Rovics grew up in a family of classical musicians in Wilton, Connecticut. In his early twenties he moved to Berkeley, California, engaging himself in the political scene there before heading back east to work full time as a busker on the Boston streets and subways. His debut album, Make It So, a collection consisting mainly of cover songs, was released in 1996. Since then, Rovics has gone on to release nine further albums, all of them full of political and personal experiences detailing his beliefs about everything from polyamory to labor laws, global justice to guerrilla warfare. With record titles including Who Would Jesus Bomb (2003) and Halliburton Boardroom Massacre (2006), it’s clear that Rovics is a man unafraid to speak his mind.

 

Rovics is a protester who uses music as a means to communicate on an emotional level. In the tradition of politically-minded singer-songwriters who came before him, Rovics’ aim is to write songs of social significance and it comes as no surprise to hear that his influences include Pete Seeger, Phil Ochs, Utah Phillips and Silvio Rodriguez. His sound is often reminiscent of the political folk masters of the past; “Pay Day,” for example, recalls the style of Woody Guthrie not only thematically but musically as well.

 

Defining his politics as “new left,” Rovics is equally vague with his musical genre. He believes that the label “folk” has been bastardized in its contemporary usage, limiting it from applying to everything that it should—essentially anything that is a part of an oral tradition. Calling what he does simply “acoustic,” Rovics’ philosophy is fairly simple: Listen to music and learn other people’s songs and never believe in 100 percent originality; have an open heart and see the world, never forgetting to put oneself into another’s shoes regularly.

 

And seeing through the eyes of another is something Rovics does often in his songs. The tune, “Palestine,” for example, a melodic guitar number driven by a thumping bass drum is told from the perspective of a Palestinian refugee, moving from camp to camp with “no place to call my home.” He gives the perspective of soldiers, prisoners and laborers. He’s a musician who’s played every type of gig, from concert theaters to union halls, churches to mass protest rallies.

 

And while Rovics acknowledges that everything he does is essentially within the activist scene, he’s been a fierce promoter of free distribution, making all of his music available online for no charge. Considering the music industry to be a broken machine unconcerned by quality, Rovics has been developing a fan base through his free downloads.

 

Rovics uses humor to reach even staunch opponents of his political ideologies, both in his songs and in the stories he uses to accompany the music. He also has a way with irony. In the song “Good Kurds, Bad Kurds,” Rovics details the hypocrisy and confusion of geopolitics singing, “Yes, when Iraqi Kurds are massacred, we say this is genocide/Okay, we armed the Army through the ‘80s/but now we proudly take the Kurdish side/But in Turkey it’s an internal matter and for us to get involved would be wrong/so we’ll sell some tanks and ‘copters to Ankara and hope these poor folks can get along.”

 

Listening to the collections Rovics has produced, it’s evident that no topic is off limits. He’s educated himself, has traveled well and is sincere about what he believes in and why. Many of his songs surround the politics and issues of the Middle East and he’s toured numerous times in the region, although he’s faced cancellations tied to allegations of anti-Semitism, despite his own Jewish roots.

 

Whether or not you believe in what Rovics stands for, he has a way of putting forth issues with poignant and witty charm. He’s a rabble-rouser, and an outspoken critic of the military and of global political systems, whose revolution comes through his skill as a guitarist and songwriter.