The 1970s ushered in the golden age of the singer-songwriter, a time when music could be as personal as it was political. While rock fans were cranking up Led Zeppelin and Aerosmith, a different kind of rebellion was happening—one carried by voices and acoustic guitars. Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young were at the heart of that movement, but not every member always saw eye to eye. When Graham Nash felt abandoned by Neil Young and Stephen Stills over a political issue, he didn’t argue—he wrote a song.
CSNY had built their reputation on tight harmonies and sharp protest songs. The Vietnam War still loomed over the world when the supergroup formed, and Neil Young was never one to hold back. Whether it was the raw emotion of Helpless or the fiery outrage of Ohio, he had a way of cutting straight to the point. But when it came to the Chicago 7, the group of activists charged with inciting a riot at the 1968 Democratic National Convention, it was Nash—not Young—who took up the cause.
Rather than penning an aggressive takedown, Nash approached the situation with his signature warmth. Chicago (We Can Change the World) wasn’t about rage—it was about justice. But it also carried a personal sting. When CSNY was invited to perform at a benefit concert for the Chicago 7, both Young and Stills backed out. Nash was disappointed, but instead of arguing, he let his song do the talking.
“I wrote this song to Neil and Stephen and to everybody that I thought might want to hear about the fact that what was happening to the Chicago 7 wasn’t fair,” Nash later admitted. But by bringing politics into the mix, he risked deepening the cracks already forming within CSNY.
Neil Young had always been fiercely independent, and in the years that followed, he doubled down on that approach. He didn’t need the group to make an impact—his solo work would define folk rock for a generation. Nash, meanwhile, released Chicago on his 1971 album Songs for Beginners, using his music to push for change in his own way.
At their core, both Nash and Young wanted the same thing—to use music as a force for good. But their approaches couldn’t have been more different. Nash believed in appealing to humanity, in meeting people with understanding. Young believed in blunt force truth, even if it made people uncomfortable. Maybe, as John Lennon once suggested, Young could have used a little honey to go with the vinegar. But in the end, the world needed both voices.
