Okay, so here’s the thing. Break These Chains is a song. By Harry Kappen. From the Netherlands. That place with the wooden shoes and legalized everything. The song wants to rip through your mediocrity-addled skull and scream TRUTH… but what it does is knock politely and say, “Excuse me, are your values still intact?”
Let’s not pretend this is the second coming of Kick Out the Jams. It’s not even the ghost of “Eve of Destruction.” This is one of those earnest, mildly aggressive calls to consciousness dressed up in rock clothing. Harry’s got the guitars chiming, the drums punching politely, and the lyrics, oh yes—the lyrics are the kind of thing that’d get a standing ovation at a conference on digital ethics. “Words like weapons, the wounds they make.” Is this a song or the opening paragraph of a college freshman’s op-ed?
But hold up—Kappen means it. That much you can’t fake. The guy’s a music therapist by trade. He’s seen some things. Helped kids through hell. So when he sings about fake news and vanishing angels, he’s not posturing. He’s pleading. And that sincerity is what saves the whole damn thing from floating off into the TED Talk Hall of Fame.
Musically? Think arena rock without the arena. Like if Peter Gabriel tried to front Soundgarden but got lost in a philosophy bookstore on the way to rehearsal. There’s a solo—yes, a solo—that slinks in around the bridge, and it’s not shredding, it’s shivering. It’s the kind of solo that stands outside the club in the rain and wonders why no one’s dancing.
The chorus—“Let’s break these chains, save us from more pain”—is catchy in that anthem-for-activists kind of way. Imagine a room full of very concerned people singing along while sipping oat milk lattes. No mosh pit here. Just a gentle push against the edge of the soapbox.
But look, even if it doesn’t pulverize your skull or ignite a movement, Break These Chains does what a lot of rock songs today are too afraid to do: give a damn. It’s not cool. It’s not ironic. It’s not pretending not to care. It cares way too much, and in 2025, that might be the most punk rock thing about it.
So here’s to Harry Kappen—rock’s conscience in a world trying to drown itself in cynicism. He may not be the revolution, but at least he brought a guitar and showed up.
–Bob Melsner
