There is no one quite like Matisyahu. The international reggae-hip-hop-rock artist burst on the scene 20 years ago, rapping his hit single “King Without a Crown,” while sporting the beard, sidelocks and black coat of Hasidic Judaism. NBC picked “One Day,” his stirring antiwar anthem, as theme music for its 2010 Winter Olympics coverage.

Matisyahu left Hasidism, but his music still reflects his strong Jewish identity, religiosity and affinity for Israel. Since Hamas’s massacre in Israel on Oct. 7, the singer has spoken out against rising antisemitism and in support of Israel. He has draped himself in an Israeli flag at concerts and placed an empty chair onstage to represent Israeli hostages in Gaza. He has called for Hamas to be “destroyed.” He has visited Israeli troops and sent a supportive video message to their families.

For all of that, he is paying a price: When Matisyahu arrived in Chicago earlier this month, he learned his March 8 show at the 1,400-capacity House of Blues — owned by Live Nation — would be canceled. The reason: the potential for unruly protests against him outside the venue.

The U.S. Palestinian Community Network, one of several groups calling for demonstrations against Matisyahu, cried victory: “Through our relentless pressure on [the House of Blues and] Live Nation, the concert of the racist, zionist Matisyahu was canceled!” the group said in a statement on X. “Chicago has made it clear that it stands with Palestine and supporters of the #GazaGenocide are not welcome here!”

This was the third time during his 34-city tour that a concert venue had canceled a Matisyahu show amid protest-related security concerns. The others were in Santa Fe, N.M., and Tucson.

Such is the state of artistic freedom in post-Oct. 7 America. No matter where you stand regarding the war in Gaza, or any other issue, this heckler’s veto against Matisyahu should trouble you.

“It’s disappointing. It’s frustrating,” Matisyahu told me via Zoom on Sunday. Those feelings, he said, mingle with a sense of abandonment by the hip, progressive circles in which he has always moved.

“I used to feel comfortable going to Portland,” Matisyahu said. “It had all these places that I loved. Now, somehow I find myself looking forward to going to Texas, and the South, you know, where I feel like maybe they don’t like Jews that much but for some reason they like us a little more.”

Just a handful of entertainment-world colleagues, most also Jews, have expressed solidarity with him, he said. One such supporter, “Stranger Things” actor Brett Gelman, has had publicity events for his new book canceled over safety concerns.

Matisyahu, scheduled to play Washington’s 9:30 Club Wednesday, said most protests outside his shows have been peaceful and small. Most venues have taken the position that “we’re not going to get shut down. We’re not going to get bullied,” he said. In Tucson, Matisyahu organized a free show elsewhere in place of the canceled gig.

Still, there has been no transparency as to exactly what threat necessitated his cancellation in Chicago. Matisyahu told me police advised the House of Blues that a crowd of more than 1,000 might assemble outside the venue. The singer offered to help out with 40 contracted security personnel, he said, but Live Nation passed and called off the performance.

Brendan Reilly, a Chicago alderman who represents the area around the House of Blues, said in a statement March 11 that police told his office of “serious concerns regarding security” two days before the event and had discussed potential “violent protests” with Live Nation and House of Blues staff.

The Chicago police, who have plenty of experience with demonstrations related to Gaza since Oct. 7, told me by email the department had “sufficient resources allocated to the planned protests.”

Live Nation, probably the decision-maker, declined to comment, though it’s doubtful it would have canceled unless it felt there was no alternative. (Matisyahu shows at other Live Nation venues have gone on as scheduled during the tour.)

In short, a major performing artist was denied a stage in the third-largest U.S. city, apparently because of threats from political opponents; yet no one in a position of responsibility has publicly owned that decision or even explained it in detail.

At least Reilly acknowledged that he was “disappointed that the threat of a violent protest had this effect.” Santa Fe’s mayor issued a similar statement about the cancellation in his town. The office of Chicago’s mayor, Brandon Johnson, by contrast, did not respond to my request for comment.

The net effect is to leave uncontested the anti-Matisyahu activists’ claims that the venue caved to their “relentless pressure.”

Don’t expect Matisyahu, born Matthew Paul Miller 44 years ago, to back down. Like other musicians, his default setting is cool; but he can be combative, sometimes to a fault, as shown by his recent F-bomb-laced viral video responses to antisemitism and Israel’s critics.

Matisyahu’s anger comes from an authentic place, though. In his pain and outrage, Matisyahu epitomizes how Oct. 7 both stunned and galvanized many Jews. This is partly why so many come to his shows.

“I’m not afraid to let that out,” he told me. “And I think a lot of people are afraid right now. But not me. I don’t care.”

Poetic, original, defiant — Matisyahu is a complicated soul who has something to say and seems determined to say it.

Even those trying to ostracize him might learn from listening to his music. Certainly, they have no right to prevent others from doing so.