Music has always been a powerful reflection of its time, resonating with the collective heartbeat of those who live through its moments. From the dreamy utopianism of John Lennon’s “Imagine” to the frustrated resignation of John Mayer’s “Waiting on the World to Change,” and finally to the liberating authenticity of Hindia’s “Berdansalah, Karir Ini Tak Ada Artinya,” we see a narrative of evolving responses to systemic constraints. These songs don’t just represent the soundtracks of their eras; they are the voices of generations navigating capitalism, identity, and the search for meaning.

Lennon’s “Imagine is a hymn of idealism.” Written in 1971, it invites us into a world stripped of its borders, materialism, and religion—a place where humanity lives in peace. The song’s simplicity is its genius. “Imagine all the people/living life in peace,” he sings, his words carrying the dreams of a generation that grew up in the shadow of war but dared to believe in unity. The Baby Boomers, fueled by countercultural movements, challenged the systems that divided and exploited. They questioned authority and sought to transcend it, painting visions of what the world could become.

Yet, for all its beauty, “Imagine” remains just that: a vision. Its power lies in its ability to inspire, but it lacks the practical tools for change. As Lennon calls for us to “imagine no possessions” and “no need for greed or hunger,” the reality of entrenched capitalism looms large, unshaken by his words. The Baby Boomers dreamed of dismantling the system, but many were ultimately absorbed by it. The song is both a reminder of the power of imagination and a cautionary tale about the limits of idealism when it faces the machinery of the real world.

Fast forward to 2006, and the tone has shifted. John Mayer’s “Waiting on the World to Change” captures the malaise of a generation that sees the world’s flaws but feels powerless to fix them. This is not a song of hope but of reluctant endurance. “It’s hard to beat the system/when we’re standing at a distance,” Mayer admits, embodying the frustrations of Millennials who inherited a world rife with war, political dysfunction, and economic precarity.

Here, the act of waiting takes center stage. Mayer doesn’t ask us to imagine; he simply describes a generation watching the world unravel, too disempowered to intervene. “We just feel like we don’t have the means to rise above and beat it,” he sings, laying bare the deep resignation of a group that knows the fight isn’t fair. Unlike the Baby Boomers, who believed they could change the system, Millennials are burdened by an overwhelming awareness of how insurmountable it seems. Their anthem reflects the quiet despair of a generation that critiques the world but feels it has no tools to disrupt it.

And then there is Gen Z, whose voice emerges in Hindia’s “Berdansalah, Karir Ini Tak Ada Artinya.” This is not a song of waiting or dreaming; it is a declaration of freedom. “Hidup ini tak ada artinya,” Hindia sings. “Life has no meaning.” As if echoing the existentialist spirit, he finds possibility where others might see despair: “Maka kau bebas mengarang maknanya seorang” (So you are free to create your own meaning). For Gen Z, the lack of inherent meaning in life is not a lament —it is a call to authenticity.

“Kar’na kau bukan mesin assembly line,” Hindia declares, “because you are not an assembly line machine.” This lyric alone captures the ethos of a generation unwilling to be confined by the systems that dehumanized those who came before them. It is a rejection of the careerism that defined their parents’ and grandparents’ identities, a refusal to be reduced to a cog in capitalism’s endless grind.

The refrain, “Lakukan apa yang kau mau sekarang” (Do what you want now), is not just advice —it’s a battle cry for living authentically in the face of systemic absurdity. Hindia doesn’t wait for the world to change; he leaves the system altogether, dancing as “the king of the world” on his own terms.

This ethos is both rebellious and celebratory. Hindia’s rejection of capitalism and societal expectations does not wallow in defeat. Instead, it transforms rebellion into joy, prioritizing autonomy and self-expression over conformity. It’s an ethos deeply rooted in the here and now, urging its listeners to act on their desires without waiting for permission or systemic reform.

Together, these three songs tell a story of generational evolution. The Baby Boomers dreamed of systemic change but struggled to move beyond idealism. The Millennials recognized the flaws in the system but were paralyzed by their perceived powerlessness. And now, Gen Z has chosen to reject the system entirely, carving out their own paths and redefining meaning for themselves. The progression from dreaming to waiting to redefining mirrors the changing relationship each generation has had with the structures that govern their lives.

But Hindia’s song does not simply close the door on systemic engagement. By rejecting the system, Gen Z creates space for something new. In refusing to play by the old rules, they open the possibility for reimagining what a meaningful life looks like—one that values connection, creativity, and freedom over productivity and profit.

If Lennon’s “Imagine” was a blueprint for utopia, and Mayer’s “Waiting on the World to Change” was a snapshot of frustration, Hindia’s “Berdansalah, Karir Ini Tak Ada Artinya” is a manifesto for living authentically. Each song offers a different response to the same question: How do we navigate a world that often feels indifferent, if not actively oppressive? In the end, it is Gen Z’s insistence on freedom—on dancing to their own beat—and in extension the act of creating our own meaning to our lives that offers the most radical answer.

Thank you Joyland!