THE PRODIGY: Road Rage

When I was their tour DJ (from Jockey Slut, February '87).

Watching the Prodigy bring some welcome punk spirit and mass devastation overkill to Glastonbury (best band along with Chic) got me remembering back to 1986 when they invited me to DJ on their Fat of the Land tour. Lovely chaps, ferocious onslaught live, never outgunned. Like their set tonight this is dedicated to their much-missed brother Keith Flint, a very cool soul. Wrote this somewhat battered account for Jockey Slut after the tour (Only towards the end of the tour was I informed they all wore ear-plugs!)

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THE PRODIGY HAVE TAKEN LIVE DANCE MUSIC TO ANOTHER LEVEL, INCORPORATING ROCK ICONOGRAPHY, PARENT-QUAKING HAIR AND A FIERCELY LOYAL AUDIENCE. KRIS NEEDS REPORTS FROM THE MOSHPITS, DECKS AND HOTELS OF THEIR EUROPEAN TOUR.

IN AUGUST, 1995, I went to Iceland for that ill-fated Journey To The Centre Of The World festival, caned it big time and, on getting to the airport, discovered I'd left my passport and plane ticket at the site. Had to buy a new ticket and ended up in the business class lounge with the Prodigy, who'd provided the festival with its most exciting moments. Now my deejaying at the festival had been fairly reflective of my bollocksed state. 'Christmas In Smurfland', 'Hi Ho Silver Lining', 'One-Eyed Trousersnake' and a smattering of rock 'n' roll and bangers. Got talking to the group, who found my state rather amusing. Liam asked if I'd like to DJ at their Ilford Island gig in October — "as long as you don't play the Smurfs". Turned out the request wasn't made on the basis of Iceland anyway but the Social-predating anything-goes set on the 94 Primal Scream tour. So I did Ilford and played the Clash and Stooges amidst the stormers. Then he asked me to play the '95 Christmas gigs at Blackpool and Ilford. They went okay too with 'Anarchy In The UK' bringing on the band at Brixton.

That's how I ended up as a Prodigy DJ and I haven't been the same since. It's one thing springing from the techno and big beat dives to massive halls and rock group style presentation but it just put everything into perspective. I love underground clubs and obscure dubs that 50 spotters will buy but not since the heyday of the Clash have I witnessed anything like the Prodigy. They haven't compromised an inch yet every single storms in at pole position — a couple of years after Mixmag had Liam on the cover accused of killing rave. They have a sound and image which cuts across the board from indie ­wetster to nuttered raver. They are a genuine force which seems to grow stronger with each passing Prod-event. They have an identifiable image to latch onto, a bollock blowing aural holocaust for their funk and a genuine adult-alarming punk'tude. They've never stopped gigging since they started and it shows in the deadly presentation and fierce devotion of the fans. So here I am, 20 years to the week that I first hitched up with the Clash, about to embark on their UK Breathe tour. It feels like a marriage made in wherever you like and by a few dates in I felt like I'd gained a new family.

Opening night and to Glasgow. Meet Pat, who has the enviable job of driving me and other DJ Jon Carter around in his blacked-out Merc, at the Luton roundabout on the M1. Carter's unconscious in the back cos he's been up all night doing a Kula Shaker remix. Pleasant drive, lots of scenery, first of lots of motorway food. The Prodigy are already on their way up in their compact but comfortable bus. Not for them the big sleeper with all on board.

They like a bit of space and travel with just tour manager John Fairs for company. Pat's a nice bloke although he boasts one of the worst coughs ever. Chainsmoking doesn't help. Hope we'll all make the end of the tour.

Hit Glasgow several hours later after some stunning Scottish scenery. Check into the Hilton and head down to the Barrowlands. Fuck me with a blunt doughnut look at that stage! A giant pink and black living room with furry dice speakers, gigantic lampshades over the stage, goldfish bowl, armchairs, furry phone and tuned-out TVs. Garish, tacky and totally at odds with the apocalyptic party animals about to gatecrash through the wardrobe. Keith's onstage running through 'Fuel My Fire', a cover of an old L7 tune which is the furthest yet that they've delved into full octane punk rock. Keith's got flu, which is already working its way through the touring party.

