welcome. this week, something different. rage against the machine -- one of the most successful, politically ferocious rock bands of its time. here they are at a music festival back in 1994, packed with more than 100,000 enthusiastic fans. the lead guitarist of rage against the machine, tom morello, is my guest. he's become part of the long tradition of troubadours with a message. dubbing himself "the nightwatchman," in 2007 he released his first solo album. "rolling stone" magazine chose his recent album "world wide rebel songs" as one of the best of 2011 and named him one of the 100 greatest guitarists of all time. >> from cairo, to here, everybody has to stand up in their place where they live. >> last year, he was in madison, wisconsin, braving bitter winter weather to sing on the steps of the state capitol in support of public service workers. ♪ this land is your land >> he defended their collective bargaining rights against republican governor scott walker. ♪ as i was walking that ribbon of highway ♪ >> tom morello has performed "this land is your land" and his own songs at occupy wall street protests from california to the new york island. ♪ for you and me let's march and sing! ♪ this land is your land this land is my land ♪ >> he was here in new york at the may day demonstrations, an honorary commander of a battalion of musicians they called the occupy guitarmy. ♪ are you going to stand around or are you going to be free? ♪ sing! >> that same night, harry belafonte presented him with the officers' award from the sidney hillman foundation honoring his "advocacy for and support of working people across the world." this week he's in chicago, singing for the nurses' union, and their protest calling for wall street accountability. tom morello, welcome. >> thanks very much. >> so at all these protests, what's your message? >> my message there is -- what my job is as a -- i didn't choose to be a guitar player. that's something that was a calling. that was something that felt like it was chosen for me. and with that blessing and curse, i, throughout my entire career, it's been my job to weave my convictions into my vocation. and so, whether i'm standing in the streets of chicago or the occupy wall street or in madison, wisconsin, my job is to steel the backbone of people on the front lines of social justice struggles and to put wind in sails of those struggles. and people who are fighting on a -- on a daily basis, at a grassroots level, for the things that i believe in. >> it's sort of like people going to church. they may not know each other very well, but when they sing the same songs -- >> yeah. >> -- same hymn, something hap -- you can sense something happening to them? >> there's a unique component of music that is different from, you know, the written pamphlet or a speech. there's something, when you get the right combination of rhythm, melody and the right lyrical couplet, that feels like truth in the reptilian brain. there's something hardwired in our d.n.a. and when you get a large group of people singing together in solidarity, it's something that, in my experience, and i've played countless demonstrations and protests through the years, it's something that can really help a struggle. >> talk a little bit more about the sense of calling. you said you had no choice, really. >> yeah, yeah. >> why did you have no choice? >> yeah. i started playing guitar rather late. i started playing when i was 17 years old. and until then, i had a myriad of interests. i was an artist, i was a writer, i was interested in politics. and then i started playing guitar, and, you know, i can't describe -- it's a -- i, you know, i hesitate to over-intellectualize it. it just like, it felt like this -- by the time i was 19 years old and a freshman at harvard university, i, you know, majoring in political science, i knew that i was going to be a rock and roll guitar player. you know, but i really turned a corner with my guitar playing where i kind of broke through to a different level of ability, of technical ability, and was able to express myself via that instrument in a way that i hadn't been able to express myself in other forums. and it really felt like this is the thing that i am destined to be. i didn't abandon my studies. because, you know, i was, through no -- clarify this. through no particular genius of my own, i was the first person from libertyville public high school to attend harvard, not because i was smarter than anyone or better than anyone, but no one had ever applied before. it was, you know, like university of illinois, a fine institution, was the -- you know, sort of the upper echelon of places where kids went from that school. and so i felt sort of a duty to myself and my peers to continue with those studies, and to continue to, you know, intellectually arm myself for my coming struggles. >> so being the first citizen of libertyville to get to harvard, what did you think about