Rave, Not Rage: How Finn Keenan Turned Kneecap’s ‘Sayonara’ into a Feral Fever Dream

What starts as an office-set spiral of intrusive thoughts soon erupts into a feral, euphoric dancefloor odyssey.

For their second collaboration with Kneecap, RiffRaff director Finn Keenan channelled the band’s satirical bite and subversive spirit into ‘Sayonara’ — a video that weaponises beige monotony, celebrates the catharsis of rave culture, and ultimately explodes in a burst of unfiltered self-expression.

Rooted in the '90s Belfast rave scene that defied sectarian lines, the film embodies Kneecap’s mantra that music can dissolve walls, internal or political – and Finn explains why this is more important now than ever, following the band’s milestone Wembley show.

LBB> What was the brief from Kneecap on this track, and how closely did you collaborate with them on the promo?

Finn> It was a simple brief, a video that explores the work/party balance and how to navigate that. Which is something, like a lot of us, I struggle with.

I had an idea knocking around my head for a while about that bizarre change after a heavy weekend – from the fear on Monday morning, to the hell of Tuesday, then something happens between Wednesday and Thursday that slowly erases that feeling and replaces it with giddy mischievous excitement. And by Friday, your brain convinces you that Monday wasn't that bad and in fact, that it will never happen again.
So, the video was a trojan horse of a self portrait of how uncontrollable my negative intrusive thoughts can be. But the bittersweet thing is that the same lil’ busy machine in the brain that sends the negative thoughts on Monday, sends the giddy thoughts on Friday. The same lil’ machine that gives you irrational anxiety/dread gives you irrational creativity/excitement. I wanted to make a video where a character could harness this ‘machine’ and use it to her advantage. Instead of getting angry or feeling self pity, she channels it all towards self expression and… exploding.

LBB> This is your second time working with Kneecap — how has the creative language and synergy between you developed?

Finn> It’s unlike any collaboration I've had before. I work closely with their manager Peadar Ógoill, who is a director himself. Generally, we take my idea and infuse it with some themes the band wants. For ‘Sayonara’, the band wanted to pay tribute to the 90’s rave scene in Belfast that, as a form of rebellion, brought protestants and catholics together through music.

Kneecap wanted to get their message about cross community to remind viewers that music and creativity can break down metaphorical walls, which can often be harder to crack than physical ones.

LBB> What direction did you decide to take the film, and how much did the track itself shape the visuals?

Finn> The track shoved the visuals into me head on first listen! If I could dream up a perfect song for a music video, it would be ‘Sayonara’. It’s not just a filthy banger, it's dark and ominous. The cathartic end was the perfect structure for the narrative to play out with the main character taking control of her intrusive thoughts, going feral dancing and then becoming the rave and exploding, obviously.

DOP Eoin McLougchlin, who I’ve worked with on most of my music videos, has a brilliant eye for both the hyper-stylised and the beautifully-natural, which made him the perfect choice. He suggested shooting on the Alexa 35 in crop mode with old 16mm lenses, which instantly gave us this soft, retro feel straight out of the camera — even before the grade.

From the beginning, I knew the colour palette had to be beige, nothing is grimmer or funnier than beige. With our brilliant art director, Noelle Slack (who has also worked on all my videos), we aimed for a timeless look. Something that could exist anywhere between 1995 and 2010. Noelle and I have an unspoken language and the shorthand was basically beige.

Between Eoin’s cinematography and Noelle’s incredible art direction and the rest of the team, there was a moment on set where I genuinely felt like I could walk away, and the video would still come out exactly as I’d imagined. They’re not only great at their craft, but they fully understood the project and absolutely nailed it.

LBB> The promo feels rebellious and charged with a love for the dancefloor — how intentional was it to capture that energy in the film’s tone?

Finn> It was very intentional. Rage and dance are two sides of the same coin. There’s a rage in proper raving, but a cathartic healthy kind that feels like it expels the anger and frustration, as opposed to letting it consume you and then taking it out on others.

Watching the crowd at Glastonbury dance to Kneecap felt like the most positive act of rebellion. A band that was in the middle of a huge smear campaign, in the middle of a court case and being told they wouldn’t play Glastonbury. When they walked on stage and Mo Chara screamed ‘Glastonbury I’m a Free Man’, it felt like a win for the underdog everywhere. It may have looked like a mosh but it was a love fest.

That really solidified the idea of how cathartic dance and music can be. Dance the anger outtaya.

