Kneecap clean up their act on FENIAN

Since their explosive debut album Fine Art, Kneecap gained a massive cult following across the world, selling out arena tours, starring in an award-winning semi-biopic, and becoming one of the buzziest punk-rap fits of the moment. Yet, their victory lap crashed into the wall once member Mo Chara disputed a terrorism charge by the UK government in May last year during a dragged-out, high profile court case (that went nowhere, by the way). At the same time they became massive public figures, Kneecap had to clean up their act.

The impulsive, DIY charm of the rap trio has been noticeably calloused on FENIAN. Its lyrics are more introspective, its beats are more muted, and the overall energy is more conservative and mature. At the precise moment where “Kneecap” became more than just the members, the rappers wisely stripped back their hell-raising, revolutionary persona, effectively crafting a story of the toll of both success and hardship they’ve faced since becoming massive public figures.

Whereas Fine Art finds itself in the universe of endless nights at the EDM raves, FENIAN shuffles its feet on a long walk home, opting for the moodiness of trance and trip-hop. Indie powerhouse Dan Carey (Fontaines D.C., Wet Leg, Kae Tempest, etc.), the band’s first external producer for a whole record, uses DJ Próvai’s sampling quirks as flourishes rather than core beats, coating the tracks in a smoother gloss. The eccentricities come through in the brash explosion of sound in anthems like “FENIAN” and “Liars Tale”, as well as the beloved and obligatory soundbites mocking the British in “An Ra”, but other tracks like the acid rave number “Big Bad Mo” or the UK garage song “Headcase” show much more sonic restraint. That’s not to say they’re not dazzling; with “Big Bad Mo”, the throbbing, sweaty electronic dance introduction that rushes in at breakneck speed and weaves through each pulse demonstrates immense technical improvement from the ramshackle of “Rhino Ket”, or the outlandish laser effects in “I bhFiacha Linne”. Likewise, “Headcase” is grounded by a polished, resonant bass line, and its temperance neatly contrasts Mo Chara’s and Móglaí Bap’s rapid-fire rapping and the anthemic chorus. Compared to the throw-every-effect-into-the-beat style of Fine Art, FENIAN is manicured.

FENIAN’s gravitation toward a more melancholic sound demonstrates Kneecap’s talent for vivid storytelling; for a record about “correcting” a narrative, the trio provides pages of nuanced annotations, matching their sonic evolution to their growing, complicated feelings. Unlike most 27 year-olds of today, Mo Chara & Co. spent the past year riddled in high-stakes controversies and court cases, getting punished, censored, and almost jailed for being the same outspoken and politically-minded men they were in 2022. The band’s bright future of a sold-out US tour was confiscated; their ability to perform in Canada, robbed. Even the catchier, more lighthearted tracks like “Carnival” or “Cold At The Top” itch with annoyance, portraying sensationalist court trials, constant requests for comment, exponential growth in fame, and media bombardment as wobbly, grungey, downbeat satires.

Plus, one can’t imagine the pressure of becoming one of many high-profile spokespeople for the freedom of Palestine and the North of Ireland at such a young age, especially when Kneecap has been clear since the beginning that they are not meant to be the vanguard of liberation. On “Palestine”, the track that most directly addresses their year of outspoken protest, they graciously accept that they can only speak on these issues as Irish empathizers, not personal victims, letting Palestinian rapper FAWZI take center-stage to sing about his homeland.

More often, however, Kneecap find themselves haunted, or just in mourning. Their introductory song “Éire go Deo” (“Ireland Forever”) – paralleling Fine Art’s “3CAG” (feat. Lankum’s Radie Peat) in the way it psychedelically transports the listener into the record’s world – aches with wistfulness, transforming a positive slogan into a somber prayer as the vocals cooly pour over an atmospheric synth melody. The album highlight “Cocaine Hill” is an eerie, early Gorillaz-meets-Massive Attack reflection on sleepless nights and unhealthy benders that features a piercing heart monitor beep and ghostly vocals. Similarly, a few tracks earlier with “Headcase”, thoughts about addiction and one’s perceptions of masculinity and heroism unravel over the rapid beat until there’s nothing left for the rappers to think. The album then closes on “Irish Goodbye”, a touching tribute to Móglaí Bap’s late mother that takes on a nostalgic pop quality, dreaming of the mundanity of childhood to a jingling synth keyboard and sparkly percussion. Suddenly, sobering up and cutting out one’s indulgences wasn’t a thing to kick down into the future, but a necessity, at least until they overcome turbulence.

People both adoring and critical of Kneecap would probably expect a record that shelves all the exploration of feelings, losses, and troubles to prioritize calling Keir Starmer a wet blanket, Benjamin Netanyahu a monster, Ireland the greatest country, and Mo Chara the coolest man to ever live. (All are present in highly-concentrated doses.) But, the shockingly personal look at every contour of this lofty title FENIAN – all the happiness, empowerment, community, successes, sacrifices, disenchantment, confliction, grief – makes for a far more interesting, humanising record. Kneecap’s fire understandably dimmed, but it never sizzled out.