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The Prodigy

The Day Is My Enemy

    The Prodigy have always cut a solitary path through the noise-scapes of electronic dance music. They’ve dropped five epoch defining studio albums and delivered unforgettable live performances that have taken electronic beats into unchartered territories. Throughout this time they’ve remained resolutely focused on their own vision, inspiring legions of artists along the way.

    'The Day Is My Enemy' is probably the most British sounding album you’ll hear this year. Not British in the flag waving jingoistic sense, but in a way that understands that the nighttime spaces of urban Britain are a multi-hued cacophony of cultures. If Invaders Must Die was the sound of the rusted urban sprawl decaying like an open wound in the British countryside, then 'The Day is My Enemy' is about the angry humanity existing in the decay of the urban nightmare.


    The Prodigy

    Invaders Must Die

      "Invaders Must Die" is The Prodigy's fifth album and is 40 minutes of having your head battered by future nostalgia, serotonin levels twisted by feel-good horrorcore and your synapses snapped by whiplash attitude. It's the sound of The Prodigy mixing up genres, contorting the past and rewiring the future, ram-raiding through the tranquility of music's status quo like a blot on the landscape of England's dreaming. The first thing you notice about "Invaders Must Die" is how complete it sounds, a consistent collection of bangers all firing from the same cannon. The next thing you notice about the album is just how melodic it is. Not just melody in the vocal sense but in the heyday-of-hardcore keyboard-hookline sense. Yes, if The Prodigy have learned anything from the hugely successful live shows it was that those old skool rave anthems still rock hard - and are every bit as iconic to their generation as punk was to the nation's forty-somethings. So "Invaders Must Die" is awash with references to the free party generation, thundering along like the mother of all E-rushes, all hair-tingling, spine-jumping and lips buzzing. But not a retroactive arms-in-the-air, water-sharing nostalgia trip, but a set fuelled by punk's saliva-dripping rabid snarl. Grrr!


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