Kneecap's new album 'Fenian' proves the rebel-rap trio's defiant voice only got louder

Fenian, their third full-length, was largely written and recorded in September 2025, when the case against Chara was still playing out in court. That experience has only sharpened their political commentary, serving as fuel for the record’s incendiary blend of Irish republicanism, anti-imperialist militancy and hard-nosed hedonism.

“We had all the motivation we needed,” goes the social media statement that accompanied the album’s release. “This isn’t a swift reaction, but a considered response to those that tried to silence us. And failed.”

The moody, trip-hop indebted atmospherics of Carnival opens with the band back in court in front of a British judge (complete with real-life samples of their fans chanting “free Mo Chara!”), as they rebut the state’s case against them, dismissing it as a “circus of distractions” aimed at shifting attention from the UK’s support of genocide. “The Brits are at it again/ Repeatin’ history,” declares Móglaí Bap in a gravelly rasp, linking their activism to a long legacy of Irish resistance to oppression.

Liars Tale—a Prodigy-esque riot of rave synths and propulsive house drums—is a triumphant middle finger to the British establishment, with Chara and Bap rapping in English and Irish about “colonial cringe” and Britain’s role as a lapdog of US imperialism.

On Palestine, which features a stirring Arabic verse by Ramallah rapper Fawzi, the group draws parallels between West Belfast and the West Bank. It’s a full-throated endorsement of international solidarity against the forces of imperialism and colonialism, ending with a promise that they “will not stop till everyone is free.” The techno-tinged An Ra and grime-y Smugglers & Scholars also deal with the troubled history of English colonialism in Ireland, and Irish Republican resistance—“You civilised us savages, now we’re fine” goes a witheringly sarcastic takedown of the Anglo-imperialist project.

Though politics takes centre-stage, Kneecap are more than just flag-waving rabble-rousers. The jittery house of Big Bad Mo is a veritable party-starter, while the woozy Gorillaz-meets-Massive Attack cut Cocaine Hill captures the dark side of druggy hedonism, Chara stumbling over his feet like a “smicked out banshee.” Occupied 6 is a trip-hop-inflected accounting of the violence and terror of the Troubles in occupied Northern Ireland.

Then there’s closer Irish Goodbye, one of the album’s standout tracks, and the closest Kneecap has come to writing a ballad. A tribute to Móglaí Bap’s late mother, who died by suicide in 2020, the song features a soul-stirring spoken-word meditation on depression by English poet Kae Tempest. It’s a masterful conclusion to the album, highlighting that underneath the biting satire, Kneecap are also capable of handling complexity and nuance, that they’re just as concerned with plumbing the depths of the human condition as they are with firebrand politics.

Plenty of acts have ridden the wave of sociopolitical notoriety, only to fall by the wayside once the headlines shifted to the next big crisis. But if Fenian is anything to go by, Kneecap have the talent and the smarts to outlast the shifting sands of media attention. The music—DJ Próvaí’s beats masterfully directed by producer Dan Carey—and songwriting here showcase a group whose work goes beyond headline-of-the-moment agitprop, offering insightful critiques of neoliberalism, oppression and life under late-stage capitalism. Perhaps that’s what makes them so threatening to the powers that be.

As Bap said in a recent interview, referring to their US tour being cancelled following pressure from the American government, “They’ll give you diabetes, but they won’t let you listen to Kneecap. It’s too dangerous.”

Bhanuj Kappal is a Mumbai-based writer.