Kneecap get kneecapped

The most successful musicians are those who understand that their art is about spectacle as well as sound. When it comes to popular music, the more controversy there is, the greater the spectacle becomes.

Some of the most well-known artists in modern times have embraced this tactic wholeheartedly. In 1967, the year that The Doors released their magnificent debut album, lead singer Jim Morrison attracted national headlines when police officers dragged him off the stage at a concert in New Haven, Conn., accusing him of inciting a riot. A decade later, as punk emerged, The Sex Pistols achieved international notoriety when they appeared on a primetime show in the United Kingdom and proceeded to swear their way through an interview with the inebriated host, a fellow named Bill Grundy. Much more recently, Kendrick Lamar’s halftime performance at the Super Bowl in New Orleans this past February attracted a record number of viewers for his foray into America’s cultural and racial cauldron, set against the background of his personal quarrels with fellow rappers Lil Wayne and Drake.

The key is to use spectacle as a means of enhancing the appreciation levels of your audience, not something that is easy to do. Kanye West is a good example of an artist who has alienated many fans and admirers with his antisemitic, misogynistic, conspiracy-laden posts on social media, because he manages to be both offensive and yawn-inducing at the same time. In that regard, Kneecap— the Irish rap trio from Belfast whose show at the latest Coachella festival featured a visual display declaring “F*** Israel, Free Palestine”—are more Kanye than Kendrick.

In musical terms, Kneecap do what rappers are supposed to do—sharing stories that shine a light on their lives, their environment, their clothes, their tastes and their attitudes through words that mix Gaelic phrases with English ones. I wouldn’t call them terrible, but neither would I call them exceptional. Anyway, with Kneecap, it’s clear that their sound is less important to them than the spectacle that accompanies it.

To begin with, there’s their name. At the height of the conflict in Northern Ireland from the 1960s to the 1990s, the terrorists of the Irish Republican Army (IRA) turned a noun into a verb. “Kneecapping” was a primitive, nasty form of punishment meted out by the IRA, who sought to exclude the British from any role in the policing of Catholic areas in the six counties, to offenders. If the IRA caught you dealing drugs, engaging in petty theft or any other kind of “anti-social” behaviour, they would punish you by firing a bullet into the area around your knee, leaving you alive but disabled.

This method was a component of their broader brutality that manifestly failed to dislodge the Brits, but was used to deadly effect against innocents they deemed as enemies—like the 10 Protestant laborers murdered in cold blood by an IRA squad in January 1976; or the horrible fate of Jean McConville, who in 1972 was kidnapped in the full view of her 10 children and summarily executed on trumped-up accusations of spying for the British.

Kneecap, a hip-hop trio from West Belfast in Northern Ireland, have turned this sordid history into a celebration, directing their bile at other enemies of the IRA as well. They have referred to former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, who passed away 12 years ago, with the obscenity “c***”, even leading their audience in a chant of “Maggie’s in a box” to the tune of KC and the Sunshine Band’s “Baby Give it Up.” They have declared that the only good supporter of the British Conservative Party is a dead one, urging the killing of Conservative members of parliament. They have taken to the stage bellowing “Up Hamas, Up Hezbollah” because in the dunderheaded imaginations of Ireland’s ultranationalists, it’s all one struggle from the Irish Sea to the Mediterranean coast.

Those antics are now biting them in the rear, if not the knees. British police have now opened an investigation into Kneecap’s statements, which violate anti-terror laws, with copious video evidence available to make their case. At least two venues in the United Kingdom, where they continue to play, despite rejoicing in the murder of British citizens, have cancelled forthcoming performances by the group.

You have to wonder whether all this is worth it for the group themselves. They may think that their rhetoric is defiant, and they may genuinely believe that the balaclava decked in the colors of the Irish flag worn by band member DJ Provai makes him look edgy (and not like a rapist). But to anyone with some historical perspective, it’s clear that Kneecap are a band living in the past, still fighting a war that ended with the IRA’s disarmament a quarter of a century ago. A bit like Debbie, the frustrated middle-aged woman who is the subject of the song “1985,” Kneecap are buried in references and imagery far older than the band are. When they are not attacking Israel, they attack ghosts. It’s all rather sad.

And yet, this is the game Kneecap decided to play. If they didn’t know that spectacle can be your undoing, as well as your ticket to a golden future, they do now.

Since the birth of popular music in the last century, artists have understood that breaking America is a necessary condition of success. After the disgraceful scenes at Coachella, we should all be echoing music impresario Sharon Osbourne’s call for Kneecap’s U.S. visas to be revoked; otherwise, we risk further glorification of the rapists and murderers of Hamas on our stages and screens.

As of now, Kneecap have two shows scheduled: one for Oct. 1 and the other for Oct. 10 at New York City’s Pier 17. Assuming that their visas are not cancelled first, the managers of that venue need to be made aware of the group’s history, along with the fact that U.K. theatres are increasingly reluctant to host them. If an appeal to reason fails, then there is every reason to stage demonstrations outside that are more angry and more raucous than anything Kneecap can exhibit.

Doubtless, they will offer up the same disingenuous, craven apologies as they have done over the past week on the other side of the Atlantic, clearly terrified that no stage will be available to them anymore. We should turn a deaf ear to those. Just as Kneecap’s songs belong in the past, so do they.