Change in the traffic lights. A kick of tarmac. March rain, pepperoni, students in leather and fur coats, sprawled around the front of Voodoo Daddy’s, their arms detaild with ticketed wristbands and ash.

I leant against a bench, tuned into the conversation next to me: “There’s only a few tickets left. Nearly sold out.”

March 6^th, 2026, the night of the student-led fundraiser gig Live UEAid, in support of Palestine, Sudan and Ukraine.

Given the recent weeks of discourse in geopolitics, it felt as though the event’s voice held a distinctive drive. So, the clock struck 7 and people started moving inward.

I followed into the venue, the scorching cries of Zack de la Rocha pulsing from a TV above the bar (it’s playing a classic Rage Against the Machine gig). Then down, to the depths, the stage deep in a basement, a simmering well.  

The gig was driven by a free-formed mosaic of student talent. Sinkhole opened, an all-boy four-piece bringing hair-flicks to the centre of the Voodoo’s underground.

Jaded Teeth (headliners) took the harmonies of a Peter, Paul and Mary and smashed them down into a visceral theatre, hands in the air and all swept into a breeze of bass and dramatic passion.  

I caught some air out the front and bumped into Joe of The Aide. His words were muted, and I wondered if the weight of the stage was bruising his shoulders.

Perhaps there were nerves there, but it became clear as The Aide took to the stage that it was also a controlled preservation of fervour that I felt out front.

The Aide strained themselves to the point where it seemed they might snap, clearly the loudest of the night and stringing the room into a circuit wired to Joe’s distorting vocal. It seemed an all-or-nothing deal for them, like they wanted to nail it in the way a nail might snap and deface a wall built to keep injustice intact.  

Before that though, opening the show, one of the most profoundly affecting acts: Olga Sovenko and Solomiia.

Reading in Ukrainian that was then translated live, their words brought a grounded feeling of reality to the gig, a reminder of the potential reach that protest-formed gigs can have.

For a moment, the mic whirred with despondence like the words being said were too tender for the machine. Though many lent their ears in totality, it did seem that some were prioritising their red-stripe-tinged chatter over the wounded words being spoken at the front. 

Perhaps people thought their work was done at the purchase of the ticket, that their role in solidarity was done as they stepped through the venue door. But charity is a framework through which protest art can be communicated. Our ears, our understanding, catalyse change as much as the money does.  

I spoke to Dr. Syed Haider, who helped support and run Live UEAid, about the role art plays in political protest. He posited that,

“Art can be a powerful form of activism because it encourages reflection, empathy, and dialogue. Creative expression can reach audiences who may not engage with traditional political discourse.

Whether through music, poetry, or visual art, it can challenge perspectives, raise awareness, and inspire people to think critically about social issues.” 

The event clearly built upon this position.

With it’s inclusion of poetry readings, full-band performances, and genre-blending hip-hop performances such as Dazar’s, the through line was clearly a passionate belief in the power of music and performances to inspire action and critical thought. 

However, for this formative power to take hold, we must listen.  

That slight passiveness was perhaps removed from the crowd entirely when Eezy took to stage. Directing the audience, Eezy asked the crowd to chant “I AM A ROCKSTAR”, a line wasn’t a strange cry to characterise yourself as Jim Morrison but closer to something like Public Enemy’s call to “Fight the Power”. 

The performance was swelling with a feeling of duty and indignation. Eezy’s lyricism bounced upon the steel-backing of the band, the guitar inking around the words like the marks of Basquiat’s POSCA pen.  

I spoke to Archie Ormond, the co-founder and Creative Producer of Live UEAid. Perhaps moved by Eezy’s up-front political stance that night, he said,

“It really frustrates me when people try and push this narrative of ‘keep the politics out of the music’ – have they never listened to The Jam, Green Day, the Sex Pistols, Bob Marley, Marvin Gaye? The list is endless.

During the show and all the readings, I looked over the crowd who were appreciating the messages being pushed by these fantastic artists, and it just proved this point.

When someone is stood up on stage with a microphone, whilst also performing their artistic passion, it is the easiest way to captivate people’s attention. And that’s what political issues need – people’s attention.” 

 The mix of sonic power and protest also exemplified something Syed noted: 

“Music’s power is not only lyrical but also sonic and embodied. Rhythm, repetition, and collective singing create a shared physical and emotional experience, whether in marches, concerts, or gatherings.

We have also seen the way it can carry political messages and forge emotional connections to social issues. The protest song, as a genre, has a long history of supporting social movements—from labour and civil rights struggles to anti-war and anti-apartheid campaigns.

Because songs are memorable and easily shared, they often travel well and can energise people in the moment but also preserve the memory of resistance.” 

The memory of resistance through music is collective, and in the room that night Eezy seemed to be trying to create unity within the crowd. Through musical performance and a call to collective action, Eezy posited the gig as “Obligation, not charity.”

Here, music, as a sector of art in general, was presented as a viable and almost physically tangible tool of resistance in which solidarity can be communicated and spread. 

Those who arrived thinking charity meant little more than entertainment with a decorative gloss of ethics may have left changed, for the gig did a great job in showcasing the direct emotional effect that music can have within activism.  

The bound between art and political protest proved thin, and though I felt a clear passion in the acts on the stage, the feeling within the crowd was strange.

There was a unity, but it was reserved, like there was a fear running under people’s feet.

It was as though people were too afraid to unite because they feared showing themselves to each other. A very post-internet, reserved solidarity. 

Eezy raised his fist in the air in a call for collective action. Most people’s arms remained stiff in the crowd, though their ears were on the stage.

Perhaps listening is enough, but I left confused by that tension – a feeling of contained empathy that was yet to morph into a deep-set desire for action.  

Still, the event bloomed brightly as a showcase of student-led protest art. Syed noted,

“Students have often been at the centre of political and social change, from civil rights and anti-war movements to campaigns around climate justice and global solidarity.”

Then there it was, in flesh, that student-led social pushback happening in the embers of the Norwich night.  

Image credit: Micah Petyt