In August, my mother and I explored our ancestral roots during a day tour across the country of Ireland. As we passed the vibrant green pastures and remnants of centuries-old castles, the guide talked about the Gaelic language, taught in the education system but predominantly spoken by only a fraction of the population. She went on to mention Kneecap, a hip-hop trio that raps in its native Irish tongue. “There’s a movie that just came out about them, which won an award at Sundance,” she said. I filed that away until a few days later, when I saw Kneecap movie posters plastered on a building in Dublin and decided to give it a go.
After arriving back in the U.S., I saw the film in a local indie movie theater and followed that up by obsessively listening to Kneecap songs “H.O.O.D.,” “Better Way To Live” and “Cearta” on repeat in my car for the next week. Even though I didn’t understand half of what they were singing, their intense, infectious energy and catchy beats turned me into an immediate fan. Lo and behold, a few days later, they were playing at the TLA on South Street in Philadelphia. It was meant to be.
While lingering in front of the stage waiting for the show to start, I spoke with several concert goers who were all recent—but already rabid—fans. Decked out in bright Erin green and Irish-themed regalia, from soccer jerseys to track jackets to headbands, the crowd was all-in on Kneecap, even if they had just discovered the band a few months (or days) ago. The couple next to me saw the Kneecap movie on their first date, bonded over it and decided to see the ultimately sold-out show together. What was an already buzzy atmosphere became even more so when Shane Gillis appeared in the VIP area, as people held up their phones to snap pics and videos of the comedian who has been seemingly everywhere in Philly these days.
When the lights went down, the crowd roared as the balaclava-sporting DJ Provai appeared on stage, followed by Mo Chara and Moglai Bap in their signature streetwear, sneakers and intense expressions. While I had an idea of what to expect of a Kneecap show from watching the film, you don’t really get the full experience without being there. The TLA was practically vibrating, and the performance was just a fun, sweaty ball of delightfully gratuitous strobe lights, artist-encouraged mosh pits and fervent call-and-response.
From the bubbly Sir Mix-A-Lot-style “Cearta” that prompted fans to chant C-E-A-R-T-A to the dark-Berlin-nightclub beats of “Rhino Ket” to traditional closer “H.O.O.D” (during which a shirtless Moglai crowd-surfed), the show was like a strong hit of one of those illegal substances that Kneecap gleefully promotes. And similarly, after it ends, you are jonesing for the next time.
—Maureen Coulter
