"Morgan Wallen" & Singing Against Silence

Filmed by @spacehelmetproductions, outside the gates of Alligator Alcatraz, an ICE detention center in the Florida Everglades.

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A few weeks ago, I flew to Miami and filmed a song I wrote outside an ICE detention center.

The song’s called “Morgan Wallen”. I’m still not sure what to make of the experience or this moment in time that we find ourselves living in.

The song is not an attack on Morgan Wallen; he and his team are great songwriters. The melodies crush, the lyrics are solid, and he delivers the tunes with earnestness. There are songs of his I admire the way I admire a well-built house: I might not want to live in it, but I can’t deny the craftsmanship. “’98 Braves” is quietly devastating. And “F150-50”—come on, that title alone is brilliant. It’s classic country: set the scene, twist the meaning, break the heart, and have a good time doing it. It’s clever. It lands.

Heads, it's headlights headed home
Tread left on forgiveness
Tails, it's taillights tailin' off
Floor that Ford, forget this
Is that half ton kickin' up
And that last goodbye cloud of dust it's gonna give me
Or does she miss me?
Tonight, it's lookin' F150-50
Yeah, tonight it's lookin' F150-50 (Wallen, Stennis, Mullins, Pierce)1

And I can’t ignore the other things either. The slur2. The chair thrown off the rooftop3. The way he’s been embraced all the harder by a particular corner of this country because of those things—or maybe in spite of them. I don’t know. I don’t know him. I don’t know what was in his head, for any of it4. I do know it’s possible we could get along; we would undoubtedly—at minimum—have songwriting to talk about. We could do it over a beer. This isn’t about him as much as it’s about what he represents. Or, more accurately: what I keep turning over in my head when I listen to music and think about the world we’re living in.

This isn’t a new struggle. I’ve had it with other artists—Orson Scott Card with Ender’s Game. J.K. Rowling with Harry Potter. Morrissey, who keeps digging in on seemingly everything. Bill Cosby. Sometimes I can separate the art from the person. Sometimes I can’t. Sometimes I wonder if the art I love only exists because of the complicated, uncomfortable parts of the people who made it. I’m not sure there’s a clean answer. I’m not sure there’s supposed to be.

Not long ago, I joined Indivisible, an organization with one goal: to Preserve Democracy in the United States. My friend Hannah, whom I know from a local songwriting group, is a leader in the local northwest Chicago chapter5; she invited me to a town hall. I went. I listened.

That night, I walked home thinking three things. The first two are easy to explain; the third one is more challenging. They are as follows:

1. It felt like maybe there’s still a way to be involved that matters.

Indivisible discusses the 3.5% Rule, which states that throughout history, when 3.5% of a population participates in protest, change occurs. 11.5 million people in the U.S., give or take6.

That night, April 21, 2025, the Indivisible speakers said that around 3 million members of the United States were actively protesting. Therefore, they said, if each of those people brought two friends to the next rally, the United States would hit that 3.5% number—the next rally—No Kings—brought 5 million: halfway there. Today, if every one of those attendees brought just one person, we’d be right there.

Walking home, it was the first time in a while that I felt hopeful.

2. I wanted to do more than show up;

I wanted to volunteer, join my neighbors, and assist Hannah and the rest of her team in any way that I could.

3. I found myself wondering:

If we wind up in the worst-case version of this country— things keep sliding further toward authoritarianism, oligarchy, Fascism—

Who’s still playing Kid Rock’s bar in Nashville?
Who’s still selling tickets?
Who’s still filling seats?

It brought me back to Morgan Wallen. His music. His persona. The way he seems to speak for a slice of America that thinks it’s being protected by the very forces that might (read: likely) end up doing it harm. It was not just the Jews in Nazi Germany.

That’s how these things usually work in the end. I kept hearing Niemöller, a German Lutheran pastor, in my head:

First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist.
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me. - Friedrich Gustav Emil Martin Niemöller

Somewhere between the Town Hall and my flat, I wrote the ending of the song, “Morgan Wallen”.

It took me six weeks to figure out the rest, which was slower than usual for me. The rhyme scheme didn’t come easily. Neither did the content. I didn’t want it to be cruel. I didn’t want to take shots at someone I’ve never met. I just kept circling the idea:

What happens when there is no one left to go to Kid Rock’s bar? What if they take Kid Rock too?

