KNEECAP
The Echo
Los Angeles
Oct. 16, 2023
Here’s my brisk impression of the Irish: I think Conan O’Brien is perhaps the funniest person ever to live. I once watched a scrappy YouTube documentary about the Troubles in Northern Ireland when I couldn’t sleep. Naturally, I have had a crush on an Irish man or two — who hasn’t? This was the extent of my opinions about Irish culture until, thankfully, an anti-colonist Irish rap group set me straight on October 16 at The Echo.
So, here’s my new Irish infatuation: the band Kneecap, comprised of three Irish men from Belfast who espouse Irish Republican politics.
If you’re like me and were naive about the Irish Civil War, most of the band’s lore lies in their politics — like Eminem but for Irish vandalism. The music is the message: end the British occupation of Ireland. One of the band members’ father was arrested on Bloody Sunday. BBC has banned their music. The political ethos is the main draw to the predominantly Irish crowd. (I know this because a large portion of the crowd joined in while the band sang “Happy Birthday” to one of its members in Irish Gaelic.) At the concert, comedian Ellory Smith gave me a crash course on the band’s entwinement in Irish liberation — meanwhile, I can’t name a single conviction Taylor Swift has.
So, how do the band’s politics play out? Like if Beavis and Butthead were Irish. The band’s DJ wore a balaclava with the Irish flag on it. The lead singers, dressed in windbreakers and a bucket hat, looked as if Harry Styles got into carjacking and huffing paint. After a few songs, they invited the crowd to boo the English before clarifying, “We don’t hate English people, we hate the English government.” They then declared that England has occupied Ireland for 800 years, and they want their country back. Their songs, with a strong pulsing bass, echo early Beastie Boys or N.W.A. They rap about police cars on fire, sniffer dogs, and expelling Brits from their country. At one point, they declare that Belfast is under occupation, then lead the crowd in a chant of “Free Palestine.” The call to action is murky; it’s more of a musical polemic against oppression that, in the end, feels like an audacious episode of South Park where the characters rap in Irish Gaelic and “wank off.” (I mean this as a compliment.) I’m mostly impressed that they got a room full of twentysomethings to boo British imperialism — like if the Cum Town podcast figured out how to mix beats.
Is it consequence-free for three white men to vaguely advocate for terrorist tactics? Sure, their loose association with the IRA is edgy without being threatening. They’re rascally bad boys from Belfast — a city once called the terrorism capital of Europe. Is there something strange — and even opportunistic— about mentioning Palestine during a concert that makes an aesthetic project of shaming colonialism with Garage Band beats? Is there a privilege in flirting with terrorist branding without the risk of being labeled a terrorist? I think so, but perhaps this is a larger indictment: it’s easy for white Americans to sympathize with the oppressed when they look like us.
I like music with teeth. I want more bands to make out-of-pocket political statements; it’s thrilling. It makes me nostalgic for musicians pushing back on institutions instead of shilling empty, focus-tested slogans about “love” and “acceptance.” I have an allergic reaction every time I see an American pop star post a photo with our president — what happened to musicians who reviled politicians? Recently, a friend told me that while she attended Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour, she did not have a single thought for three hours. That sounds serene, but I also want music to provoke something in me, even if it’s the urge to read up on a car bombing in Belfast.
