Who would have thought, back in 1997, that Fat of The Land would become one of the defining records of a generation? I mean, we knew it was a great album, but still no one could have seen quite the extent to which it saw The Prodigy cross firmly over from the dance floor to become a truly poly-genre act. True, the band had always had a punk energy that spread far beyond their sound system roots – a process accelerated by PWEI collaboration Their Law – but Fat of The Land took that energy up several thousand notches, Keith Flint emerging as a mohawked, motormouthed firebrand, whose unhinged presence sat perfectly alongside MC Maxim Reality on tracks like Breathe and insane anthem Firestarter.
It was a game changer in ever sense of a word and, honestly, while each of the subsequent albums had a fair number of exquisitely paced singles (just consider the reaction to Omen, for example), The Prodigy have seemingly struggled to step out from the shadow of Fat… with lengthy gaps between each album. However, if the creative process does not flow quite as readily as once it did, the band’s live performances have rightly gone down as the stuff of legend. This is an electronic act that has firmly embraced the rock band format, with guitarist Rob Crabtree and drummer Rob Holliday swelling the band’s ranks and giving The Prodigy a visceral edge that remains entirely their own. Indeed, considering the success The Prodigy have achieved, it’s amazing that only Pendulum have really come close to challenging their ubiquity, making each Prodigy live venture is an experience to cherish.
Of course, the elephant in the room remains the looming presence of Keith Flint, who tragically died in 2019. The Prodigy are keenly aware of his absence and it’s notable that, rather than simply fill his spot (or use samples to render the songs as they are on the albums), they address his absence in innovative and empathetic ways, ensuring that the spirit of Keith lives on through the band’s music, and there are a couple of moments, most notably during Firestarter, where the raw emotion is palpable. It’s a testament to the strength of the band that they found a way to continue, while maintaining a healthy respect for their fallen bandmate, and it only adds to the power of tonight’s performance.
It could so easily have ended differently.
With the weather forecast gloomily predicting a healthy mix of thunder, lightning and heavy rain, we head to Wythenshawe Park with a certain degree of trepidation. We need not have worried, The Prodigy (as Maxim reminds us) are hardly likely to be stopped by the weather and, with the massive crowd wrapped in a remarkable array of ponchos, raincoats, wind cheaters, and random bits of polythene, the band take to the stage with a certain glee, Maxim baiting the gods at every opportunity (“I don’t see any rain, do you?”. Fortunately, it’s nowhere near as bad as predicted and, while there are moments (particularly during the band’s lengthy encore) when the rain hits hard, for the most part the evening remains pretty dry, and we make it through the gig relatively unscathed.
And what a gig. If anything is worth braving the elements, it’s this. The Prodigy are on one hell of a roll right now and, from the moment they take the stage, they set about reducing Wythenshawe Park to so much quivering wreckage, offering up a set that covers their entire storied catalogue.
It opens strong. The band come on stage to Omen and then, having got the entire crowd singing along, proceed to rage through Voodoo People and Poison back-to-back, a remarkable entry that, for most bands, would have been the encore. The sound is immense, the performances razor sharp, and the lighting set to an intensity that must surely threaten the local air traffic. It’s impossible not to be swept up in the sheer scale of it all and, with Maxim working the crowd like the seasoned pro that he is, the place goes off like a powder keg that has only been waiting for a light.
From there, anything goes. The pounding drums of The Day Is My Enemy feel like they’re being hammered by some unseen army; Light Up the Sky takes the template laid down by support act Carl Cox and turbo-charges it, while Firestarter is delivered in remixed form, a giant Keith Flint traced out on the screens flanking the stage. Only a handful of vocal samples are used, while Maxim simply stands aside to let the chaos unfold, refusing to front an anthem so intrinsically linked to the presence of his former partner in crime. For an industrial-strength assault on the senses, it’s a surprisingly poignant moment, making it clear that The Prodigy do not forget, and the entire track is handled with respect and dignity.
From there, the band unleash the massive ray guns that dominate the stage for Invaders Must Die, and then rip through a feral No Good (Start the Dance), which sounds bigger than ever as Rob summons huge riffs from his guitar. Meanwhile, both Roadblox and Get Your Fight On have the crowd dancing as one.
The biggest cheers, however, are reserved for an impossibly metallic Their Law and a deliriously heavy Smack My Bitch Up, the latter seeing Maxim forcing the assembled throng to the ground for one last frantic mosh pit scramble. It’s an intense moment, and the screens show scenes of absolute carnage up at the front for those last precious minutes. And, with that, the band leave the stage, the preceding hour having flown by in what feels like a matter of moments.
Fortunately (especially so, given that the rain starts hammering down with real force), the band return with an epic encore. A ferocious Breathe (with the audience singing Keith’s parts) remains as fresh as the day it was first penned, Take Me to The Hospital and Warrior’s Dance both set the pit alight, only for the place to go completely mental for evergreen classic Out of Space. It’s an explosive and eclectic reminder of The Prodigy’s live power and it leaves the majority of the sopping-wet audience on the verge of exhaustion.
And that really should be it but, with the band’s sense of humour intact, we get the rain-dance-referencing Comanche as a special bonus, leaving us to trudge out of the arena with our senses reeling.
Whether you’re a dancer or a rocker, a chart-music aficionado, or a rave enthusiast, The Prodigy have had your back for the last thirty-odd years. “We make noise, this is what we do” declares the strident Maxim but oh, what a reductive way to describe the awesome power of a band who transcended musical tribalism to bring together an audience from all walks of life. With epic tunes, a skull-crushing PA, and a sense that anything is possible, The Prodigy simply crushed Wythenshawe Park, leaving the entire audience feeling as if they’d gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson. Resistance is futile, The Prodigy are fucking awesome, and long may they continue to perforate eardrums, because they remain a unique force in this world.
