The Prodigy usually conduct their cyberpunk black masses in much bigger rooms, so seeing them at the Olympia is already a treat. The show has been sold out for months and the place is rammed. This is also their first Paris appearance without Keith Flint, four years after his death, and his absence inevitably hangs over a band whose music and image were so closely tied to him.
“Breathe” opens the show and the crowd immediately goes apeshit. For the next ninety minutes the Olympia becomes a post-apocalyptic rave, bodies jumping, dancing and crashing into one another as Liam Howlett unloads that vicious mixture of techno, punk, breakbeats and industrial noise. The Prodigy have always made electronic music with the physical impact of a rock band, and the relatively small confines of the Olympia only make it more brutal.
Maxim is now the sole frontman and takes on more of the visual burden, prowling the stage while Howlett remains behind the machinery. There has been no new album since No Tourists five years earlier, but “Voodoo People,” “Omen,” “Invaders Must Die,” “Smack My Bitch Up” and the rest hardly need new material around them to sound dangerous. The beats are enormous, the pace barely lets up and the audience responds with ninety minutes of sustained violence.
Flint is given his own moment during an instrumental “Firestarter,” his unmistakable silhouette projected in lasers behind the band while Maxim stands motionless in deference. It is simple and genuinely moving, partly because nobody attempts to fill the space Flint left behind. His death changed The Prodigy permanently and they make no attempt to pretend otherwise.
But they are still The Prodigy. Still obnoxiously loud, confrontational, physical and capable of turning one of Paris's grand old theatres into a sweaty rave. Carrying on without Flint was always going to be difficult. On this evidence, the best tribute is to keep the beats going.
But they are still The Prodigy. Still obnoxiously loud, confrontational, physical and capable of turning one of Paris's grand old theatres into a sweaty rave. Carrying on without Flint was always going to be difficult. On this evidence, the best tribute is to keep the beats going.
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