Bring the Noise

Delhi wasn’t quite ready for the extravagant genius of The Prodigy. But it rose to the occasion. Literally too

Let’s start making it clear that The Prodigy is much more than just a band or a live act—it’s a shapeshifter, a firestarter, a cult. And like any cult, it has elements of the magical, addictive, controversial, and the truly bizarre. For the uninitiated, a good introduction would be the group’s defining music video, Smack My Bitch Up. If you haven’t seen it (or if you saw it on television in India, which was the censored version), go find it on the internet now.

The video is The Prodigy: wild, crazy, scandalous, and always treading an ambiguous line between good and evil. It follows an unidentified person through a night of clubbing, imbibing substantial amounts of alcohol and drugs, getting into fights, attempting to sexually exploit women, getting a lap dance, and finally having (explicit) sex with the same dancer. And the concluding twist: a mirror reveals the person to be a woman.

The song and video were released in 1997 to massive criticism from, among others, the UK National Organization for Women, who believed the lyrics were offensive and advocated violence towards women, as well as being suggestive of dispensing ‘smack’ (heroin). The upshot of the controversy? The video was only aired late at night. It would later be voted the ‘most controversial video’ by MTV. Several retailers stopped selling the album, The Fat of the Land, entirely, despite the fact that it had hit number one on the charts and was a milestone in the history of dance music.

The band reacted by refusing to give in to the criticism or apologise for their message, whatever it may have been. The thing is, they had by then earned the right to do what they wanted. Though their origins lay in the underground rave scene, The Prodigy were no less than rock stars. They were headlining festivals usually reserved for rock royalty, occupying a space in which dance artists had never before been seen. Madonna had endorsed them by signing The Fat of the Land, their third album, to her label, Maverick Records, for release in the US. Their wildly successful single, Firestarter, was a huge international hit. The Prodigy maintained that Smack My Bitch Up had been misinterpreted, and that they had the freedom to perform it without concessions being made to anyone’s sensitivity—or negativity.

It’s this deliberate outrageousness, this brazen, self-assured recklessness that has elicited the support The Prodigy continues to command. Their music is the main ingredient, of course, but their rock-star vibe and their high-powered, hard-edged live performances—more onslaught than immersion—are an equally significant part of the package. Not to mention the band’s revolutionary music videos: anyone who was part of the ‘MTV generation’ of the 1990s is familiar with the pioneering role these played in the story of electronic music.

Their sound is an esoteric fusion of styles: The Prodigy’s distinctive, entirely idiosyncratic take on an underground form of breakbeat that mashes up punk vocal elements, the heavy guitar and basslines of electro-rock, 90s rave music and hardcore techno. Just as rock and psychedelic music shaped the 1960s and 70s, rave and all its anti-establishment offspring (jungle, drum ’n’ bass, psy-trance) spoke to an entire generation of people listening to electronic music in the 1990s. Its proponents, like The Prodigy, took music back from the industry onto the streets and into warehouses and outdoor parties, spreading the message of subversion across the world.

On a cold mid-January evening in Gurgaon this past weekend, the question was: could the music of our rebellious youth be brought successfully within the confines of a mainstream music festival? It was already clear that Eristoff Invasion—organised by OML and UKNY—was a rare affair for our capital. The frosty weather apart, it was reminiscent of those fantastically well-organised festivals, Sunburn and The Big Chill, both held in Goa, a more conventional choice for lovers of EDM. The scale of the event was incredible: the promoters say the concert was one of the country’s “biggest-ever productions.” Since India didn’t have enough strobe lights to match the festival’s needs, 70 strobes were brought down from the UK in addition to all the local ones. It was not an exaggerated claim that the “best lighting and sound equipment in the world had been brought in to create the same production-scale that fans at European and American festivals experience.”

The line-up was kickstarted by The Prodigy’s personal DJ, Heavy G, followed by a DJ set by one of India’s most prolific electronic acts, Jalebee Cartel, who had put together a special breaks set just for the occasion. Arjun Vagale, one of the founding members of Jalebee, was enthusiastic about sharing a billing with The Prodigy: “I’ve been listening to them since 1994—they shaped a whole generation of people as far as electronic music is concerned. They’re one of the greats, one of the three bands I consider legends—the Chemical Brothers, Under-world and The Prodigy.”

