PRODIGY IGNITE GLASTONBURY - LITERALLY

The normal procedure for "the press" (journos and photographers like yours truly) to cover a show at Glastonbury is within the confines of the press pit, i.e. in front of the barricades yet just below the stage itself, to afford a clean and safe view. Under normal circumstances, if anything could ever be normal at Glastonbury, one might have felt rather comfy in the pit as opposed to battling for air among the teeming mob of over one-hundred thousand screeming fans beyond...

However, on this occasion your editor-in-chief felt it may in fact be safer to be away from Keith and company, and besides, the press are only allowed to witness three songs before being herded off to the next attraction - not ideal for an in-depth live review then. So into the heaving field I went armed with a notebook, zoom lens, hard hat and steel tipped wellies.

Soon enough Keith appears in skintight red jeans and a white tank top, while Maxim addresses the crowd in black, and Liam takes up his very central role buried beneath a mountain of laptops and technology centre-stage. Light and sound simultaneously explode to the opening chant of "WORLD'S ON FIRE", possibly the most manic track off the Prodigy's latest studio album, "INVADERS MUST DIE" clocking in at a relentless 147 bpm. Anything and everything that could behave as a projectile was summarily dispatched heavenwards by a now totally rabid crowd, a crowd that had waited all weekend to finally stomp Pilton's finest field into oblivion, like the warriors they were called to be.

An exciting transition into "BREATHE" occurs and then onto a dub version of the same track (as if to prove that there is some semblance of "live" in this performance) and all is going swimmingly. Then the somewhat cheesy synth lead of "OMEN" breaks through together with the fattest drum break post 2000, and suddenly every single man, woman and child within 20 000 people of me is screaming "Now! The writings on the wall, it won't go away. It's an omen. You just run an automation!" and so on. Good grief!

How do ALL these people know the lyrics? I am talking EVERYONE from the eleven-year-olds to the sixty-year-olds. From the dowdy Douglas next to me, to the dizzy Lizzy and her gaggle of friends. EVERYONE is screaming EVERY word at the top of their lungs. It becomes difficult to be objective and stifle the odd giggle, or gooseflesh as each sonic assault tumbles from the sound system, which edges the crowd into ever higher states of delirium.

It would seem that despite the shift away from breakbeats and drum and bass in the mainstream of popular music, "INVADERS MUST DIE" has seen nothing less than a total resurrection for the godfathers of rave - and they are here to reward the fans with the most outrageous lighting show Glastonbury has ever seen. It makes Close Encounters of the Third kind look like a junior school nativity scene.

"THEIR LAW" is up next, and we are reminded of the innovation in the percussion department that has been the mainstay of Liam and co's success. It really is breathtaking and Liam doesn't break a sweat while Keith and Maxim are put through their paces hurling expletives at a breakneck pace too. The only thing stopping your correspondent from loosing the plot entirely and going berserk like everyone around him is a sense of duty to finish the review in one piece!

"POISON" goes down well, its slower pace a good idea under the circumstances, but by the time the haunting sax riff of "WARRIOR'S DANCE" (the catchiest track off the latest album by far) weaves its way into the audience, it has a hard job finding its way through the smog created by hand-held flares being bandied about by frenzied fans. Sparks are showering all over fellow men, but none seem to care as the trademark old-skool breakbeats induce the old knees to the ears syndrome. There isn't anyone standing still for miles, and of course no-one can see the stage for all the flying debris and gunpowder.

"FIRESTARTER" is up next, although it may as well have been the opener with this crowd, but again, it has to be said that the lyrics off the Prodigy's pre-millennium back catalogue appear less known to this young crowd. It sits well here but has never been a favourite of mine, and neither is the follow up "RUN WITH THE WOLVES" which is frankly not art at all, just mere cymbal bashing and crashing ala Spinal Tap, unlike the percussion of "VOODOO PEOPLE" up next...

"VOODOO PEOPLE" is probably the Prodigy at their zenith - a veritable blitzkrieg of chattering hi-hats and claps that are the perfect companion to what sounds like an eight-bit sample of a Bollywood diva being cut to shreds, with weirdo synth bits and a bass-line so fast it has never been topped. Mothers of young children are relieved to hear the reprise of "OMEN" sneak in again to get the heart rate back into the safety zone. Of course that's all in vain as "INVADERS MUST DIE" cranks up. For the first time yours truly realises that the title concerns a threat to musical plagiarists and charlatans who might want to take rave's mantle from the Prodigy, not geographical invaders per se. Here in the trashed out fields of Pilton however, this army could have been ordered to march until Christmas.

When the sluggish sub-sonics of "DIESEL POWER" and its switchblade swiping finally cut through the thick air, I am convinced that the Prodigy's legacy is well intact, if not rather out of reach. Like a large shiny trophy glued to the highest shelf in the cabinet, the bombastic syncopation of this track is unparalleled in hip-hop and the rap is not half bad either. Not easily toppled methinks, but HOT CHIP may as well have a good go.

"SMACK MY BITCH UP" is predictably well received, and "TAKE ME TO THE HOSPITAL" sees the Prodigy pissing all over the legacy of Jonny Rotten. These guys are genuinely scary and here again, the debt that bands like the Chemical Brothers and a host of forgotten "big beat" stars owe to none other than Liam Howlett is palpable. The reception to these penultimate songs would have been almost unthinkable five years ago when Liam had abandoned his "stage monkeys" (Keith and Maxim) in order to live a vaguely normal life and write the unpopular (ok - crap) album that was "ALWAYS OUTNUMBERED, NEVER OUTGUNNED".

Thankfully the Prodigy turned back to their roots for the last album and embraced the madness that is theirs and theirs alone and honed it like the legitimate form it is : DRUM AND BASS! The show ends with "OUT OF SPACE" - their reggae sampling hit that took rave into the mainstream. The rest was history, and just like the other dinosaurs strutting their stuff at Glasto this year, it is very good to see that the Prodigy know they have turf to protect for future generations, jilted or otherwise.

Respect!