Interview Kneecap: From The Rutz to the Rabble

The most valuable contribution of The Rutz is in the way it provides a framework for everything else Kneecap pull together across their debut. Real radio newscasts discussing the trio’s controversial stunts play in the background of album interludes and, throughout, you can hear pints being poured as traditional Irish musicians play just within earshot. The 13-second ‘State Of Ya’, meanwhile, dialogues a patron who denies taking coke in the toilets despite the evidence being smeared over his face. The attention to scene-setting detail throughout the LP is bolstered by Kneecap’s resolve to rap in their native language, creating a tricolour brand of hip hop which stays true to the genre’s identity without betraying the geographical setting from which ‘Fine Art’ was born.

“If you go back even ten years ago in Ireland, a lot of people doing hip hop were using American accents and talking about gang-banging – things that weren’t ostensibly Irish,” says Chara. “We wanted our own authentic take, talking about things which are intrinsically Irish and making it our own: celebrating our culture and our history.” “You don’t wanna just copy another genre and shit on it, because there’s context there,” Bap continues. The pair speak in a back-and-forth patter which mirrors Kneecap’s live performances, dovetailing one another’s points and sharing ideas in an almost telepathic flow. “We wanted to use hip hop to look introspectively, while showing respect to the genre.”

Prior to Kneecap’s inception, Irish-speaking rap was all but nonexistent. “Hip hop in Ireland was all Americanisms,” recounts Chara. “Then The Rubberbandits came along with lyrics that weren’t so braggadocious. They’d have tracks about why it’s superior to own a horse than a car; it’s comical and it’s Irish. Their songs would be ridiculous, but they were so clever and they backed it up well.” The Rubberbandits’ influence is notable, but touchstones from just about every hip hop-adjacent genre over the past four decades have left fingerprints on ‘Fine Art’. The antagonistic frat-rap of Beastie Boys and Dead Prez’s lyrical back and forth are both present throughout Kneecap’s output, delivered on a bed of breakbeat and glossed with a sheen of traditional Irish folk. Flashes of Jamie T’s hooky, abrasive delivery also make themselves heard on tracks like ‘I’m Flush’, with the group even covering his enduring hit ‘Sheila’ for the BBC’s Live Lounge the day before we sit down.

“Hip hop is a storytelling genre,” Próvaí says. “You can talk about what’s happening around you in the present moment – socially or otherwise – and that’s why it’s the ideal medium for oppressed communities.” Unlike his chatty bandmates, Próvaí remains quietly attentive throughout, chiming in with an authoritative tone on a quality-over-quantity basis. He was a music and Irish language teacher in a secondary school before joining Kneecap. A sliding doors moment for the group saw him fired from his school by a panel of nuns who, upon his dismissal, presented Próvaí with a video of himself snorting white powder on stage and exposing the words BRITS OUT on his bare buttocks. Early attempts to lead this double life saw the DJ hiding his face with a balaclava in the colours of the Irish flag; his identity slipped eventually, but the on-stage aesthetic survived.

This early furore was to set the tone for a long line of controversies, from commissioning a mural of a burning police Land Rover in West Belfast, to promoting their tour with a cartoon of then-DUP leader Arlene Foster strapped to a rocket on top of a bonfire alongside Boris Johnson. RTÉ, Ireland’s publicly owned broadcast company, pulled the group’s first single ‘C.E.A.R.T.A’ (Irish for ‘rights’) from the airwaves, sparking a mass petition from fans and handing Kneecap far more publicity than a spin of the track might have offered. “We’re on the radio flat-out now,” Bap laughs, before Chara continues: “It reached a point where they didn’t have a fucking choice!”

Earlier this year, taking umbrage with their outspoken stance against British occupation in the north of Ireland, a Tory MP vetoed a financial grant which was initially awarded to help fund the band’s American tour, inadvertently adding more fuel to the group’s publicity fire in the process. “£15,000 probably wouldn’t even do us that much good, it’s not that much money when you’re touring America,” Chara shrugs. “But now that it’s escalated into a court case, it’s become a national news story and given us publicity that money can’t buy.” The week after we speak, the band are granted High Court permission to formally take action, with a full hearing into claims of discrimination on grounds of nationality and political opinion set to take place in November. With legal proceedings still ongoing, Kneecap are limited to what they can say on the topic, but they’re prepared for an Erin Brockovich-style showdown.