What would it mean if someone with Morgan Wallen’s platform decided to speak up?
What would it sound like?

I’m not expecting it. And I’m still allowed to wonder.

I’ve been thinking a lot about protest songs. About whether they still matter the way they used to. It seems to me that in the ’60s, music meant something. Musicians stood for things. Even in the ’90s, there was a fear of selling out. Today? Everyone’s trying to buy in. Johnny Rzeznik from the Goo Goo Dolls said something similar on a recent episode of Song Exploder. He was talking about a moment in the studio, making Iris7, what would be their biggest hit, when the producer wanted to put strings on it. Of course, we know it now as this massive tune, and in the studio, the band wondered, “Can we do this? Should we do this?” They knew on some level that their peers would perceive them as selling out. Over. A. String. Section8.

What it means to be an “artist” is certainly dependent on the times you are coming up, and right now it is tough. I understand. It’s more difficult than ever to make a living playing music. The share keeps shrinking. AI is taking what’s left. Taking risks in this environment could be career-ending, even if you’re in the “dream of a career” phase. And yet, if there was ever a time since the 60s when risks should be taken—when silence risks ending all freedom of art, speech, voice, and song—it seems that now is that time. Indeed, as someone with no real platform beyond this post, it is easy for me to say; yet, if enough people say it, that could make a difference.

Songs still reach people.
They still cut and make people feel.
They still remind us we’re not alone.

Protest songs should be part of the protest.

Lately, I’ve watched ICE raids increase9. I’ve watched Congress send $37.5 billion to ICE—more than Israel’s military budget, more than almost any country in the world10. I’ve watched people detained because of how they speak, how they look, what papers they carry. As I write this, Chicago, my city, is anxiously awaiting the United State military to descend upon it'; last weekend, September 7, 2025, the president tweeted “‘I Love the smell of deportations in the morning…’ Chicago about to find out why it’s called the Department of WAR…”11.

With all of this I have wondered—and continue to wonder—what I can do that isn’t nothing.

So, I flew to Miami. I rented a car. I stood outside the driveway into Alligator Alcatraz—the Concentration Camp in the middle of the Everglades. This was before a judge ruled that it was illegal, only to have an appellate court last week rule that it was not12.

I don’t know who’s being held there anymore. I don’t think any of us do.
I sang the song.
I wasn’t sure what it would mean.
I’m still not.

Below are the lyrics to “Morgan Wallen”. While I try and avoid speaking for songs, as discussed in this article, in this case, it seems appropriate. Specifically, as of now, Morgan Wallen has NOT been taken and can be seen nightly on a massive nationwide tour (https://morganwallen.com/)13. The song is a satire. The fact that I’ve been asked to clarify this point every time I play it should be a sign that something is not right. In the United States, I used to think that the idea that Morgan Wallen could be jailed for having brown hair absurd. Today, it is not. The song isn’t meant to preach or shame. It’s meant to sit with the same questions I’ve been carrying—and maybe leave a few with you too.

“Morgan Wallen”

The streets, bars, and restaurants are all empty

The warden’s fat on his government contracts

Long since taken the Blacks, off-whites, Browns, and Jews

They’ve turned their attention to brown-haired white dudes

First, they took the ones they called illegal

Plain against that unwritten agreement

Says, “Come to the land of opportunity

Work for pennies in the fields and service industry

So their kids might someday have it as good as me”

Next, it was the scientists and professors

Those who gave their lives to try and save

People and the planet from danger and disease

The teachers of fallacies found in our history

Turns out they’re only useful when a people are free

After all the universities were cleared

Began to bag those who flew the rainbow flags

To celebrate themselves with joy and pride

After years spent trapped in bodies and the closets where they’d hide

World’s empty & ugly—them again, outta sight

Now the streets, bars, and restaurants are all empty

The warden’s fat on his government contracts

Long since taken the Blacks, off-whites, Browns, and Jews

They’ve turned their attention to the brown-haired white dudes

Yesterday, they took Morgan Wallen

He was one of those who thought they’d never come for you

Even when his neighbors were taken, it was covered in the news

Perhaps in prison, he can pivot from country western to the blues

~joel

P.S. Jeff Tweedy | Starship Casual, if you read this: would love to have you produce a studio version; I am in the neighborhood!

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