yourself at that stage? >> yeah. i did have some experience being unique. i literally integrated the town of libertyville, illinois, according to the real estate agent that showed my mom and i around. but when we moved from harlem to libertyville in 1965, my mom, who had taught around the world and had, you know, teaching credentials galore, we were informed by the -- she was informed by the -- i was 1 years old at the time -- she was informed by the high school administrations, "we would love to have you teach here, but because you're an interracial family --" that is, my mom and myself, a 1-year-old half-kenyan, "you can't live here. it just wouldn't be good for you." so when we finally settled in libertyville, my mom had a mutual friend that she had grown up with, which was our in there, that wrote some sort of letter of recommendation that the real estate agent literally had to go door-to-door and apartment-to-apartment asking the other residents of this, you know, small apartment complex, if they would be okay with us living there. and the way how they sold me to the locals was that i was not an american negro, but i was this very exotic kenyan, you know, princeling that was moving into the building. all of that worked out fine until i was old enough to date their daughters. >> and they didn't give you a pass then. >> and then they did not give me a pass. so when i, being the first, you know, libertyvillian to attend harvard, that was small in comparison. >> did you ever hear the "n" word? >> oh. people often ask me, like, what was my introduction to politics. and i could tell you it was the first time i, you know, read a chomsky screed or during the -- >> noam chomsky -- >> yeah, yeah, or during the -- you know, the bobby sands hunger strike. but it was really the first time i entered a playground, was my introduction to politics. lot of "n"-wording when i was a kid. when i was 13 years old, there was a noose in my family's garage. i saw a couple of nooses growing up. there was, you know, some klan activity in the town, in the deep north of illinois. but i, you know, i -- it's only later reflecting back on that, that seems so outrageous. it was just sort of our life. >> do you ever think about your experience in comparison to obama's because he, too, had a black kenyan father, a white mother from the midwestern part of the -- of america. but he went to harvard. but he -- >> yeah. and both able amateur basketball players. >> yeah. he grew up in hawaii, where the colors of the world mixed and merged. >> yeah. >> and this dilution hadn't happened yet in libertyville. >> yeah. that's correct. >> so have you ever read about his experience and thought of yourself in that context? >> yeah, i mean, when i first heard, when he came onto the national scene, when he spoke at the democratic convention eight years ago now or eight plus years ago. >> 2004. >> yeah. >> that stirring speech. >> yeah. i mean, i couldn't believe it. like, i thought i had a very unique biography. you know, and here's this very, you know, prominent up-and-coming politician. and i -- what dissuaded me from, even though i had interests in the realm of politics, what dissuaded me from ever wanting to put my energy in that direction was i worked for two years as a scheduling secretary for u.s. senator alan cranston. >> alan cranston was one of the keating five. those were the members of congress, who were accused of illegally taking campaign money, during the savings and loan crisis at the end of the 1980s, right? >> that's right, while we worked together. >> oh, you were working with him? >> i was working for him. i took the job not because i was hoping to rise in the ranks of, you know, i was his scheduling secretary for california, rise in the ranks of the office. it was basically a day job while i still pursued my rock and roll music at night. but there were two experiences i had there that's made me think this is not for me. one was the senator, while he was a really good person and was -- he and i saw eye to eye on, you know, many issues. every waking moment that i spent with him, he was on the phone asking rich guys for money. i mean, that was what the job seemed to me to be. and none of that money came without a price tag on it. and then secondly, one day i was, the receptionist was out for the day, so i was fielding phone calls. and a woman called up. and she was -- had a complaint for the senator. and her complaint was that there were mexicans moving into her neighborhood. and so i, you know, my dander was up, and i let her finish. and i, you know, representing the senator cranston, i let her know, "ma'am, you're a racist, and you can go to hell." and i thought, "well, good-bye, good day to you, ma'am," and thought i had done an excellent job that day. i was yelled at for two -- like everyone up and down the ladder, like with the exception was senator himself. like, i was yelled at for two weeks and bombarded