Kneecap
Olympia Theatre
★★★★☆
Is there a more buzzed about Irish group right now? The punk-rap three-piece Kneecap – Mo Chara, Móglaí Bap, DJ Próvaí – are teetering on the precipice of something they probably could only have dreamed of a few years ago, yet have willed into being through graft, talent, and a natural refusal to deviate from who they are.
January will see the group premiere their debut feature film – loosely based on their lives and ascent – on the opening night of Sundance, making it the first Irish-language film ever selected for the largest independent film festival in the United States. This will be followed by a North America tour in March, with venue sizes already increasing following their recent autumn tour there. Their yet-to-be-released debut album, recorded in London and produced by Toddla T, has been preceded by a single featuring Grian Chatten of Fontaines DC.
This show is the first of a series closing out 2023; two nights at the 3Olympia in Dublin, followed by Derry, Belfast, and Cork. They’ve certainly come a long way from getting thrown out of their own gigs.
The crowd is leaping from the start, kids in Idles and Lankum T-shirts, pint-splashed Palestine flags waving. The room goes to black. Two men in opposite balcony boxes are spotlit, wearing DJ Próvaí's trademark tricolour knitted balaclava. The roar becomes a scream as the group arrives, launching into their 2023 single, It’s Been Ages: “Oh it’s been ages, since we made the front pages. Sin deireadh linn ár hiatus.”
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Live, Mo Chara occupies a sort of púca persona, riling the crowd up, full of devilment. Móglaí Bap is casually languid. DJ Próvaí acts as a demented ringleader. By the end of the show he’s deep in the crowd, held aloft, scrambling over shoulders and heads while his bandmates on stage swig liberally from bottles of Buckfast.
Before that, a brace of new tracks lands mid-set, signalling a diversification of sound and theme – one rooted in lyrics part-concerned with mental health, another a summer party tune. On another new track, a mosh pit forms with the words FINE ART flashing on the screen. Thart agus Thart, one of their finest tracks to date – a downtempo meditation on the listlessness of lockdowns – is a highlight.
Kneecap is, strangely, occupying a sort of liminal space with their fans; the album isn’t out, and so songs are being tested, teased, with some going off in the room as though they are familiar, rather than the first time the vast majority have heard them. One compelling piece came before the encore, a rave tune driven by a sentiment of love-filled unity.
The song that began their self-led Irish language revolution in rap sees the crowd singing the hook long after the track has finished: “C.E.A.R.T.A.” The track, Get Your Brits Out, a tale of fantasy about bringing members of the DUP to a drug-fuelled party and attempting to get on famously, instigates multiple mosh pits.
At the end, a moment of beauty takes hold, the crowd united in a singsong while the artists hand out bottles of beer to stretching hands. One realises, it’s not rage at all that Kneecap, live, conjure. It’s joy.
