In a world where political solidarity often feels fractured, music remains one of the few mediums capable of holding the weight of collective liberation. The Bhangra Liberation Orchestra (BLO) — a Brooklyn-born collective, reclaims Punjabi music as a language of protest, anti-authoritarianism, and diaspora identity, moving far away from the commercial soundtrack of flex culture. Fronted by musician and activist Sonny Singh alongside bandmate Nikhil and their multi-ethnic collective of musicians, BLO dismantles the boundaries between dancefloors, sanctuaries, and the frontlines by blending the sonic traditions that each of them comes from.

Whenever the band performs live, combining dhol hype beats with Afrobeat polyrhythms and jazz improvisation, they tap into Bhangra, Afrobeat, and Qawwali, which depend on relentless repetition to drive listeners into an altered state. Sonny views this performance setup as a space for facilitating a modern secular ritual.

"The Bhangra Liberation Orchestra is inspired by musical styles that groove hard and move both our bodies and our hearts," Sonny explains. "Our main hope is for a BLO concert to be a bastion of joy for the audience and band alike. In these times of growing authoritarianism in the US, India, and beyond, we need spaces to let loose, dance, and build community. Our hope is that our music can help facilitate that. For me, there is no clear boundary between spiritual and secular music. Music at its best transports us to a higher plane, to an ecstatic state It's a taste of something that connects us all."

This spiritual and physical connection directly opposes mainstream commercial Punjabi music, which market forces have heavily focused on hyper-masculinity, cars, and wealth while sidelining its agrarian and anti-feudal roots. BLO bypasses pop algorithms entirely, unearthing a revolutionary lineage to put back on the floor.

"It is unfortunate that so much mainstream Punjabi music is steeped in toxic masculinity, sexism, and casteism," Sonny says. "While these oppressive dynamics in Punjabi culture, and South Asian culture more broadly, have always existed, we also have a rich legacy of egalitarianism, introspection, and anti-authoritarianism in our musical and poetic traditions, from Bulleh Shah to the Ghadarites to Sant Ram Udasi. We aim to put this revolutionary ancestral wisdom in conversation with today's world through our music."

He emphasises that their aproach stands apart from the mechanics of commercial pop. "Our methodology is something more organic and true to how each member of the band expresses themself artistically. In that sense we are reimagining bhangra and Punjabi music, but we are also just doing what we know how to do — being ourselves musically and politically. At a certain point, the musical genre becomes irrelevant, and that too is an expression of our politics of liberation."

This blend of identity and politics finds a natural sanctuary in New York City. Their base camp in Brooklyn brings them directly into a distinct history of cross-genre diaspora collectives, following paths carved out by groups like Red Baraat and Antibalas. Brooklyn’s physical and cultural geography also provides a landscape where diverse crowds naturally accept a Punjabi protest chant as their own.

"We are proud to live and have come of age in one of the most ethnically and culturally diverse cities in the world," Sonny reflects. "Things are not exactly utopian here — we face plenty of the same problems of inequality and racism that exist in so many parts of the world. But there is no other place in the world where this band could have been created, and perhaps no other time given this current hopeful political moment of Mamdanistan. We live in an immigrant city, a Black city, a Boricua city, a Sikh, Muslim, Jewish, Hindu, and Rastafarian city, a city with a democratic socialist immigrant former rapper mayor, while being literally at the centre of global capitalism, the belly of the beast. I think the communities that make up this beautiful city and the vibrant history of social movements that have started here lead to a certain sensibility of cultural hybridity; of being multilingual; of seeing people who look different than you as your siblings; of forging true solidarity. Many of us take that for granted here, which definitely makes the art and music better too."

Nikhil echoes this sentiment, pointing to how the city's current climate nurtures raw expression. "It does seem like NYC is in a great moment where people in the city are feeling extra free to celebrate and express themselves," Nikhil adds, "It felt like a more repressed place to me before Mamdani became mayor — maybe having some cultural and political leadership that defies authoritarianism emboldens New Yorkers."

