http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fy2ZDCrJ3M&fmt=22

another vid from dugdale:D

already posted

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/music/3701192/The-Prodigy-at-Carling-Academy---review.html

By Thomas H Green
Last Updated: 12:51PM GMT 10 Dec 2008

When the Prodigy finally left the stage, but before lights went up, Andy Williams's Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You played over the house sound system. It was perhaps the band reminding everyone that although they're snarling electronic punks, at another level it's all simply distilled showmanship filtered through a lot of sweaty dancing.

Earlier, when they played their sweary, rebel-rousing anthem Their Law, it was debatable who was dancing harder, the tattooed, perspiring MC/frontmen Keith Flint and Maxim Reality (real name: Keith Palmer), or the capacity crowd, who they constantly challenged to move faster and whoop louder.

It's easy to forget that, in the mid-Nineties, the Prodigy were one of the biggest bands in the world. Initially, they were a rave act, four Essex lads, one of whom, Liam Howlett had a knack for combining pounding beats with tasty riffs and memorable tunes. The other three (one member left in 2000) would dance and gurn, creating the live "Prodigy Experience", the very opposite of dance acts who stood po-faced in front of computers. Howlett now plays master of ceremonies, centre-stage with his machines, accompanied by a live band that gave the rock-flavoured Voodoo People the meaty riffing it demands.

His two protégés, meanwhile, have long since ceased to be just hype men and sang/shouted hits such as Breathe and Firestarter. Flint, mohawked and tattooed, barked out the lyrics to the latter between spraying the crowd with mouthfuls of water. Stripped to a vest, he was given to sudden bursts of frantic activity, while Reality simply prowled the stage, naked from the waist up, bleeding dour theatrical charisma.

It looked for a while as if the fire had gone out of the Prodigy. They conquered America in 1997 with their Fat of the Land album, then disappeared to their Essex mansions for years. When they returned in 2004, they seemed to have become a Liam Howlett studio project rather than the raucous gang of yore.

All that has now changed. At least half their set was drawn from forthcoming album Invaders Must Die, and new numbers such as Omen, World's on Fire and Warriors Dance have the energised moody tribal bounce of their best-loved material.

For their final number, however, they return to the heady days of rave, when at least half the crowd were still in nappies, and the reggae-tinged classic Out of Space becomes a venue-sized sing-along that Andy Williams would surely approve of.

It's very pleasing to be able to say that, after a lull, the Prodigy are back to their best.

Rating: ****

http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/music/reviews/the-prodigy-the-academy-glasgow-1059138.html

Somehow, The Prodigy shouldn't feel as vital, as snarlingly alive, as this. On the verge of releasing only their third album in 11 years (Invaders Must Die, due in spring 2009), the swift natural erosion of the innovation-hungry dance-music world should have ground them down into retirement, or at least into an embarrassing parody of their former selves.


Yet the Essex trio – plus live guitarist and drummer – have long since left limited electronic pigeonholes behind and moved into the realms of popular approval. What's surprising here, then, is not that they give all those who have followed them since "Firestarter" a taste of the old medicine, but that new tracks such as "Worlds on Fire" and "Run with the Wolves" shake the dice afresh and manage to sit comfortably alongside all that's gone before them.

The live show, too, remains a Manga-aping kind of cyberpunk fantasy. The group's founder members, Liam Howlett, Keith Flint and Keith "Maxim" Palmer, are all around 40, give or take the odd year, but they remain physically powerful performers, particularly MC Maxim and dancer/vocalist Flint. They're both down to bare chest and vest by the end of the first song, and confronting each other across the stage in what looks like a shrieking, testosterone-soaked aerobics workout.

As ever, a fearsome sense of alpha-male aggression pervades the group's set. If the aim is to transport us to the lawless dystopian wasteland suggested by their stage set – dust-blown turbines and robot heads – then they come as close as they were ever going to.

Purists might yet find reason to mock the group's sound, which contains traces of the early-Nineties rave style from which they sprang, a kind of highly produced jungle techno that is their default setting and a few cavernously bassed dub breakdowns. In many respects it might be seen as old hat, particularly as last year's biggest musical trend was enough to create a generation gap between New and Old Ravers.

Still, when a band such as Klaxons can return to a stage 10 or 15 years from now and command the kind of frenzied ovations which "Poison" and "Voodoo People" saw here, then we'll know which version was best. The Prodigy can fairly be described as the techno equivalent of U2 or Oasis – the perfectly timed half-step they tread outside the pace of what's fashionable is just enough to ease them into the realm of the timeless rather than the overtly dated.

http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/music/live_reviews/article5313844.ece
In 1996, when Keith Flint - the face that soonest springs to mind when people think of the Prodigy - shovelled on the kohl and sculpted two tufts of hair into horns to tell us he was the evil Firestarter, it was hard to imagine how he might carry such a singular look into middle age. Next year Flint reaches 40, but any signs that he might be mellowing were absent as the Essex post-rave pioneers began this low-key theatre tour in advance of their imminent Invaders Must Die album.

Age has come no closer to making Flint - looking long and lean in a string vest and an asymmetric Mohican - resemble the model son-in-law. If he and the similarly toned co-frontman Maxim appeared to have prepared assiduously for these shows, it was emblematic of a group who, having failed to deliver a truly great album since Music for the Jilted Generation, in 1995, really need to remind people what a radical proposition they once were.

They could, of course, have gone about that by merely playing early anthems such as Their Law and No Good (Start the Dance). Instead, those songs were supplanted by Run With the Wolves and Omen - freshly minted creations that nonetheless adhered to a familiar formula, warping and distorting a single hook, confident in the knowledge that it was strong enough to withstand the battering.

