Kneecap are anarchic proof there's life in Glastonbury

The trio's appearance has, due to political interference, led to an unexpected referendum on the festival's soul. But, argues Adam White, their rebellion is what Worthy Farm is all about

- Adam White

At Glastonbury Festival's Apocalypse Museum, an art installation slash testament to the world's current woes, images of Gaza's destruction are broadcast on TV sets, while an enormous sign transforms the Shell oil logo into the word "hell”.

Over on the Pyramid Stage, meanwhile, Matty Healy of The 1975 uses his set to proclaim the value of keeping politically schtum. "You can go out into the world and there's loads of politics everywhere," he said. "We don't need more politics. We need more love and friendship." In the crowd, the moment is met by light whoops. Many seem to wince.

This is the strange paradox of Glastonbury Festival, where anger, protest and political action sit geographically parallel to gak, hedonism and the allure of doing and thinking absolutely nothing. And then there's Kneecap, an Irish hip-hop trio who've come to exemplify this very split (or is it a contradiction?), their presence at this year's Glastonbury - in the face of mounting criticism from across the political spectrum - an unexpected referendum on the festival's soul. That they haven't been banned from performing is proof that there's still life in this old girl yet.

Kneecap were arguably popularised in 2024, when they played themselves in an acclaimed semi-accurate biopic (in which Michael Fassbender played one of their dads, a former republican paramilitary). But many more will have likely only heard of them in the last few months, now that they are - to quote The Times - "the most controversial band in the UK since the Sex Pistols". And with that they bring to Glastonbury a degree of anti-establishment rage that has always underpinned the festival, but which in recent years has played more of a cameo role when it comes to the actual lineup of acts.