with letters at the time, faxes, we didn't have e-mail. and it dawned on me. if i'm in a job where i can't tell a racist to go to hell, i'm not in the right job for me. >> in fact, this leads me to another question, tom. you have been invoking more and more the tradition of woody guthrie, which is another, it seems to me, a fairly significant change in the direction of your work. >> yeah, yeah, i've always been a fan of heavy music. you know, i grew up in suburban parking lot heavy metal. and then, you know, transferred to sort of punk and aggressive hip-hop music. and it was only in the last, you know, sort of 10 or 12 years, where i realized that folk music like the music of woody guthrie or the early bob dylan or bruce springsteen "nebraska" records or phil ochs, that that music could be just as heavy or heavier than anything that's played through a wall of marshall stacks. >> how so? >> that the right turn of phrase and the right couplet can cut to the core of your heart in a way that a searing, you know, guitar solo sometimes can't -- sometimes can, but sometimes can't. you know, the music of johnny cash. like, i delved deeply, you know, into these artists and found, at their core, you know, a heart that was a lot darker than in metallica records, you know? and was very much drawn to that. and i think for me it's not -- let me make this very, very clear. in my catalog of nightwatchman songs, while i tend to be a, you know, i'm -- i go to protests so i'm branded as a political artist, a good deal of the material on those records is very, very personal. and it's, some of it's politics with a lowercase "p." some of it could hardly be described as politics at all. it's sort of, you know, an unearthing of the dark, shining a light on the dark recesses of that tortured suburban psyche that feels like, in order to be true to the political stuff, i feel i have to be just true to myself in making that music and to not conceal those things. >> who is that self? >> well, that's something that i've found that i've been able to explore to the greatest extent in this music. rarely will i sit down and say, "i am now going to write a song about unions." that stuff, i don't know where it comes from. you can practice guitar eight hours a day and get a predictable result. but how i write my lyrics, it's just like i hope to have the antenna up when inspiration strikes. and quite often, you know, what i see in those stanzas is an accurate reflection of the fears, desires, the hope and the struggle that's been my personal journey, as opposed to my political one. the name of my first solo record was called "one man revolution." that was not an accident. ♪ on the streets of new york the cabs don't stop on the street where i live they called the cops ♪ ♪ found a noose in my garage now how 'bout that so tonight i'm in the bushes with a baseball bat ♪ ♪ 'cause i'm a one man i'm a one man i'm a one man revolution i'm a one man ♪ ♪ i'm a one man i'm a one man revolution the time is nigh the day is dark ♪ ♪ there's only one solution 'cause i'm a one man i'm a one man i'm a one man revolution ♪ >> is that autobiographical? >> oh, every word of it. yeah. every word of it. the -- you know, one of the things that i, in the nightwatchman catalogue that i deal with a lot is pacifism versus active resistance to oppression. and you know, i grew up, you know, despite some of the radical politics in my household, very much a pacifist. and, you know, when i entered harvard university, i was discussing with some friends then who were of a more radical bent than myself. and we were discussing the incident when i was 13 years old of having the noose in the family's garage. and they were challenging my pacifist leaning, saying, you know, like, "how did you feel about that?" and i was terrified for months afterwards. they said, "well, how would you feel if, you know, the klan were coming up your family's driveway with a noose with -- not knowing what their intentions might be, you know, and at that point, do you feel it's best to turn the other cheek? or would you rather that me and my friends were in the bushes with baseball bats?" and that's a -- i've turned that over, you know, on the course of four records, that is a recurring theme. and not -- and some days i fall on one side of the line, on some days, the other. >> is it feasible to you that, woody guthrie, bruce springsteen, and bob dylan all felt like a one-person revolution, as if something they saw in the world they couldn't get out except through their songs? >> yeah. >> and nobody else could really know what was going on in this? >> yeah. it's possible. i mean, for me, one of the things that draws me, especially to the folk music, and to this tradition, is that, perhaps for the first time, i feel heard and connected, in a way that i haven't in any of my other endeavors. you know? >> how so? >> when i began doing the night watchmen stuff, it was at coffee houses. i