This comparison with the Chemical Brothers is not an uncommon one: both bands are known for their breakbeat sound, which features a distorted, syncopated rhythm, heavy bass and an extensive use of loops and samples—the hooks of both Smack My Bitch Up and Out of Space were sampled from tracks by a hip hop MC.

The explosive Jalebee set was appreciated for its innovativeness: the boys normally play house and techno. But doing something special was clearly the theme; the Midival Punditz, who played next, also pulled out all stops. Tapan Raj, one half of the duo, told me, “Opening for The Prodigy was a dream come true. These guys are pretty much single-handedly responsible for inspiring us to start making music. And they’re still as bad-ass as they were when they started—perhaps even more so.” The first part of the Punditz set featured some of their newer, experimental tracks, but it was the second half, with remixes of older and beloved tracks, that had hands in the air.

Pentagram, perhaps India’s most famous rock band, and Pendulum, a popular Australian drum ’n’ bass outfit, were up next. Both kept the crowd’s energy high, especially Pentagram—fans of The Prodigy are well divided between genres, and the metal-heads also got their fix.

Concessions had to be made to the authorities, who were concerned about people getting drunk and rowdy near the stage. So the bars were located in a separate section, and guards strictly ensured that no drinks were brought stage-side. They probably didn’t factor in that most people felt obliged to drink quickly and in greater quantities than they would have otherwise. By the time The Prodigy hit the stage, literally half the audience was milling about outside. But the urgency with which they collectively surged back towards the stage was an experience in itself. The deliberate exaggeration of the announcement, “Ladies and gentlemen… The Prodigy!” was equalled by the implausible amount of energy pulsing through the audience as they prepared for what they knew was to come. Even if you had no idea what was in store, the exuberance was overwhelming.

To illuminate why, exactly, this festival was the big deal it was, here are a few figures. Number of people who attended in Gurgaon: 10,000. Some of the countries in which tickets for the concert were sold: Canada, France, Germany, Norway, Sweden, the UK, Ireland, Australia and Korea. Number of albums sold by The Prodigy: 25 million. Last time the band topped UK music charts: 2009 and 2010, with their recent album, Invaders Must Die, one of the bestselling independent albums ever. Another record they hold: the ‘most influential dance act of all time’, as voted by the BBC. And finally, the amount of equipment freighted in from Europe for the festival: 5,000 kg.

The band’s main man, Liam Howlett (producer, programmer, keyboardist) is the founding member and creative genius behind The Prodigy; he’s joined by Keith Flint (dancer, occasional vocalist) and Maxim (MC, occasional vocalist). All three have some apparent similarities: an unnervingly freaky punk-look, manic energy, and a visceral madness. Earlier, I had wondered if staid Delhi would be able to offer an appropriate setting for the groundbreaking, pioneering noise the band is known for. I don’t use the word ‘noise’ lightly: it was sheer sound and fury out there. The lights were a spectacle, glaring like a scream in perfect tandem with the distorted bass. And it seemed that I was in for a bigger revelation than everyone around, who looked as happy (and unsurprised) as a bunch of kids at a play park. For the performance was entirely electrifying and in the unlikeliest of places at that—a makeshift stadium next to the fabled Kingdom of Dreams. The front rows were transformed into a mosh pit. Their band’s genre-bending sound ensured that the country’s entire array of music lovers was in attendance: punk rockers, hippies, techno junkies, hip hop boys, electro-heads, and of course, pockets of headbangers scattered all over, bouncing up against each other in sheer ecstasy.

It was an eye-opener, I hope, for the normally rigid authorities to the possibility of such events taking place without the entire audience collapsing in a drug-induced coma. Not to make a joke of it, but, well, why not? If ravers and rock fans can come together, can’t we all? Certainly part of the message conveyed by The Prodigy is that performances should be fun and humorous, that the gravity of life can effectively be turned on its head, and that when the freaks come out to play, we should all jump in.

About The Author

Anees Saigal