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Song Listing
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Smack My Bitch Up
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Breathe
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Diesel Power
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Funky Shit
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Serial Thrilla
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Mindfields
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Narayan
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8.
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Firestarter
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Climbatize
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Fuel My Fire
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Inside CD Booklet

Song Listing From CD Booklet

Back of CD Booklet

Inside of Jewel Case

Back of Jewel Case
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Rarely has a pop trend so shamelessly been spoon-fed to America as the catch-all genre dubbed "electronica." Rarely, indeed, has the music industry tried so hard to convince us that the Next Big Thing is in fact a done deal -- that another wave of English boys holds the future in its hands and we'd better get used to it.
Lately, dissenting voices have questioned the wisdom of the electronica hype. America, they argue, will never embrace the underground subculture of techno. Geeky boys with keyboards may find in-crowd success in the country's hipper conurbations, they argue, but will the Chemical Brothers ever rock Cleveland?
Enter the Prodigy, four manic street ravers from the British working-class county of Essex, and their bullishly titled third album, "The Fat of the Land." To say that the Prodigy aren't self-effacing synth nerds would be a comical understatement. To suggest that they are the Sex Pistols of techno would not even be such an exaggeration. What the Prodigy have done, quite simply, is to drag techno out of the communal nirvana of the rave and turn it into outlandish punk theater -- and they've done it brilliantly.
The group's chief weapon is not its menacing cyber-yob frontman, Keith Flint (made famous in the U.S. by the "Firestarter" video), nor its leering rapper, Maxim, but its one-man engine room, Liam Howlett. A loopy genius of the u-Ziq or Aphex Twin variety he's not, but on "The Fat of the Land," Howlett has gone boldly where no techno maestro has gone before, easily surpassing the Prodigy's 1994 opus, "Music for the Jilted Generation," and fashioning some of the most ferociously exciting music of the year so far.
The point of "The Fat of the Land" is that it packs all the visceral punch of rock at its incendiary best - not least on the frantic, panic-inducing "Firestarter." There is nothing genial or Kraftwerk-ish about Howlett's seismic bass grooves or skittering drum programs. Nor is Howlett exactly shy about his rock references. Crunching guitars abound on the album, and a moshworthy cover of L7's "Fuel My Fire" rounds it out. "Climbatize" all but steals the pulsing pre-climax keyboard riff of the Who's "Won't Get Fooled Again," and the savage "Serial Thrilla" (sampling Skunk Anansie's "Selling Jesus") is as rabid as any Rage Against the Machine track. The debt to the Pistols, meanwhile, is only too explicit in the chorus of "Breathe," a thrilling paean to drug psychosis that already has topped the charts in eight countries.
Howlett labored on "The Fat of the Land" for the better part of two years, and the results speak for themselves. His grasp of rhythm and texture -- and of basic song structure -- has matured immeasurably from the days when the Prodigy were churning out frenetic rave novelties such as "Charly." Howlett may reject the cerebral world of ambient, but he also has left behind the simplistic, hyperventilated hard-core techno of old. Squelching synths bounce round each other on "Mindfields," creating a mesmerizing funk force field. On "Breathe," everything drops out for eight bars to make way for a mournful, Joy Division-ish guitar riff. Voices from India and North Africa, alternately seductive and sinister, seep into "Narayan" (a collaboration with Kula Shaker's Crispian Mills) and the furious opening track, "Smack My Bitch Up." Only when Howlett opts for more-conventional formulas -- the old-school hyper-rave of "Funky Shit" (which includes a Beastie Boys sample) or the pounding hip-hop of "Diesel Power" (featuring formidable Kool Keith, a k a Dr. Octagon) -- does "The Fat of the Land" lose its roller-coaster momentum.
Nevertheless, the Prodigy are greeting the dystopian future with a crazed kind of glee -- there is no premillennial tension on this album. Nor do they appear to be very interested in the '60s. Whereas the Chemical Brothers are casting a fan's eye back to the psychedelic past of "Tomorrow Never Knows" and Lothar and the Hand People, the Prodigy are crafting futuristic soundtracks for disfranchised youth -- populist electro punk that serves as a perfect Brit counterpart to the industrial noir of Trent Reznor or the jittery soundscapes of Wu-Tang Clan's RZA.
"The Fat of the Land" is a thrilling, intoxicating nightmare of a record, an energy flash of supernova proportions. "This is dangerous," spits Maxim on "Mindfields." "Open up your head; feel the shell shock!" If America can accept Keith Flint as a psycho-cyberpunk frontman -- and accept the rest of the group's in-your-face hooliganism while it's at it -- there's no telling how far the Prodigy's marriage of man and machine could take them. (RS 766)
Copyright � 1968-1998 Rolling Stone
Network. All Rights Reserved.
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Shovel through the mountain of hype heaped upon this electronic rock entourage - the countless magazine covers, the MTV heavy rotation and the recent battle with N.O.W and you'll eventually dig down to the real reason why Prodigy made such a huge name for itself in `97: Liam Howlett and company recorded one of the most adventurous, original and, yes, accessible, electronic-based records in a very long time indeed. Combining techno production with a raucous punk attitude and a cock-sure hip-hop swagger. The Fat Of The Land gave a facelift to this long-standing, pioneering breakbeat troupe and proved that electronic producers could rock as hard as they rolled. Think what you will, but when the slew of copycats begin to surface in `98, don't forget that Prodigy built this bandwagon with its bare hands.
� 1978-1998 College Media, Inc. All rights reserved.
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Producer Liam Howlett has a curious habit of writing tracks that define entire musical movements. Prodigy's 1991 debut, The Experience, pushed the European rave scene to its limit with a hypnotic breakbeat fury that channeled all the excitement, energy and euphoria of the culture. Then Howlett moved on, redefining Prodigy's sound with '95s Music For The Jilted Generation, a grittier mesh of tribal rhythms and distorted loops that, once again, led the sound of the new underground. Now, with the vocal edge of white-eyed Maxim and crazed-faced Keith Flint, Prodigy takes its creation one massive step forward with Fat Of The Land, whose addictive song hooks, insane aural animation and razor-sharp electronics kick harder than almost any rock record you'll hear this year. The sonic bombshell of "Firestarter" and the rock-hop pounce of "Breathe" are obvious highlights, but look deeper to find the truly definitive masterpieces, such as "Diesel Power" a techno-meets-hip-hop killer whose relentless loops and samples are graced by the languid vocals of Dr. Octagon's Kool Keith or "Narayan," a Middle-Eastern breakbeat hymn that features vocals by Kula Shaker's Crispian Mills. Look also to the punk-laced s narls of "Serial Thrilla" and "Fuel My Fire," or the dancefloor swirl of "Funky Shit."
M. TYL COMER
� 1978-1998 College Media, Inc. All rights reserved.
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