the same day as the 1992 United States presidential election in an attempt to point the finger at the lies and hypocrisy that occur behind the Senate and Oval Offices’ closed doors.

Sonically, Rage Against the Machine is riff central. There is an undeniable funk to the album, though Sly and the Family Stone this is not. Rather it’s a funk that rumbles from deep within and arouses anger, not joy. Tim Commerford’s grooving basslines are persistently met with the aggressive, distorted tone of Tom Morello’s guitar; all brought to the fore by Brad Wilk hitting the skins as hard as is humanly possible.

There is room for slap bass, expertly delivered by Commerford on ‘Take the Power’ back, though it ultimately serves as an appetiser for the political aggression of the rest of the track. Morello himself is also given ample room to express his unique take on the guitar solo, using his pickup selection switch to imitate a disc jockey’s turntable on ‘Fistful of Steel’.

So while the sound of Rage Against the Machine is primarily comprised of funky basslines and delicious heavy-as-anything rundown riffs, married together by intricate percussion, much of the intrigue and importance of the album comes down to its lyrical content. For Zack de la Rocha’s “mass militant poetry” is what makes Rage Against the Machine a genuinely one-of-a-kind band. Throughout the history of music, several artists have taken to the sonic art form to express their libertarian ideals, yet none have done it with the utter vitriol and forceful, direct nature of the Los Angeles outfit.

Thematically, de la Rocha tackles the indoctrinating misinformation spread throughout the American schooling system in ‘Take the Power Back’, and tells us of the police brutality experienced by Rodney King and the beginnings of the 1992 L.A. riots in ‘Killing in the Name’. Yet generally, Rage Against the Machine is de la Rocha telling us to ‘Wake Up’ and ‘Know Your Enemy’ lest we ‘Settle For Nothing’. It is, in many ways, a call to arms and an inspiring speech to mistrust authority to believe in your own convictions.

The only downside of this album (and this is certainly not a criticism of the band themselves) is that, unfortunately, it has ultimately done little to rouse the mass public from their stupor – if anything, given the advent of social media, they lie in more of a comfortable slumber than ever before.

Given the serious nature of the album and the band in general, the album’s cover image is also suitably political in nature: Malcolm Browne’s photograph of the Vietnamese Buddhist Monk, Thích Quảng Đức, engaging in the act of self-immolation. Thích Quảng Đức had performed the act in 1963 in protest against Vietnam’s president, who had oppressed the country’s Buddhists. Like Thích Quảng Đức, Rage’s first album puts forth the imperative to stand up to those who persecute and free the unbridled capabilities and freedom of individual thought.

Even 30 years on, Rage’s debut remains a stalwart of the political rap-rock movement, and perhaps none have captured the spirit of the oppressed fighting back against their ‘masters’ as succinctly since it was released. In light of the utter shitstorm that has become 21st Century politics, why not stick Rage’s debut on right now, even if only to rev yourself up to have a bit of a shout on Clapham Common (unless, of course, you have a more imperative badminton lesson or a long-awaited shiatsu massage to attend).