Kneecap

The first time I can remember hearing about Kneecap was in a taxi queue in Glasgow's Merchant City. That's as Glasgow's East becomes a fancier set of places where footballers aren't crowded when they drink, where the crowds that barely parted to allow Scarlett Johannsson's battered Ford to transit in Under The Skin start to thin out between pubs where football crowds drink. That's not to say they hadn't pricked up my ears before, but that was the first time I knew there was something about them. Something worth looking out for, listening to, and going to see.

That's football, alcohol, a particular Scottish mixture often expressed through the tonic wine of Buckfast Abbey. That's a single bottle with sugar, caffeine and alcohol enough to alienate anyone. All present in spades in Kneecap, from the distinctive dark green silhouettes of 'wreck the hoose juice' to the association sectarianism of football's Old Firm. A conflict with deeper roots, deeper routes to understanding, though a nod to Trainspotting in a (Prodigy-soundtracked) baton relay crosses enough paths to explain some of it.

There's also language. Such language. Gaeilge for a start, Irish for the Irish, an indigenous island tongue suppressed (as so many others) by colonial power. Slang then too, your standard diminutives for pharmaceuticals, the efficiencies of chemistry and commerce reducing 3,4-Methyl​enedioxy​methamphetamine to a single letter. There's another set of abbreviations too from the complex political landscapes. Every party is dripping with them, whether it's THC or RUC. Swearing as well. An 18 rating from the BBFC (more abbreviations) is fairly labelled as being for drug misuse, but "very strong language" doesn't cover it.

It's authentic though. I wouldn't say it was gratuitous, it's got the musicality that proper swearing should. A musicality that's carried by the fact that it features the group as themselves. Moglai Bap, Mo Chara, and the notorious DJ Provai. Their work forms most of the score, and that drug misuse features plenty of scoring as most of their work. Kneecap's particular flavour of hip-hop might not be to all tastes but their tunes are bangers. The influence of acts like NWA and Eminem and the punk aesthetic of Factory Records is tempered by serious politics and associated discussions. As the lyrics of the Joy Division's song put it "And she expressed herself in many different ways / Until she lost control again." She's not alone.

The two MCs (or MB, MC) are co-writers with director Rich Peppiatt. He made a film of his Edinburgh Fringe show about journalistic malpractice, so it's technically not a début feature, but a minute here or there doesn't count. What does is that the Kneecap trio acquit themselves tremendously well with the support of a more experienced cast. Some of them have only a few roles themselves, but among them Jessica Reynolds and Fionnuala Flaherty are ones to watch. Others are variously veterans, Simone Kirby and Josie Walker are firmly in "you know, from that thing" territory. Proper off-stage star power comes from Michael Fassbender, though his role is one of a number of places where origin stories are a touch marvellous.

Briskly paced, compressing a story that actually spanned a few years into less than two hours it fair flies by. Some of that's invention, musical and morality plays build a polyglot polyrhythm. It doesn't matter how much of it is true, what matters is if it's a good story, and Kneecap has more than a leg to stand on.