Playing the role of unhinged punk professor to perfection, the group's creative engine Liam Howlett lurched maniacally behind a bank of laptops.

Augmented by a live drummer and guitarist, Invaders Must Die piled weight on to a tirade of breakbeats that assailed the senses like a Sherman tank. Next to Maxim, however, even Flint seemed a shrinking violet. “This is f***ing Glasgow,” he shrieked at one point, suggesting that he could forge a second career if TomTom ever think of marketing a new, limited edition “edgy” sat-nav system.

Perhaps inevitably, it was with Firestarter that Flint stole back the initiative. Twelve years after The Mail on Sunday urged the powers-that-be to “ban this sick fire record”, Flint still made a convincing folk devil, more so for the fact that this really is no way for a man in his fortieth year to carry on. All the more reason, then, why we would miss him if he ever thought to stop.

Tomorrow, Carling Academy Sheffield, then Brixton Academy, Fri & Sat

Ok guys, who can buy me a tshirt?
I was set with jiltedgenerator to get one but I forget to confirm (I was sure the gigs are next week). I prefer paypal but anything You choose will be accepted as long as You can get it for me : )
Let me know if someone could help.

Pandemonium. And that's just the post-show mosh-pit at the cloakroom.

It's 9.08pm. The Academy has never looked like this. Well, at least not to these eyes.
'It's like being back in the Kop,' comes a voice behind. Certainly, only Blur and Oasis Britpop peak-era has matched such a pre-gig intensity and crowd carnage these limbs have ever witnessed.
The decks are rolling out tribal DnB, people are blitzed to the eyeballs. Everyone front to the mixer is moving, everyone to the back is wide-eyed and startled at the scene - that's if they can make it out through the dense plumes of body heat.
To think it's minus December degrees outside. Inside you're dripping salty waterfalls upon entry.
The jungle beats transcend into early 90s acid house, when suddenly all is black. Ten long seconds pass before five spectres limber up; like dance warlord prizefighters, each instantly casting recognisable silhouettes.
Wwwwwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaow! Sirens, gut-punch bass and wallop - a room on fire as The Prodigy take care of business.
It's staggering to think it has been nearly two decades of anarchic dance-punk thrills they've been dishing up and even more so when you consider the sights on offer.
Maxim, as he always has been, is an awesome specimen; all rippling contours amid his red-trim blazer, bouncing dreads, white boxing boots pounding the boards and with his matching white war-paint tonight he's part Nigel Benn part Baron Samedi.
Perhaps an even greater spectacle is dancer-in-crime Keith Flint; where two years ago as the music began to sag, so did he, tonight he's transformed, shedding his bulk for a quite remarkable physique, which he reveals double-quick. Tossing aside his Vivienne Westwood-style Victorian Gentleman's hunting jacket with bondage accessories, he's soon stripping down to athletics vest to showcase his new rippling, near-complete tattooed figure.
As as the pair work up a frenzy, there's Liam Howlett, stood behind his stack marked 'Take me to the hospital' just doing what he does best - producing all that noise. And what a noise.
Opener and newie Worlds On Fire sounds like it could easily slip onto Fat Of The Land, a barnstorm of clattering jerks and buzzsaw guitars neatly segueing into a rampaging Breathe as the crowd sways uncontrollably - many finding solace (if they can) near the rear of the Academy.
Just to emphasise that this isn't The Prodigy going through the motions, Howlett reworks the smash hit into a dubstep finale, slowing the pace before a cheeky interlude is busted wide open by Omen, another previously unreleased cut from the forthcoming Invaders Must Die.
Like much of the new selections, it's instantly recognisable as The Prodigy sound, blending the cruel edges and ear-shredding beats, but where their last record Always Outnumbered, Never Outgunnedsounded tired due to their over-reliance on trad-heavy rock and guest vocals, here Howlett readdresses the balance opting in favour of old school dance and hip-hop with cheeky nods to their warehouse days. It's the kind of set which worked so well on the Dirtchamber sessions; a heady mix of Chicago dance, 80s hip-hop and enough crunchy metal to salivate those with Kerrang! at their hearts.
Indeed, only Spitfire appears from Always Outnumbered..., and while it certainly still packs a meaty punch, it fails to tear apart the senses in the way that Voodoo People (here delivered with such ferocity it sounds like the speakers may fail) and Firestarter, which is tossed out with nonchalent abandon early on.
There's more reason to eagerly await the March release of Invaders... with the inclusion of Warriors Dance, as Maxim commands the crowd to follow suit in some form of Haka-like stomp imploring, 'C'mon Liverpool, you're my fucking warriors, tear this shit up - dance!'
The pace is unrelenting and it's little surprise that Keith, after gobbing mouthfuls of water over the front few rows, takes a mini-breather allowing Maxim to hurtle through an incredible reworking of the underrated Mindfields.
By the closing encore, the soaking mass of bodies look like they've gone the distance with a Manny Pacquiao, Ricky Hatton and Oscar Dela Hoya dream team. One fella climbs the balcony to join us upstairs saying he's lost a tooth, 'but it's the best night of my life.'
They've still time to rage through a triple whammy of Diesel Power, Smack My Bitch Up and a double-funky Poison, before the whole place erupts as Out Of Space boings itself into oblivion. Then Keith wades through the crowd, climbs the mixing desk and vanishes in a whirlwind of inky sweat. You almost expect the room to blow up.
It doesn't. Instead, the house lights flick on and in some kind of beautifully orchestrated ironic twist Andy Williams' Can't Take My Eyes Off You croons from the speakers, leaving all those headed for the hospital to sing in unison 'I love you baby!'

Whats that written under No Quiet sign?

"Don't be fucking ............. Prodigy"


Love the pic with liam and the laptop!