Issue 95 / Dec18/Jan19

The Prodigy (John Johnson / johnjohnson-photography.com)
“LOUD. BRIGHT.
VIOLENT. And that’s just
the crowd. It’s everything
that one has come to
expect from The Prodigy
now they steadfastly
refuse to calm down”
The Prodigy
Echo Arena – 08/11
It could be difficult being in THE PRODIGY. Where do you
place them now? Evil rave? Metal dance? Broken acid? There’s
a mass of pigeon holes that the three-piece could slide into and
then slide out of the other side kicking and shouting. But each
hole would never fit the spiky shaped peg that The Prodigy
have become. They have never deviated from what they have
always believed they’ve been. They are the musical equivalent
of scratching that itch that you’re not supposed to because it’s
bleeding, but it feels so good to scratch it, regardless of the
damage you’re doing to yourself. I hurt myself dancing tonight,
so the analogy stands. Not so much blood, more a bruise. Injured
in the line of live music reviewing. Keith, Maxim and Liam would
love that.
They love the reception that over 5,500 people give them
when the thin fabric drops, billowing out a light show that
blinded the eyes and set the scene for the next 90 minutes.
LOUD. BRIGHT. VIOLENT. And that’s just the crowd. It’s
everything that one has come to expect from The Prodigy now
they steadfastly refuse to calm down. Or write a ballad. Or write
anything with a BPM slower than a speeding car. Which is pretty
much the new album No Tourists; a breakneck ride that doesn’t
let up with the beats and production. Thankfully, the live side of
the record is the same. Although 90 minutes seems a bit short,
at no point does it stop or sag or feel like they are catching a
moment to compose themselves. Breathe opens proceedings and
it’s relentless from here on in.
Keith Flint fronts the powerful Omen which lapses into
Champions Of London, possibly the most angry tune on the new
album. That’s not taking anything away from Maxim, who is,
arguably, the best frontman on the live arena circuit. He prowls
and scowls, leaping from one shape to another, his rhyming and
lyric toasting is cold, clinical and dynamic, even when it’s limited
in the fantastic Need Some 1. He loves Liverpool, it seems,
although his patter is slightly diminished when he gives a shout
out to all his “Wednesday people”. It’s Thursday, as the band
point out to him. He’s a dance overlord. He doesn’t care what day
it is. Touring does that to you.
Late noughties bass beat shouters Pendulum did a cracking
remix of Voodoo People in 2012 and it’s this version that gets an
airing here. The difference in the feel of the song is not lost on
the Arena floor tonight. One seething and sweating mass moves
across the floor like gas as the band struggle to keep up with the
beats that seem as though they are at one with the volatile heap.
Is it a cover version if you cover someone else’s remix of your
song? Does anyone care?
Smack My Bitch Up unites everyone even more, the chorus
giving an un-PC delight to everyone gathered. More loud. More
bright. More twisted. The highlight, though, was Their Law. A
guitar stabbed indie dance epic, co-written with Pop Will Eat
Itself, that still sounds as fresh and dangerous as it did in 94. A
bit like our techno crew, still lurking and leaping like they’d just
arrived on stage, with the lights still drilling into the collective
Liverpool cranium; the buses as part of the stage set lit as
though they’re about to drive off the stage and straight into the
audience, managing to mow down the band in the process. That
would seem quite normal and entirely fitting with what Liverpool
witnesses tonight. Violent anger-techno with a seething disco
core. It just what we wanted and just what we get. Utterly
incredible.
Ian Abraham / @scrash
The Prodigy (John Johnson / johnjohnson-photography.com)
REVIEWS 43