After months of intense vilification, the heat around Kneecap finally seems to have dropped off. Part of that is undoubtedly because Bob Vylan have become the designated media scapegoat instead, but also because charges of terrorism against Mo Chara (which, to remind you, were a reaction to speaking out against Israel’s genocide of Palestine) were thrown out of court within the last few weeks. Ultimately, public opinion does seem to be favouring the side of the oppressed, with Kneecap’s platform of support growing in turn. For all the concerted boycotts and banning efforts they’ve had to face, they’ve only come back swinging and then some. They headlined Wembley Arena a month or so back, coming after a headline set at 2000trees, high-profile slots with Fontaines D.C. and plenty of other massive sets across Europe.
They aren’t slowing down, either. Tonight, they headline Liverpool’s Blackstone Street Warehouse, a space typically used for raves that’s housing this sold-out, 10,000-capacity show. With its own food stalls and outdoor seating, it’s shaped like a proper event, more so than standard show. The clientele make that clear as well, if it were under any doubt how far Kneecap’s reach extends. Here, you’ll see T-shirts repping a range of Aphex Twin to Motörhead to Nails, on top of Britpop bucket-hatters to your standard Saturday nighters and—naturally—a hefty Irish contingent among it all. Rarely has a hip-hop act felt so uniquely tribeless, or so punk in the grassroots way it’s accumulated that status.
If there is a unifying sentiment, it’s one of social awareness and a general timbre of progressivism. It’s what feels like launchpad for Miss Kaninna to really go off, despite being a rapper whose half-hour doesn’t contain a lot of rapping. To broach that with negativity would be missing the point, though. On a stage playing host to one of the most geopolitically significant acts in modern years, expecting a flat performer as an opener is missing the point. As an Aboriginal woman, she’s privy to realities of apartheid and segregation in Australia that people in Liverpool would rarely, if ever, consider. It’s illuminating to hear her speak, blanketed in the populist call for freedom for all indigenous peoples. When we do get to the music, that’s good too, albeit in the very small doses in which these short songs appear. Even so, the knocks of Pinnacle Bitch and Blak Britney are infinitely infectious, and Stolen Wages packs a nice, grisly guitar sample for her most distinct cut. Regardless of what form it takes, there’s always something with Miss Kaninna worth hanging on.
As for Kneecap…well, surely you know what to expect from them by now. Switched-on politicking has become their bread and butter, and ultimately the catalyst for getting them this high. Tonight, though, spirits do seem to be higher, where the air of vindication is hard to miss. The facts are still laid out—an series of slides to open outlines the British government’s complicity with genocide—but notable emphasis is placed on the morale of the Palestinian people seeing support from those on the other side of the world. It’s less pointed a sentiment than Kneecap have become known for, though there’s still plenty of sharpness on that receiving end for politicians and systems looking to stymie progress. In the repeated phrase from their last visit to Liverpool (“the 33rd county of Ireland”), the kinship from standing firm against shared austerity swells immensely.
It’s one of a number of factors that keeps Kneecap sounding fresh as the ply more or less the exact setlist they’ve had for ages. You’d think it might start to peter out by now, but that’s emphatically not the case. This environment, for one, is a breath of new life unto itself—spacious and rave-ready, with the means to show off the arena-ready production they’re clearly chuffed to have. It’s an impressive array of lights and graphics they’ve now got, fully compensating for how Kneecap themselves do get swallowed up by this scale. Neither Mo Chara nor Móglaí Bap are showman, exacerbated by the smoke and shadow that makes them hard to even catch a glimpse of. Granted, in a venue like this, the minimised physical presence of the performer is nothing new. If you’re here at all, the cartoons of thrusting politicians and caricatured tits and arses in Union Jack underwear are likely more of a stimulus.
And that’s clearly not a secret to Kneecap themselves. Spaces like this are probably what they had in mind with the low, incessant slam of Your Sniffer Dogs Are Shite, or the hardened, pulse-pounding rush that accompanies the one-two of Sayōnara and I’m Flush. And as always, lyrics in Irish prove a surprisingly climbable barrier to entry. There are people rapping along to every word, likely through memetic recall, but also because there’s still nothing like this in the public consciousness. In their own ways, Fenian Cunts, Better Way To Live and C.E.A.R.T.A have a pop readiness that still absolutely launches. The same could be said for the bold singalong hook of Get Your Brits Out, or the gleaming EDM rise of Parful that’s right at home here. The appeal of Kneecap sings out on such an unmistakable level, especially as they only grow more and more.
And to an extent, this does read like a victory lap. Other than the solitary new song No Comment (a collaboration with Sub Focus, no less), it really is just Kneecap doing as Kneecap do. But have they not earned that? After months battling literal and figurative war machines bearing down on them, they’ve emerged victorious into some of their biggest shows to date. It’s not like they’re spinning their wheels, either; the music speaks for itself, and the atmosphere of the Warehouse is the perfect amplifier. If anything, it all serves as the new thickest underline for how important Kneecap are. An Irish hip-hop trio making music entirely their own way are not only one of the lynchpin acts in current political discourse, but are playing a part in changing the tide. A terrific show is one thing; knowing that you’re witnessing an ongoing, ever-changing phenomenon is something else entirely.
Words by Luke Nuttall
Photos by Maryleen Guevara (Instagram / Website)
