Cult Following

The Prodigy at The Warehouse Project Review

• 16th December 2024
• Ewan Gleadow

Make your way through the heaving masses, those sweat-soaked bodies lining shoulder to shoulder for the mere glimpse of entertainment. Push through the barrage of pilled-up, boozed-out members of the public. Getting off the trains these days is tricky, especially with a lack of carriages. But rush down those stairs and join the Sisyphean task of entering The Warehouse Project for The Prodigy. Adapting to new conditions, from the sad loss of frontman Keith Flint to what appears to be the beginning of the end for their upcoming, unannounced album, group founder Liam Howlett and vocalist Maxim are weathering the storm as good as any group can. It is an insurmountable task, but they persevere. Their set is as refreshingly bold as it is an energetic push through the classic moments of their sound – and there are more than a few.  

Stand your ground against the many who shove and grind their way to what they believe is their calling, shirtless at the front and pointed at as the “next generation” of The Prodigy fans. That may be the case, and this mixture of braggadocious nostalgia and entitled new crowd is, as Maxim continues to call them, the Prodigy People. They are. But where The Prodigy would hope for community spirit in the face of classic tracks like opener Voodoo People and brilliant follow-up Omen, they get the sort of lurching around and sweat-induced swing of people fixated on flashing lights. Get over the miserable realities of post-COVID gigging and lean into a set as vicious and raw as The Prodigy allows. Their very best in this new age, where Maxim steps up to the plate of frontman and more than delivers.  

His confidence is the exact antidote to the understandable grief still hitting fans of The Prodigy. Firestarter is more an instrumental piece, as it was for the band at their Leedsfest set earlier this year, but it slots in nicely among fresh songs like Fight! and old, inevitable favourites like Poison. Even then, their contemporary material makes a great addition – set closer Out of Space fares well, a particularly bombastic end to a set which continues to push the band, and their audience, to its limit. Smack My Bitch Up and Diesel Power too find themselves stuffed into an encore which glides through hits and deep cuts in quick succession. Where Paul McCartney was slamming his hands through Golden Slumbers on the other side of the city, The Prodigy was making an equally liberating and effective launch through their many hits.  

The Fat of the Land is a chance for The Prodigy to acclimatise themselves to the stage. Before Coachella kicks them around, before what appears to be new material overtakes anything the band is doing right now. Consistency is rare for a band where the energies and passions are volatile. But Maxim as the new leading man is a brilliant feature, a real turn-up for Howlett and the rest as not just an ongoing tribute to the legacy Flint left behind, but as a way of making sure The Prodigy remains a staple for the next generation of warehouse-bound gig lovers. For all the sweat dripping from the roof, the condensation making for an occasionally disgusting, yet refreshing break, there is a fiery explosion from the band as they rattle through those punchy, all-time greats.  

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