'I was on the guest list, an unexpected and unprecedented privilege, when Kneecap played at Cork City Hall'

THE opening words from Kneecap as the buachaillí dána from Belfast and Derry took the stage in Cork City Hall for the first of two sell-out gigs were: ‘Let’s be hearing you, Corcaigh!’

One gig had been scheduled to take place in December, but was postponed as Gearóid Ó Cairealláin, the father of Móglaí Bap (Naoise Ó Cairealláin), was in hospital.

Gearóid died on December 20. He and I had been friends since I moved to Belfast back in 1996 for what I thought would be a year. Instead, I stayed for almost 20 years, met and married my wife, and had two children who were born in the city.

So I knew Naoise and, through him, his pal Liam Ó Hannaidh (Mo Chara) of old, and I’d also count DJ — JJ Ó Dochartaigh — as a friend as he was a frequent performer in the Cultúrlann on the Falls Road, when I was the events-and-marketing manager at the Irish-language cultural centre.

Success has many fathers and, in that spirit, I’d like to now proclaim my part in the emergence of Kneecap.

Back in late 2017, Moglaí and Mo Chara released their first track, ‘CEARTA’, which is an ‘origin song’, in that it gives an of a run-in that two characters spray painting graffiti — the word ‘CEARTA’, which means rights — have with the Police Service of Northern Ireland. The incident occurred the night before a large demonstration for Irish-language rights in Belfast, a demonstration I participated in.

That song was entered for an Irish-language music-awards competition organised by the lifestyle magazine Nós, and it seemed likely that it would win the ‘best of the year’ award, a title which brought airplay on 2FM, the sponsor. That was not to be, however, as the award was won by another group.

At the time, ‘CEARTA’ was banned from the airwaves of RTÉ and, most particularly, RTÉ Ráidió na Gaeltachta, and I launched a petition for it to be given airplay by the station, a petition that received more than 700 signatures but, more importantly, which catapulted the song to a wider audience fuelled by media coverage.

I being out on a walk at home in the Múscraí Gaeltacht and getting a call from a journalist working for The Times (London) who was doing a story on the petition.

During the funeral for my friend Gearóid, I met Naoise/Moglaí and JJ/DJ at the wake house in Belfast. They thanked me for the petition and said that it had been a huge boost to them in the early days.

I don’t doubt that the three lads would be where they are now without the petition I started, but, still, who knows what might have happened otherwise?

Back to the present day: I was on the guest list, an unexpected and unprecedented privilege, when Kneecap played at City Hall for two nights.

It was the first time I had been in City Hall for a concert I wasn’t performing in — I am a member of Cór Chúil Aodha, who have performed there on a couple of occasions — since I was at a Lloyd Cole and the Commotions gig when I was a University College Cork student in the 1980s.

The hall was packed and heaving and the pit in front of the stage was not for the faint-hearted. So there I was, seated in the balcony with my can of Sprite, significantly under-inebriated in comparison to those around me.

And after an energetic and well-executed warm-up from Dublin singer Gemma Dunleavy, and a polite interval to allow expectation to build, the crowd went ballistic as the hall went dark, illuminated only by the balaclava banner decorating the altar at which DJ Provaí would be working the decks.

Then the screen backdrop flashed up messages focusing on Israel’s onslaught in Gaza, labelling it a genocide and expressing feelings president Donald Trump that won’t endear the band to the new occupant of the Oval Office.

And then they bounded onto the stage and the gig took off.

It was high energy and high volume.

Numbers known to fans from the band’s first album, Fine Art, came fast and furious: ‘Fenian C**ts’, ‘Better Way to Live’, ‘Your Sniffer Dogs are Sh*te’.

If I’m telling the truth, I really can’t make out the lyrics, but everybody else can. And this is high energy.

At one stage, in an interlude, the crowd chant: “Free, free Palestine”. The lads are happy; the next day they were pictured at Cork’s popular Izz Café.

They riff about a new survey which suggests that they are promoting a positive image of Irish among young people. “If we’re promoting a positive image of Irish, we’re f**ked: We heard recently that you can buy drugs as Gaeilge in Belfast. Now that is a good day for Irish.”

The big song of the night for me is ‘CEARTA’ and after that I leave, anxious to get out of the car park before I need a mortgage to pay the fees. The party’s still going on.

By the time you read this, Kneecap will have been at the IFTAs and the BAFTAs, where they won awards at both.

To those who say they’re celebrating paramilitary violence and the like, they have it all wrong. Kneecap represent the young generation who were victimised by the IRA and other paramilitary gangs.

They are the lads who, not so long ago, would have had their kneecaps shot off by thugs who wanted the younger generation to be seen and not heard.

Get this: They’re being heard now.