Me and Carter sit down at a table and meet the wonderful Mouse and her catering squad. Over barbecue chicken we say hello to the group. Liam comes down from the stage after fine-tuning his battery of keyboards. The musical force behind the band and a seriously nice bloke. In fact they all are. Four personalities — Liam the quiet genius and hip hop fanatic who watches over the whole operation with an eye for every detail. Maxim the ferocious MC onstage but calm offstage with a real interest in my old punk stories. I don't normally do the come and sit on my knee routine (and don't here!) but later that night in the hotel bar tell him about Sid Vicious and Johnny Thunders for an hour. Leeroy is the dancer and proverbial life and soul of the dressing room with an unparalleled line in toilet humour. If the gig's gone well he'll be sitting there spinning tales about mutual mates and their escapades while the assembled company fall about. Then there's Keith who, since pruning his locks to a technicolour mutation of the '76 Sue Catwoman style, has become a major face and, with 'Firestarter' and 'Breathe', its singing voice. Top bloke — even when I barely knew the group he took the trouble to say hello to every one of my mates and is always ready with a hysterical antic or comment. The Prodigy is a very close-knit unit. Essex family, best mates and you get the impression all the close crew members also have to fit a bill of being mates as well as being good at the job.

Jon Carter takes to the decks as the doors open and the cavernous Barrowlands gradually fills up to his patent blend of ruffneck beats and Socialist mayhem. The crowd talk, sit down, some are already dancing and it's already obvious that me and Jon are warming up in rock gig style as opposed to the 'continuous dance party' vibe favoured by some. I go on — there's no support — and launch into the mad, Stay Up Forever-style trouser tackle. Tunes like my A&E Dept remix, Kelli Hand's 'Metoh' remix, 'Energy Flash' and erm, 'Blitzkrieg Bop' by the Ramones. The Scream's 'Rocks' gets everyone singing along. Finally, with the crowd starting to resemble a large volcano on the point of eruption, I'm given the ten-minute warning and whip out the Sonic Stiffie. Me and my studio partner Henry 'D.AV.E. The Drummer' Cullen went in and recorded a tune with the express intention of building it up for the Prodigy. One copy on dub plate littered with sirens, a bit of the Stones at Altamont, 'London's Burning' by the Clash, the Scream's 'Get Yer Rocks Off' and a whole lot of acid mayhem. It does the job and as it winds up with a barrage of explosions production manager Graham Cochrane leads a team into taking down the large black curtain which hides the set.

A cup final roar goes up and there's Liam sending out some synth chords. A beat starts up like its coming out of the transistor radio next door and Maxim bounces on in kilt, fur jacket and shades. Then here's Keith in his Dirty Dozen t-shirt and sawn off strides. They continue prancing about to the distant beat, teasing a crowd in danger of complete meltdown. Finally here it comes. BOOM! The first bass note and we're off into 'Smack My Bitch Up', the politically correct new album track which sees Maxim exhorting and Keith whipping 'em up. The whole hall is going crazy and howl with the knowledge that the next 90 minutes is going to be the roller coaster of their lives. 'Voodoo People' comes next and Leeroy makes his entrance. Backstage before they go on is a hotbed of warm up exercises and psyching up. In that heat, under those lights and at that full-on intensity it's hardly surprising that oxygen tanks stand at the side of the stage (and, in case you're wondering, a good smoke is the only stimulant on hand. They even save the beer for after the show). Then its 'Breathe' — being played before its release as a single. The bass hits you in the ribcage like a road drill on heat. It really is loud and my one regret is possibly not wearing earplugs, although I kept trying it. Wasn't the same though.

Maxim introduces 'Poison' with a hearty "this one goes out to GJ Holland" before adding "you can't bite my style". I join in the cheers. How can Holland say he never heard 'Sugar Daddy' and that dreadful 'Sugar Is Sweeter' IS fuckin' 'Poison'. Sauce! By the end the whole place is jumping on Maxim's command. Another new one, 'Funky Shit' follows and it's already pretty evident that slamming, sub-savaged hip hop is providing the bedrock for the new Prod tackle. 'Weather Experience' from the last album provides its intro and the gig's true hands in the air moment.

'Their Law' brings on the latest weapon in the Prodigy arsenal — guitarist Gizz Butt from Peterborough. Normally to be found in punk group the English Dogs, Gizz provides a wired punk visual with his spiketop and leathers and splatters riff-rage all over the shop. Bouncing off the others he provides a raucous counterpart and further affirms the Prod's Electronic Punks tag. A new tune simply called 'Beats' and featuring Keith gyrating like he's being electrocuted by the brutal electricity droning out of the mega-speakers gives way to 'Mindfields' — another dark funker — before all hell breaks loose with the intro to 'Firestarter'. Keith's back in bondage gear and all over the place. Outrageous. The new 'Rock 'N' Roll' maintains the pressure before they go out with the oldest tune on offer, 'No Good (Start The Dance)', which sees some of the crowd being invited up to cavort with the boys. Interestingly it's usually the ladies in the skimpiest tops who get hoisted up. 'Fuel My Fire' works a treat as a first encore before it all goes out on the controlled mania of 'Gabba'. With the place in uproar I decide that the only record to close the night can be 'Born Slippy'.

Back in the dressing room the group chill and dissect the new show. Of course there were gremlins and Keith felt like shit but overall it's a thumbs-up and back to the hotel bar.