Gently slagging “the Brits” is something of a national pastime. Whether it’s claiming they’re “at it again” after an Irish award winner is hijacked as theirs, or accusing a pal of “taking the soup” if they reveal they keep the toaster in the press, or indeed call that press a cupboard. It’s a humour born out of centuries of struggle, resilience and reconciliation, and decades of internet memes and cultural clashes.
Maybe I should clarify. Slagging the Brits is pastime where I’m from, and where I live. Where west Belfast hip-hop trio Kneecap are from, the stakes are higher. They have received death threats from groups in the North who don’t like their bilingual swipes at what they see as an illegitimate occupying force in the six counties. Down the road in Galway, where I saw them perform last week in the Big Top as part of the Galway Arts Festival, they were welcomed with open arms, maybe not universally but at least with a huge amount of respect and good humour. Sales of their Tricolour balaclavas were brisk, and one young lady had “Brits Out” tattoos across her decolletage. I think the tattoos were temporary. I think.
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It was my first Kneecap gig, and I was unsure what to expect. Would it be mostly teenagers and young people, drawn to the genre and the anti-establishment vibe? Would there be middle-class millennials like me, with one foot in Northern Ireland by way of a Fermanagh mother, nationalist DNA and Catholic shame and the other foot ankle-deep in trying to stay relevant while also enjoying a bop in a field? Or would there be a wide mix? It was Galway, after all. You never know what you might get in Galway. I was also slightly worried about the tiny bit of me gnawing away at the possibility that I was simply cosplaying at republicanism and anti-British sentiment in environment where it was very safe to do so. Is it big or clever to support a group who wear balaclavas, give the finger and have “Get Your Brits Out” as one of their best-known tracks? In short, yes.
It would be easy to dismiss Kneecap as sectarian rabble rousers. As they self-describe in their lyrics: “I’m a H.O.O.D, low-life scum, that’s what they say about me”. They’ve been banned at various times from radio stations, social media platforms and gigs due to both lyrics and antics. However, in the seven or eight years since their formation, they’ve risen above the realm of messing and instead present an intelligent approach to social commentary and republicanism, more satire than sectarian. They punch up, not down. When they’re not singing about more universal social topics like drugs, addiction and mental health, they’re taking shots at the RUC, the PSNI, Arlene Foster and the UK government. They approach issues from a class perspective and, rather than demonising unionists and Protestants, they advocate for working-class liberation en masse. They’re also huge supporters of Palestinian liberation, making headlines earlier this year by sneaking a Palestine football jersey on to the Late Late Show under DJ Próvaí's tracksuit top. The Big Top in Galway was well decorated with black, red, white and green flags and the band led a “free Palestine” chant from the stage.
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Then of course is their use of language. All three members – MCs Móglaí Bap and Mo Chara, and DJ Próvaí – are bilingual, using both English and Irish in their music and everyday lives (they may very well speak other languages too but until they start rapping in Italian we’ll stick to the official tongues of Ireland). They’re interested in elevating the Irish language above its current image of, as Mo Chara put it in a BBC interview, “sitting about in pubs playing fiddles and talking about grammar”. They’re well on their way too, with a self-titled film based on their origin story and co-starring Michael Fassbender already a hit at Sundance and coming to Irish cinemas next month. Just like An Cailín Ciúin before them, Kneecap want to bring Irish language culture to a global audience not just because it’s Irish language, but because it’s Irish language and really, really good. Recognition of Irish talent is at an all-time high internationally, and it’s the very culture that the far right would have you believe is under threat. Kneecap are the lads we want representing us. Yes, they’re less “Westlife key changes” and more “West Belfast taking bumps of cocaine off a key”, but just like Ireland, they contain multitudes.