LBB> Tell me about the casting. Did you already have Jamie Lee in mind for the main character, and how did you choose the rest of the cast?

Finn> To be honest, I couldn’t believe we got Jamie Lee. The turnaround from pitch to shoot was so tight that I wasn’t sure we’d get any actor, let alone one of the most energetic, open, vulnerable, and exciting performers I’ve ever worked with.

I met her briefly the night before. We were both exhausted, and I thought we’d talk for five minutes at most. Before even discussing the video, we were already sharing very personal stories and I knew from within a few minutes of sitting down, we were kindred spirits.

As it turned out, she had no idea what the full concept was. So, I ended up putting on the song and acted/danced the entire video out for her in this tiny room. And as I'd start a sentence, she’d finish it. I instantly knew she, like me, had lived the experiences the video touches on.

By the end, when I explained how her character becomes the rave from within, she was so excited, we were both having our own little mini rave. We went into that room tired and quiet, and came out buzzin’.

LBB> Were you looking for specific characteristics?

Finn> Initially, the character was written as a paranoid, anxious wreck the whole way through. But very quickly, I realised that didn’t suit Jamie Lee. Instead, her confident, razor-sharp anger towards her colleagues felt so much more empowering. The way she took charge of her intrusive thoughts and danced them at her repressed colleagues, it became clear that her performance wasn’t neurotic or afraid, it was powerful. She was in charge. She was seeing through them, exposing the repressed coworkers for what they’d never be, vulnerable and free. It completely transformed the character, and tone of the video.

I knew she had dance experience, and that, along with her presence on-screen, made me think we had found the right person. Someone who was full of innovation, enthusiasm, vulnerability and excited to bring something personal. An actor who’d be confident enough to just go primal, feral, animalistic in front of 50 people on set. And that’s exactly what Jamie Lee did. Honestly, I don’t think anyone else could have done what she did without a choreographer. We hit the jackpot!

LBB> How did you direct your actors to bring out that raw, authentic energy?

Finn> The day before the shoot, we had no extras for the rave, no office cast, and only Jamie Lee confirmed. Somehow producer extraordinaire, Olwyn Fagan, made it happen and people turned up through word of mouth. In general, I'm not sure how Olwyn made the shoot happen in the time we had, so big shout out to him!
Other than Jamie Lee, the only actor we cast in advance was the ‘boss from hell’, Hugh Irvine. I was a little nervous because I’d never met him and wasn’t sure how he’d take the role, especially with the leather involved. But he was incredible, totally got it and was game for anything,

Our amazing costume designer, Timmy White, brought an array of things that I hadn’t asked for, one being a ball gag, and I thought, something has to be done with this. I instantly noticed a bowl of tiny apples on the catering table that were the exact same size as the ball gag.I asked Hugh if he’d be okay eating an apple and it turning into a ball gag. Not only was he fine with it, he suggested he take Jamie Lee’s apple and eat it. That became one of the video’s motifs — this recurring symbol of control, the boss saying, “I own you.” Which didn’t exist an hour before shooting!

As for the three laddy lad lads, none of them were actors, they just turned up for the craic. My main note was ye all hate each other but have to pretend you’re mates. One of them had been to Ibiza recently, so I just asked him to tell a real story and told him to whack the other two, if either of them stopped laughing. The result was this natural, toxic banter that felt completely authentic without any overthinking.

When one of our photocopier extras didn’t show up, our second AD, Matt Booth, stepped in. I kept reminding them that the story was in the editing — they didn’t need to act. Matt especially nailed that; just a simple turn of his head was enough. I honestly don’t know any other second ADs who would have volunteered like that. The goodest of lads!

In general, the cast and crew were amazing, so I want to take this chance to thank the hell out of them for going above and beyond at every turn. And to Natalie Arnett and Riff Raff for all their support throughout.

LBB> You didn’t work with a choreographer — so how did you create the dancefloor magic we see at the end with Jamie Lee?

Finn> This was honestly my favourite part of the whole shoot. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. As I mentioned before, we started on a very vulnerable, open note, and that energy spread throughout the crew. Over those two days, there was this incredible sense of comfort and safety on set that made everyone willing to go further. Extras were happy to leather up, actors were willing to take risks (wear ballgags), and nobody felt self-conscious. It felt like a group of friends just having the craic together, and a video happened to come out of it.