was already, you know, well established in the bands rage against the machine and audio slave playing, you know, enormous arenas. and on nights off, i would look through the local paper and head down to a country and western bar or a coffee house, sign up anonymously as the nightwatchman and play two -- wait in line and play two or three songs. and i felt -- even -- i felt a visceral connection to the audiences, even on those nights where no one was coming to see or hear me. when it went well, it really felt like everyone's soul in the room was at stake. and it really felt like i was being heard for the first time. and this was the most complete and honest me as an artist that i'd ever experienced. and that's one of the things that draws me to it. because in some ways, like whether i'm standing in zuccotti park or whether i'm standing on the steps of madison in the freezing cold, i'm no longer a one-man revolution, that i have friends and comrades in arms. >> bruce springsteen invited you to join him and sing "the ghost of tom joad" together at the rock and roll hall of fame's 25th anniversary benefit concert. frame "the ghost of tom joad" for me. >> sure, sure. tom joad is a character in steinbeck's "the grapes of wrath," whose family, you know, is an immigrant family that hopes for a better life in moving to california and realizes the brutality and the violence of capital, as they make their journey. tom joad, through his experience, becomes an outlaw and has to leave his family. but when in the closing pages of the book reminds his dear mother, who he will likely never see again, that "you will always see me. it'll be in, you know, when the hungry babies are crying. when someone's standing up for justice. when you see a cop beating a guy, that i'll be there." bruce springsteen's song, "the ghost of tom joad," is a sort of a reimagining of that character, set in our times, where immigrants and the poor once again have, you know, are that, we're continuing to build lower rungs on the ladder for the dispossessed. ♪ now tom said mom, wherever there's a cop beating a guy ♪ ♪ wherever a hungry newborn baby cries ♪ ♪ where there's a fight against the blood and hatred in the air ♪ ♪ look for me mom i'll be there ♪ ♪ wherever there's somebody fightin' for a place to stand ♪ ♪ or decent job or a helpin' hand ♪ ♪ wherever somebody's strugglin' to be free ♪ ♪ look in their eyes mom you'll see me ♪ ♪ well the highway is alive tonight where it's headed everybody knows ♪ ♪ i'm sitting down here in the campfire light waiting on the ghost of tom joad ♪ >> this tom joad in bruce's song, it was originally written as an acoustic ballad. in this tom joad the, our, the protagonist is sitting around the campfire, waiting for this ghostly character to return in today's struggles. in the version, the electric version that bruce springsteen and i play, it has, it takes on, in my view, a different meaning. it's an angrier tom joad. it's a tom joad that i try to evoke the loss souls, you know, from in the jail cells and of the barricades, those who have sacrificed their lives for a better world. i try to invoke their ghostly voices in the guitar solo in the song. >> what's going through your mind? are you thinking of the words? are you thinking of the political message? or are you just so much -- >> it's a very, it's a very charged moment for me, because i've been -- you know, bruce springsteen is one of my biggest inspirations. and just the fact that i'm sharing the same with him and the e street band is something that's very meaningful for me. if i was just standing there, you know, shaking a tambourine. but, you know, that song in particular -- that's a song, actually, rage against the machine covered years ago, as well. so that song has particular meaning to me in that it does really express my world view. it's sort of, there's a sadness and a hope. there's a darkness and there's, there's a shade and a light to that song that i try to evoke in my guitar playing in that. when i am most successful as a guitar player is when i'm able to just sort of lose myself. you stop thinking about technique or anything like that and just trying to evoke the emotion of that song brings, which is a very strong emotion for me. >> do you know what i was thinking as i listened to that? literally thinking of something john steinbeck, who wrote "grapes of wrath," said about woody guthrie's music. he said, "there is nothing sweet about woody, and there is nothing sweet about the songs he sings. but there is something more important for those who will listen. there is the will of a people to endure and fight against oppression. "i think," said john steinbeck, "we call this the american spirit." and my question to you is, what is the fight today? who's being oppressed? >> i believe that desperate times deserve desperate songs, you know? and you know, and what is the fight today? the fight -- that song and, you know, that artist