Review: Prodigy Live In Melbourne
Kate Stephenson went to watch the Prodigy live in Melbourne and fell in love all over again…
Along with fruitless attempts to edit Pete Tong saying ‘as we continue…’ while taping the Essential Mix off Radio 1, and trying to keep my dad from confiscating my stereo, The Prodigy were among my first memories of fighting for music that really made me froth. While others faded into the distance, The Prodge always retained their throne, burning away furiously in the background; pushing buttons and boundaries for all of my illustrious raving career. There is a reason why many think they are the best live act in the world, in their effortless cross over between rock and rave, in a mosh pit where everyone seems to get along. It’s rare that such a harmony exists between two often dramatically opposed scenes. It turns out that metal heads and ravers really can make anarchy together in peace.
Melbourne was the penultimate Australian city to get the ‘No Tourists’ tour. I can’t remember the last time I went to a concert (it was probably The Prodigy’s ‘Invaders Must Die’ tour in Manchester?) Truth be told, it would take a lot to drag me to one. They can be a bit stifling, with the clinical security police, drinks lines, rules on where to stand; and Bear Grylls survival skills required to find your box office, gate and mates when you go to the bathroom. But The Prodigy need the capacity, hype and acoustics to pump their signature stadium sound. Something they did with trademark furious finesse at Melbourne Arena on 1 Feb.
The three silhouettes on the stage bathed in Promethean light never fails to turn the froth-o-meter up off the scale. The opening loop of ‘Breathe’ winding up for that iconic drop felt like the whole of the arena had one of those towers that blow fire next to Southbank wedged up its arse, erupting the 10,000 strong crowd across the city like a fireball. Despite trying to hold onto each other, I watched the top of my friend’s ponytail bob and sway as she was carried far away across the baked-bean-head sea. But I knew she couldn’t be happier.
The live show was vitriolic, nasty and livid as ever. It’s always a testament to these original crowd pleasers that they play across the spectrum of their back catalogue and don’t just pump up the tyres of their new shit. Some of the crowd were hearing icons like ‘Omen’ and ‘Firestarter’ live for the very first time. Keith got his chance to blast it Johnny Rotten style with tracks like ‘Nasty’ ‘Champions of London’ and ‘Run with the Wolves’.
Then there’s the old ravey ones that literally make your body transcend itself. I found ‘No Good (Start the dance)’ age 14 at the back of one of those shitty compilation CDs you used to get at Christmas. My mum and I caned that bad boy on repeat so hard in her VW Polo on the way to school that it skipped before it got to the drop. Just like my heart multiple times when hearing it live.
Not to mention the memories of ‘when I was a youth I used to burn Collie weed in a rizla’ – I don’t know about the rest of you, but that’s the first time I heard ‘Fire’ live. Those old Experience bangers are the epitome of rave royalty. Then the absolute stunners from the new album, a reference back to the glory days of rave in tunes like ‘Timebomb Zone’ and ‘Light up the sky’ – with Brother Culture, or the savage intensity of ‘Need Some1’ tripping you into next level delirium like the Filipino cartel in the music video.
To stand right at the front and watch these showmen lose it is the ultimate high, that should be ticked off anyone’s bucket list at least twice. That fucking sexy psychopath Maxim Reality resplendent in mayhem amping up the asylum with his diabolic caterwaul. Keith a work of art in full throes, riling and goading the crowd with his seething face and electric shock bog brush hair, but also non-confrontationally throwing water bottles at us to keep us cool – a firestarter who gives a fuck about your safety. And the evil genius, mastermind of all and High Priest of Rave Liam Howlett reigning on high in the background. Each as gloriously insane as the other. Talk about presence.
Normally I wouldn’t be seen dead in a mosh pit. But The Prodigy open a different box of frogs all together. There’s nothing for it but to shove and scrap and seethe like a fighting hellcat, in a raw element I never knew I loved. Getting pulled along by the mosh felt like you were in a high speed car chase with no neck support, blinded by the neon lights and buckled by whiplash, or carried forth on a frothy tsunami, foaming at the mouth with rave-bies. I loved every second. It’s fucking mint to get proper rowdy from time to time.
It’s a long time since I have stood in a crowd that lovely. It was the friendlest mosh pit ever. Props to the tall, beautiful guy who not only kept saving me from the really scary bits of the mosh, but was also a pretty good kisser. People graciously shoved and pushed each other. If you got an elbow to the face or your toes, or stood on, people would actually say sorry, or pick you up if you fell. My friend told me he saw a guy with no shoes at the end and asked him what happened. He said he got so excited he threw one shoe at the stage. Realising there wasn’t much point in just having one shoe, he decided to throw the other too. There was a sense of camaraderie and fun. Of going to war together. Everyone was ready for battle. Maybe that’s what happens when you rave over 30. All the veterans had definitely got the babysitters in for the weekend.
The tumultuous encore featured something old, something banging and something new. By the time they finished my new favourite rave anthem ‘We Live Forever’, another dynamite mosh sesh screaming ‘Fuck em’ to ‘Their Law’ and the happy hardcore ferris wheel of ‘Take me To the Hospital’ before ‘Smack My Bitch’ tore the roof off, I was head over heels in love. When the lights came on I had a beetroot head, wet straw hair and saucers for eyes, staggering around the arena bumping into people like a grinning car crash escaped from the padded cell. But that’s the best bit. Reaching oblivion and toppling over the edge. Unless you are dead inside, this trio of absolute OGs ignites the insanity inferno in everyone. That is where it’s at friends. 10/10 would definitely mosh again.
Written by Kate Stephenson