Within this environment, BLO leans heavily into Sikh history, grounding their work in concepts like 'Chardi Kala' — often translated as revolutionary optimism. Yet in today's polarised political climate, invoking such terms risks being reduced to a comfortable liberal slogan. For Sonny, ensuring the music retains a raw, uncomfortable edge means living out the term as an active, uncompromising practice.

"Chardi Kala is what I aim to embody and emanate in everything I do in music and beyond," Sonny notes. "If we really stay true to what this concept means, then there should be no risk of playing it safe or catering to making the privileged feel comfortable. Chardi Kala is not as simple as just 'hope' or 'joy'; it is by definition a revolutionary praxis; it is a steadfast determination to continue fighting for justice and liberation with our heads held high. This is what Sikh history has taught me, and I do my best to live up to it. My bandmates in BLO come from a variety of backgrounds — Marathi, Bengali, African American, Jewish — but we're all committed to this shared vision to radiate radical joy through our music and to amplify movements for justice, from Punjab to Palestine."

That solidarity communicates itself through shared political values alongside language and raw rhythm. Switching between Punjabi, English, and Spanish on stage, the orchestra bridges linguistic divides through the raw energy of brass and percussion, backed by explicit context-setting for the audience.

"The power of music is you don't have to have a literal understanding of the lyrics in order to feel the impact," says Sonny. "Even in an instrumental song of ours, I think the feeling of rebelliousness is clear. That being said, I do always make it a point to contextualise and explain some of the lyrics and refrains we sing for audiences and connect their message to what is going on in the world today. We collaborate with community and advocacy organisations when we can as well — for example our next show in Brooklyn in September will be co-sponsored by Hindus for Human Rights, who will be giving a mini teach-in at the show about the CJP and youth movement in India to raise consciousness and encourage solidarity from the US."

This level of overt activism highlights a massive change in the music industry. For decades, diaspora artists faced subtle and overt pressure to keep heritage on one shelf and political activism on another to navigate mainstream expectations. BLO signals that this divide has collapsed, driven by a refusal to placate traditional industry gatekeepers.

"In my time playing what was once called 'world music', and is now called 'global music', many artists and presenters trying to find success have been influenced by the perceived need to placate or serve a white/'mainstream' American concert-going audience, often at the expense of both any anti-authoritarian messaging, and the musical product," Nikhil explains. "I think we in BLO are conscious of this kind of outlook and our commitment is to a strong and honest expression of the musical ideas we have. Not that this attitude is unique to us at all! Another factor — while on the one hand, the culture feels fertile in NYC at the moment, it is clear looking at the landscape of live and recorded music today, that the money is not flowing the way it used to in this scene. Knowing that even the most tight-lipped musicians who prioritise commercial success are also broke makes it so that there isn't even a meaningful reason for us to 'sell out.'"

For Sonny, watching this transition unfold over the last 20 years marks the growth of a broader movement within the South Asian diaspora.

"Times have definitely changed dramatically in the last 20 years in the South Asian diaspora music scene," Sonny says. "It used to feel lonely being a Punjabi Sikh American 'musician activist' in my early 20s in NYC, but our movement has grown dramatically. There is now a vibrant and fairly diverse South Asian left in the United States. We are leading movement organisations, teaching politics, and history at universities, running for — and often winning! — office on democratic socialist platforms, and of course, performing on stages around the world centering our progressive politics."

He points out that the era of keeping silent for the sake of marketability is rapidly coming to an end. "Plenty of diaspora artists attempt to 'stay neutral' or keep silent on certain issues out of fear of being seen as controversial or divisive — whether it's Palestine, Modi, or Hindutva — but it's been heartening to see a massive shift in how many desi artists in the US are actively speaking out. The last time PM Modi came to the United States, I honestly think they had a hard time finding Indian American musicians to attend or perform at the events around his visit. I was invited to a luncheon in his honor, which I of course declined. I have been active in Palestine solidarity organising for many years, and it's been beautiful to see more and more desi musicians speaking out, coming and playing out in the streets at protests against the US funding the genocide in Gaza, and using their platforms to raise consciousness. This is how change happens."

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