Music is political. It's political because life is. You might not want it to be so, but it is. That doesn't mean protest music either. A piece of music certainly doesn't have to shout a message from the rooftops, or wear the insignia of one party leader or another. It is political by its very existence. Every time you do anything that affects other people, you send ripples out through the society around you – and the music you listen to, the people you listen to it with, the networks you form around it, the places you go to hear it, the money you spend on it, the companies you buy it from: every single one of these things has immediate and lasting effects on the real world.

You don't even need to think of Tipping Points or The Butterfly Effect to grasp this. In the brave new hyper-networked world, we see it happening in real time. For better or worse memes spread, echo chambers harden or break, political subcultures rise, twitterstorms rage, reputations are made and broken in instants: and we can see how the actions, decisions and affiliations of individuals make all this happen as it happens.

You may make a decision to step back, to avoid online discussion, to not say political things: but even this is a political act in itself, just as surely as not voting is. And in these feverish times, understanding this is more important than ever. Some of the biggest battles in living memory are being fought over the most basic principles of human rights, corporate and government power, the freedom to be who you are without discrimination, propaganda and disinformation, the very stability of the planet's ecosystem and more: battles that have life and death consequences every day. In these times, remaining neutral is not an option.

Not that it ever really was, if you have a real interest in music and its cultures. Think of the teenagers in France and Germany who stood up to the Nazis and considered jazz dancing a vital part of their identity. Think of the counterculture in San Francisco, and how David Mancuso transmuted its psychedelic rebellion into what became disco: birthing dance culture as we know it with all its potential to dismantle cultural hierarchies. Think of 'Dancing in the Streets' forming a soundtrack to the race riots of 1964. Think of Pauline Black, Chrissie Hynde, Debbie Harry, empowered by punk to express their individualist voices. Think of hip hop, grime and all the other forms that have given a voice to the voiceless, maybe even acting as a pressure valve in troubled environments. This isn't to say that any given movement is good or right by definition – far from it, subculture is riven with faults and dangers – but these connections and effects are real and undeniable.

And think of the birth of Coldcut, and therefore Ninja Tune: a passion ignited by the cross-cultural exchange of London's warehouse parties and inspired by, as Matt Black puts it, “healthy, culture-blending British music: The Slits, A Certain Ratio, Rip, Rig & Panic, The Pop Group, Dennis Bovell, Throbbing Gristle and before that The Sex Pistols and Daniel Miller”. To come out of this heady mix and not have a sense of music as something with deep and powerful effects would be pretty much impossible. Which is why Ninja Tune has always welcomed direct statements, whether it's Coldcut's own tracks like “Timber” and “Everything is Under Control” or the fearsome rebel intelligence of acts like The Bug or Congo Natty. But at least as importantly as that, the label has from the outset played host to people of questing intelligence – not just musicians, but designers and technologists – who create culture that allows great questions to be asked. Just a quick look at the newer generation of Ninja artists – from Hype Williams to Nabihah Iqbal, Helena Hauff to Machine Woman – shows people fearlessly interrogating their own and others' cultures and subcultures as they go about the creative act.

As Ash Koosha, who has released an album on Ninja Tune – and being Iranian-raised someone who understands the urgency of cultural resistance better than most – puts it: “I create to open up a dialogue outside the music. The music is also interesting to enjoy and experience, of course, but as well as that, it’s a platform to talk about the future, about people, about life, about general existence, existential issues. I don’t use it to solely express myself, but to create a platform on which people can discuss.” There could not be a more eloquent expression of what underground music is capable of. This music isn't just something to soothe our souls or stimulate our feet – though it can do all that and more – it is our lives, and it is part of the fabric of our worlds. When you plug into music culture, you plug into all that comes with it, the discussions, the concerns, the culture-clashes and culture blends. It is political to the very core... and doesn't that just make it all the more wonderful?