Rachel Platten’s “Fight Song,” famously adopted (and arguably, foisted upon) Hillary Clinton’s 2016 presidential campaign, is a track that elicits strong reactions. While intended to be an empowering anthem, its deployment in the political arena sparked more teeth-gritting than fist-pumping, raising questions about its suitability as a rallying cry for a national campaign. It’s safe to say that for many, this particular fight song was more of a discordant note than a harmonious call to action.
Reporters publicly yearned for an end to the song’s omnipresence on the campaign trail. Campaign staff themselves reportedly shared quiet online groans about its overuse. And for the general public, regardless of political affiliation, the song’s relentless catchiness morphed into an earworm of annoyance. It became the kind of tune that burrows into your brain and provokes an internal scream of stop, please stop, even in your sleep. In a typical year, a pop song might enjoy its moment and then fade away. However, the Clinton campaign doubled down, releasing a Kidz Bop-esque rendition for the Democratic National Convention, amplifying the sonic fatigue.
The intention, perhaps, was to forge a distinct identity from past campaigns, even diverging from the classic rock associations of Bill Clinton’s era, like Fleetwood Mac’s “Don’t Stop.” Fair enough. But when strategizing about a campaign anthem’s direction, crucial elements seem to have been overlooked. Should it feature Stevie Nicks? Probably not relevant. Should it echo sentiments of bygone days? Again, debatable. But two non-negotiable criteria appear to have been missed amidst the brainstorming sessions: (a) the song should align, even loosely, with the campaign’s message, and (b) it really shouldn’t be, well, that bad as a political rallying cry.
What exactly is “Fight Song” about? At its core, it’s a narrative of personal resilience in the face of industry challenges, specifically the uphill battle of establishing oneself as a successful pop artist. More broadly, it speaks to overcoming adversity and silencing critics. While these are relatable themes, applying them to a seasoned political figure like Hillary Clinton, who had decades in the public eye and a substantial track record, felt like a lyrical stretch, if not a complete misfire.
Consider the chorus: “This is my fight song / Take back my life song / Prove I’m alright song.” “Fight song,” conceptually, can work. But “take back my life song”? “Prove I’m alright song”? Did Hillary Clinton’s life need taking back? Was there a widespread perception that she wasn’t alright? Did the campaign inadvertently tap into the very narratives pushed by her detractors? It’s as if the song selection process involved someone picking a track based solely on its title, without delving into the lyrical nuances.
One might argue that many campaign anthems aren’t lyrically precise manifestos. True. But often, they possess a certain feel, an uplifting quality that resonates with the hopeful spirit of a campaign. The crucial difference? Those songs generally didn’t induce the level of collective cringing that “Fight Song” did in a political context.
Rachel Platten herself seems perfectly pleasant. Reports indicate the song took her a year and a half to write, a testament to the effort behind its creation. And its commercial success is undeniable, achieving double-platinum status in the U.S. and resonating with millions. Perhaps, in a different setting – say, soundtracking a personal workout – the song’s motivational message hits the mark. Indeed, it even found a place in Ford commercials, demonstrating its broader appeal outside the political sphere.
But for the political arena, “Fight Song” felt like a square peg in a round hole. It was a well-intentioned but ultimately misguided attempt to connect with voters through the power of pop music. The lesson? Sometimes, the fight song you choose can inadvertently become a symbol of the very struggles you’re trying to overcome, rather than a triumphant declaration of victory. So, let’s keep the lyrical wrecking balls confined to personal playlists and, for the sake of future campaigns, perhaps explore anthems that resonate with a slightly less… combative personal narrative.
Claire McNearClaire McNear covers sports and culture. She has written about Malört, magic, fandom, and seasickness (her own). She lives in Washington, D.C.