Between takes, Jamie and I would talk about personal stuff – our lives, our histories, mental health, and we generally, bonded over how weird we were. We traded stories that were surprisingly similar. Before the big dance scene at the end, we’d have a chat about one of the aforementioned yaps and I’d tell her, “Don’t think about what you’re going to do, just think about that specific conversation we had. When the beat drops, whatever happens, happens.” And in that first take, our whole crew’s jaws hit the floor.
Sometimes we’d notice little moments, like a bit of Irish dancing in her movement, and we’d talk about it. She’d tell me stories about it, and then she’d channel all of that into the next take, which we dubbed the ‘Demonic Irish dancing’ take.

We did 10 takes, each one entirely uniquely, without a choreographer, without a single moment of hesitation or doubt. It was only possible because of the enthusiasm and support from the crew. Every take felt bigger and wilder than the last. That morning was an experience, one of the most special connections I’ve ever had with an actor. Jamie Lee didn’t just dance, she transformed every single take into something personal, emotional and feral!!

LBB> The promo teases and alludes to Belfast’s rave culture. Why was it important to weave that into the film, especially against the backdrop of summer 2025's fusion of music, politics, and culture?

Finn> The band wanted the video to pay homage to the '90s rave scene in Belfast, which was a world I didn’t know nearly enough about before starting this project. I’d encourage anyone to watch the documentary ‘Dancing On Narrow Ground’ which shows how dangerous it was and how brave these young people were.

Some of the crew shared stories of raves they’d been to where people had actually been killed. It really put into perspective the power of music, art, and creativity to bring people together.

The band specifically wanted to pay tribute to the people who risked their lives to make the '90s raves happen, breaking down barriers between communities in the process. That philosophy — that self-expression, art, and collective storytelling are ways to channel rage into something useful and unifying — is something I strongly believe in, and it’s central to the project.

Kneecap wanted their music and message to do the same, not just in Belfast, but across the world. Hearing that their work is resonating with people in places like Palestine, giving people a tiny bit of hope, is incredibly moving.

Over the last few months, I’ve seen people’s understanding of Kneecap shift. They’re not calling out people, they’re calling out governments and systems, celebrating community, and remembering how movements allow for hope and catharsis when not much else can. And in this video, that comes full circle in the final scene, by the rave exploding out of her, of course.

LBB> You’ve said the film embraces the feeling that “Monday won’t roll round again,” a sense of optimism. Why do you think it’s so important to believe that art, music, and creativity can help us dream beyond societal constraints?

Finn> I’m fascinated with the shame that comes from not fitting into society’s boxes. My theory is, none of us really fit — we’re all just pretending. When you don’t tick every box of what a ‘functioning adult’ should be, we feel guilt, and it gets projected onto us by the people who’ve been in the exact same position before. It’s a weird social game that no one wins that makes everyone feel shit.

What I love about music, especially being at a live gig, is how quickly those rules drop away. For a moment, people are more open, more accepting…. Just nicer! Then Monday rolls around, and the old routines snap back in.

Part of what I wanted to say with this video, is that your weird quirks and imperfections aren’t weaknesses — they’re superpowers. If you double down on who you are, you can shake off that pointless shame that society’s constraints pile onto us.

LBB> Finally, what role do you think music videos play in today’s culture — and how important is the dancefloor as a space of defiance and expression?

Finn> That’s a very tough question. The role of music videos today is very different from what it used to be. But at their core, music videos still serve to communicate something about a band or artist that the song alone might not — whether that’s humour, satire, politics, dance, or simple performance. A video puts a face to the sound.

With Kneecap, though, I realised that for me, the role of the music video changed. Their music can be easily misunderstood — in fact deliberately misinterpreted — intentionally making people miss the irony or satire. The videos give us a way to make their message more digestible, and ultimately, harder to twist in a negative way.

Take the ‘Recap’ video for example. Someone can listen to that song and decide it’s just an angry track, but once you watch the video, you feel the joy and positivity radiating through it. The visuals make it clear what the music is really about.

The same goes for ‘Sayonara’. On the surface, it’s about the work–party balance, but beneath that is a universal feeling that music, art, creativity, and self-expression can bring people together and break down ideologies that are handed down from past generations and have become futile. That’s Kneecap’s whole message.

When you pair their music with intentional visuals, it becomes very hard to argue otherwise. Kneecap radiate positivity, optimism, and unity. And I hope that the music videos make it harder for people to twist that narrative.

To boil all my birdseye potato waffle down into three words: “Rave, not Rage.”