The universal language of Kneecap
The Irish hip-hop group is breathing new life into the Gaeilge language. Their accidental mission is touching post-colonial countries all over the world, Australia included
By Amy Campbell
AN IRISH HIP-HOP TRIO who rap in native Gaeilge becoming an international sensation is a freak event no music executive saw coming. Alas, in under a year, Kneecap – the Belfast group made up of Mo Chara (Liam Og O hAnnaidh), Moglai Bap (Naoise O Caireallain) and DJ Próvaí (JJ O Dochartaigh) – have exploded onto the world stage with an acclaimed concept album, a Sundance Audience Award-winning biopic and fans stretching all the way from Derry to Darwin.
“We never thought that anyone outside of Belfast would listen to our music originally, ’cause we’re using a language that not many people speak – yet,” says Moglai Bap, who, along with Mo Chara and DJ Próvaí, has just arrived back in West Belfast when we speak. “I mean, the fact that we’ve been to America a few times, and Europe, and soon Australia . . . it’s still mind boggling to us.” The trio have two weeks to relax before hitting the road again – it’s the longest they’ve been home all year. “It will probably all come crashing down on us,” deadpans Moglai Bap. “We’ll all just have big panic attacks, now that we have a chance to think,” echoes Mo Chara.
If this is the first you’re hearing about Kneecap, I recommend chasing this interview with their eponymous film for the full (albeit somewhat embellished) story of where they came from, and how they came to be. After showing at the Sydney Film Festival and Melbourne International Film Festival this winter, the biopic, which stars the boys as themselves (and Michael Fassbender as Moglai Bap’s fictional father), hit Australian cinemas last week. Alongside charting the group’s rise – they dropped their first track ‘C.E.A.R.T.A’ (the Irish word for ‘rights’) in 2017 – the film positions Kneecap as political renegades pushing back against colonial oppression by rapping (and responding to police) in their native tongue, as a way of keeping the language alive.
While this might form a big part of their purpose now, they didn’t set out with such lofty ambitions.
“It was just about making music for us. It was just for us, and Belfast, and Ireland,” explains Moglai Bap, who shares that both he and Mo Chara learned to rap by watching YouTube videos (before becoming the balaclava-donning DJ Próvaí, JJ O Dochartaigh worked as a music teacher). “All our friends speak Irish together, I grew up speaking Irish, and we all partied together and organised festivals. So it was just neat that it was born out of this mini subculture that was brewing in Belfast. We just wanted to represent that in the music.”
When they were approached by director Rich Peppiatt about doing a film, Kneecap were hesitant. “He was English, firstly,” says Moglai Bap of why. “No offence to him,” adds Mo Chara (the two childhood friends often finish each other’s sentences, while DJ Próvaí jumps in to correct factual details, such as the dates of their upcoming Irish tour). “With the music career going the way it was, we were doing very well. It wasn’t a risk we needed to take, ’cause if the film is shit, or we’re shit in the film, or the director is shit, it’s really gonna affect the music. We’ll just be known as that band who tried to make a film and it was really fucking cheesy.”
For obvious reasons – Ireland’s official selection for Best International Feature Film at the 2025 Oscars among them – all members of Kneecap are glad they made the film (for the record, they also act – or act themselves – extremely well). Rather than negatively affecting the music, Kneecap (the film) has added more intrigue to their discography, their origin story, and the social and political situation in Ireland more broadly.
“It’s very colloquial. It’s very true to the area. I’d say a lot of the jokes maybe aren’t understood in America because of the terminology we’re using. So the fact that it resonates with people in America and all around the world and people from different Indigenous cultures and languages . . . because obviously the movie is about the Irish language, but I think it transcends the Irish language,” observes Moglai Bap. “Every 40 days an Indigenous language is lost. So I think the movie represents this fight for Indigenous languages all around the world, and hopefully it makes people reflect on their relationship with their own culture and language.”
Here, Moglai Bap hits on the film’s universal appeal – and one of the reasons it’s resonated so far and wide. Australians may not speak much Gaeilge, but as a country with our own dark colonial history, we’re fighting our own battle to keep First Nations customs alive. Interestingly, the power of hip-hop to preserve ancient languages is being demonstrated here, too. Baker Boy often raps in his native Yolŋu Matha language, exposing a whole new generation of Aussies to a dialect that’s at risk of being forgotten.
When I bring this up, Kneecap say that when they’re in Australia, they’d like to learn more about our Indigenous history. “It’s something that we’re looking to engage with when we’re traveling all around the world, to try and engage with people from different minority cultures and Indigenous cultures. Try to build some solidarity, you know?”
Another part of the film’s allure is its frenetic, drug-fuelled pace. The style of the storytelling – and the superhuman amount of drugs being snorted, chomped and smoked by the trio and their friends – has seen comparisons drawn between Kneecap and Danny Boyle’s 1996 cult classic Trainspotting. At the same time, a soundtrack featuring Bicep, Fontaines DC and English electronic duo Orbital – in addition to the trio’s boisterous, boom bap-backed raps, from ‘H.O.O.D’ to ‘Get Your Brits Out’ – will probably make you want to party. (I finished the film on a Monday morning. Heading to work afterwards felt a bit like leaving a club in broad daylight).
“Most of the film’s budget was spent on drugs, and, and we’re all method actors, you know?” says Mo Chara. “We kinda underplayed it most of the time,” adds Moglai Bap of the substance use. All three of them laugh. “Drugs are part of youth culture. It’s something that we talk about, because it’s a big taboo subject in Ireland that you can’t really speak about. And, I mean, we’re creating a dialogue here for people to talk about these things.”
As their platform grows, Kneecap are also conscious of using their voice to campaign for other minority groups. They have been raising money to support Palestinians in Gaza since 2018; during their set at the recent Reading and Leeds Festival, the group slammed the UK government for their mishandling of the situation in the West Bank.
“I think it’s just important for us as Irish people. We know how important solidarity is, to make people who are being oppressed feel seen and make them feel that there’s people watching them who are concerned, and who want to help,” offers Moglai Bap. “We know how important it is for other post-colonial countries, or colonial countries, to understand what’s going on there.”
At the end of October, Kneecap will tour their sophomore album Fine Art around Ireland – they’ve sold out four nights in a row in Dublin, and will play Belfast’s biggest venue for their homecoming show. In March next year, they will play a string of shows in Australia. To cope with demand, the group have had to move to add an extra Melbourne date and move to a bigger Sydney venue. Apparently venue upgrades are set to happen in other cities.
They may be rapping in a language very few of us can comprehend. But music is universal, and hip-hop is inherently political. In the words of one YouTube commenter: “I do not understand a single word of what they’re saying, but I do understand that this is an absolute banger”.
Kneecap will play in Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane and Fremantle in March 2025. Buy tickets.
Kneecap, the movie, is out now in Australian cinemas.
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