LIVE REVIEW: Kneecap – O2 Academy, Liverpool – 12/11/2024

It’s fair to say—and, honestly, insulting to suggest otherwise—that Kneecap are a full-blown phenomenon now. So much so that an Oscar nod for their own autobiographical film is mere icing. No, let’s just look at the absolute broadest strokes—this is an Irish-language hip-hop act, achieving widespread, global success. That’s quite literally unheard of. Not just that, but theirs is a reach that goes above and beyond by vast magnitudes. Next year, Kneecap will be headlining 2000trees, and singlehandedly demolishing stylistic expectations for a festival that’s already pretty flexible with that sort of thing. Oh, and that’ll be just a matter of months after this show in a 1,200-cap venue. Again—unprecedented.

Granted, the likelihood of this specific crowd flocking to the Cotswolds in July for the occasion is pretty slim. Demographically, it looks more like student night, where the sesh is calling louder than any industry context. That said, it’d be wrong to ignore the not-insignificant number of Irish people in attendance. It’s a handy confluence of factors to witness, from the burgeoning cultural significance of our headliners in a city with one of the strongest Irish heritages in the UK. Liverpool, as Kneecap themselves call it, is “the 33rd county of Ireland”, a factor that definitely underscores a night of acts for whom their culture and background is key to their identity.

The first big push for that from opener Gemma Dunleavy is in her song Stop The Lights, written about Terence Wheelock and his death under manslaughter charges while in Garda custody in 2005. It’s a bleak, brutal song, especially when Dunleavy breaks all form to relay statistics around police violence and systemic injustices in Dublin, in the obvious crown of her half-hour. That’s not to say she falters elsewhere, with a DIY take on club-pop fielded by an out-of-nowhere harpist for some visual flavour. A deconstructed cover of Heaven (the DJ Sammy version, going off this crowd) is where it gets the most chance to shine, given that the obvious bass and beat everywhere else don’t have to work particularly hard to drown out some faint plucks. Dunleavy herself is rare to miss, though, fuelled by clear confidence, supreme charm, and a multifaceted creativity that a tour like this would absolutely endorse. Given that the closer Up De Flats—both its original and its fizzy club remix bolstered to the end—gets some monumental reactions, Dunleavy’s efforts are going a hell of a long way.

Further than Kneecap, though? Well, no, but considering they’ve been propelled by rocket fuel all year, it’s hard to begrudge anyone for that. With the anticipation in the room, they’re living up to a standing of revolutionary wunderkinds before even setting foot onstage. The ominous intro of 3CAG only cranks it up all the more. Finally, when they arrive to the heavy knock of IT’S BEEN AGES, it’s like the introduction of the greatest act in the world. You really feel every bit of force coming from Kneecap, reciprocated by a crowd just as eager and hungry for every morsel. And in a club environment like this, as the natural sweat and rowdiness clash with true kinetic fervour, it’s as close to a flawless atmosphere as you’ll get in these relatively tight confines.

Part of that comes from how unassuming Mo Chara and Móglaí Bap are as presences—just two guys in tracksuits with clear drive and commitment to this, but still deeply representative of a normal class of Irish lads with a penchant for getting a bit lairy and doing a lot of drugs. Nothing about them screams ‘superstars’; in fact, it’s the exact opposite, and that’s likely why Kneecap have connected in the way they have. Besides the DJ station draped with their balaclava logo, there’s no grand visual motif with them. It feels raw and replicable, and cool because of it. It’s also indicative of how no one seems to want their risers to be industry-groomed products anymore, not when there’s so much personality to be mined through an act like Kneecap. Conceptually, they’d never have emerged from the major-label in a million years, but here they are, in front of a sold-out crowd, met to shout-alongs of their own Irish lyrics (regardless of whether they’ve just been learned phonetically or not).

The simpatico energies from onstage and in front of it are really what make this feel special. It never dips, not even once, because there’s not a body in the room that’s uncertain or reserved. Kneecap at their best can marry a grinding, street-level hip-hop posture with a pounding rave feel, where the clatters of Sick In The Head and Your Sniffer Dogs Are Shite are backdropped by harsh, searing light-flashes to accentuate how underground and intense they’re supposed to feel. Conversely, a song like Parful is designed to feel more sweeping and climactic, accentuating the rave’s communality with an almost Fred again..-esque grandeur, and headed up by DJ Próvaí in his tricolour balaclava as the most visually defined part of the set. Of course, Kneecap have plenty of simpler head-cavers in their pocket, as I bhFiacha Linne and Rhino Ket are the grimmer, gritty, aggro bangers perfectly capable of sucking in every joule of energy available.

Most of all, though, it’s just incredibly fun. It’s exactly what you want from an act pegged to break out in such a stellar way, and Kneecap deliver with flying colours at every turn. The fact that footspace on the floor is likely doubled on C.E.A.R.T.A alone from the number of people scrambling on shoulders is a wild sight, but one that feels incredibly right, and probably will be increasingly common. The punk edge to Kneecap is unmistakable, and comes full circle on closer H.O.O.D that’s about as good as adrenalised, post-punk-shaped rap ragers likely ever will. Let’s just reiterate it once more—this is the act currently poised to take the world by storm, who feel crucially independent and self-sustaining, and who seem to have forged a genuine connection through it wherever they set foot. Parful stuff indeed.

Words by Luke Nuttall