Recommendations of the Editorial team
Kneecap are a politically charged, hard-partying and musically explosive rap collective from the north of Ireland that have been active for almost a decade. Still, it wouldn’t be surprising if people knew more about the controversies in which they were involved than about their music. The rappers Mo Chara and Móglaí Bap as well as DJ Próvaí have always openly displayed their left-wing beliefs. At Coachella 2025, they projected the phrase “Israel is committing genocide” onto the screens behind their performance. That doesn’t exactly ring true in the catalog of provocative musician statements so extreme – but in our turbulent times it cost them their US visas and a complete North American tour. A few months earlier, at a London concert in 2024, Mo Chara had held up a Hezbollah flag. (He claimed a fan threw them onto the stage.) He was then charged under Britain’s Terrorism Act of 2006. Although the charges were later dropped and the group released a statement condemning “all attacks on civilians, always,” the scandal caused such waves that British Prime Minister Keir Starmer got involved and described Kneecap’s planned appearance at the 2025 Glastonbury Festival as “not appropriate”. The band ignored it and countered: “You know what’s ‘not appropriate’, Keir? Weaponizing a bloody genocide.“
Kneecap used the forced break caused by the canceled tour to record their third album: “Fenian” follows on from their celebrated 2024 album “Fine Art” and embeds excessive political slogan fire in a turned-up punk rap sound. These guys have the attention – and they’re planning on making the most of it. “Fuck Keir Starmer/Netanyahu’s bitch, and genocide-poor/Better off as compost for farmers,” they rap on “Liar’s Tale” – a prime example of their ability to combine Public Enemy-level invective with Eminem’s flair for the absurd. On “Carnival” they take up a classic hip-hop theme – a skit in which they end up in front of a lame, wig-wearing judge – and use it as a springboard for a furious reckoning with their various career adversities and legal persecutions. “That’s double standards of the highest degree/I think it has something to do with the subjects we speak,” they say. On “Palestine,” which features a verse from Palestinian rapper Fawzi calling for pan-Arab unity, the band links the Irish struggle for independence with the fate of the Palestinians: “From the west of the city to the West Bank/We won’t stop until everyone is free.”
Equating life in west Belfast with life in the West Bank is a bold move – even if the intention is honest. But Kneecap are certainly not the first politically minded pop act to stumble a bit when it comes to the finer points. And they’re crystal clear about a lot of what they address: whether they’re romanticizing Ireland’s revolutionary past on “Smugglers and Scholars,” trashing British cultural imperialism on “An Ra,” or celebrating the endurance and greatness of the Irish language on “Gael Phonics.” The latter is a passion that they also put into practice – Mo Chara and Móglaí Bap switch lively between English and Irish in their rhymes. They may go down in history as the first rap act to mention union radical, Easter Rising veteran and republican martyr James Connolly. Anyone who makes verses like “Daoine gafa faoi smacht na nGall/Saoirse Niamh agus Oisín de réir cosúlachtaí ag teacht ró-mhall” bounce, gives them momentum and flow and actually makes them sound hard – has added something unique to the rap canon.
Between pub and protest
Even if the material sometimes drifts into uncomfortable territory – “Smugglers and Scholars” doesn’t shy away from mythologizing IRA violence – overall, this furiously gripping album seems as convivial as a successful evening in the pub. It fuses decades of music history into a coherent, playful whole, produced by Fontaines DC and Wet Leg producer Dan Carey. “Carnival” and “Cocaine Hill” are reminiscent of the nineties trip-hop of Massive Attack and Tricky; with its frantic jungle beats and fire alarm undertones, “Headcase” references early Prodigy; “Big Bad Mo” echoes Detroit techno; “Palestine” glides over a grainy grime track; and their hip-hop palette ranges from word-loving indie games to the dark gangsta menace.
On songs like “Cocaine Hill” and “Cold at the Top,” Kneecap write about their life in Belfast – with dark, concrete insights into the dark side of drugs and partying. The finale is “Irish Goodbye”, a tribute to a beloved, deceased mother. On “Occupied 6” – a nod to the six counties of Northern Ireland – they rap “it wasn’t all about teenage kicks”, a casual reference to a Seventies punk classic about youthful exuberance by Belfast legends The Undertones. On ‘Fenian’, Kneecap are more in the spirit of another legendary Belfast punk banger of the era: Stiff Little Fingers’ ‘Alternative Ulster’, a stirring song about longing for a better, fairer, freer future than the one handed to you by history. Even those who don’t share all of their political positions – or can’t tell Gerry Adams from Jerry Lee Lewis – should be able to understand this desire.
