The Fat Of The Land

The three singles are pretty good - esp. Breathe and Firestarter. The rest ends up sounding like filler to be honest.

last birthday album of my 1001 journey, what a gift.

Great rock music (and I am taking a broad definition of ’rock’ here) is a balance between smart and dumb. And The Prodigy really understand how that works. Liam Howlett told SPIN that “I have a philosophy that our music works on a really dumb level, which is the level that most people understand.” Well, mission accomplished; he took the most exciting aspects of techno and rave, mashed it with rock guitars, hip hop beats, volume and distortion, and a brace of charismatic front men to create an exciting and powerful hybrid that really gets the blood pumping. It’s aggressive, sure, but this record sounds bucking great and really gets me hyped up! It’s got a great beat, and I can bug out to it! Banging tunes! Five stars! Let’s get munted and dance! But I think Mr Howlett is being disingenuous when he claims his music operates purely on the ‘dumb’ level. He is a smart and sophisticated musician, and this album didn’t come together by accident. There are deliberate ambition and craft here. And this is where is becomes necessary to discuss That Song. I don’t even want to type the name out in full because it contains a misogynistic slur that I won’t use, in a violent context that is just inexcusable. The band’s claims that “oh yeah, it doesn’t mean that, it just means we’re really hyped up!” is absolute bullshit, and a prime example of Schrodinger’s Asshole (a person who says racist, sexist or out of pocket shit and acts like it’s a joke or not based off the people’s reaction). I am not sure I would go as far as Jesse Dorris’ retrospective review in Pitchfork that describes the whole album as the national anthem of the toxic masculinity backlash, but I am certainly giving her arguments a lot of serious consideration. (Let’s not forget that this came out on Madonna’s Maverick label, yet more evidence that Madonna may be an icon of female agency, but not necessarily a feminist role model). Personally, I find most of their aggression cartoonish and relatively harmless – but I can certainly understand being upset and freaked out by That Song. To paraphrase Jessica Hopper in her massively insightful book 'The First Collection of Criticism by a Living Female Rock Critic'; how are we supposed to feel about the loooooong history of popular music that we think is awesome, but _hates_ women at the same time? That Song is another vivid but sadly commonplace example of a catchy song that misogynistically threatens and condones violence against women. What is that like for female music fans to live through? This makes me – a straight, white, male rock fan – pretty uncomfortable, so I can imagine it would be very unsettling for many women. So, five stars for the banging tunes, 1 star for obnoxious misogyny that leaves a terrible taste in my mouth, averaging out at an uncomfortable 3 stars, subject to further review.

I dislike electronic music but this album is fire. If any electonic music desrves a spot this might be it

Producing an album like this will earn you a nice house in Hampstead.

RATING: 6/10 HIGHLIGHT: Climbatize LOWLIGHT: Narayan

Firestarter you will live FOREVER 4.75 rounded down to 4. Favorite tracks: Serial Thrilla ; Narayan ; Firestarter ; Climbatize ; Fuel My Fire

you can say that this album... starts a fire *wink*

Eu adoro Jungle/DnB. Dito isso, algumas faixas neste album são meio filler, mas em geral achei maneiro. Destaque para uma das melhores capas da história.

4/10

I bought this when it came out and I thought I really liked it. 30 years later I was just waiting for the end.

Just no

cool, fun, experimental and ear-pleasing. 80/100

I lived through the controversy surrounding “Smack My Bitch Up” in 1997, and I remember being thoroughly exasperated by it. Not especially outraged, not particularly shocked, but possessed of a weary sense of disbelief that a band capable of producing some of the most genuinely unsettling popular music of the decade should choose such a spectacularly stupid hill to die on. Nearly thirty years later, listening to *The Fat of the Land* from beginning to end has done nothing to diminish that irritation. Quite the opposite. The further I progressed through the album, the more astonished I became by Liam Howlett's musical imagination, and the more ridiculous the whole business seemed. I should establish immediately that “Smack My Bitch Up” leaves me as unmoved today as it did in 1997. It's certainly propulsive, and Howlett's production has all the muscular confidence we've come to expect, but compared with the remarkable compositions surrounding it, I find it oddly slight. It lacks the distinctive musical personality of “Breathe” or “Firestarter”, the exhilarating rhythmic invention of “Funky Shit”, or the extraordinary sense of purpose that characterises “Narayan”. It's a perfectly serviceable piece of aggressive electronic music, but one whose cultural notoriety has vastly exceeded its musical significance. The argument about the sample from Ultramagnetic MCs' “Give the Drummer Some” is familiar enough. The Prodigy maintained that the expression referred to doing something with maximum intensity rather than violence against women. That interpretation might explain why Howlett found the phrase attractive, but it doesn't exhaust the perfectly reasonable meanings other people might attach to it. Artists don't enjoy exclusive ownership of the implications of their work, however confidently they explain their intentions. What particularly bothers me isn't necessarily the initial decision to use the sample. I could accept that as a spectacular failure to read the room. It's the subsequent succession of decisions that makes me despair. Opening the album with it, releasing it as the third single, commissioning that notorious video, and repeatedly doubling down on the whole enterprise. Each stage provided another opportunity to reconsider whether this was really the statement they wanted to make. Instead, they appeared increasingly determined to defend it. There was a particular sort of mid-to-late-1990s cultural swagger that encouraged this behaviour. A rather cokey mixture of bravado, excess, inflated self-belief and the assumption that causing offence was itself evidence of artistic daring. It made for some thrilling times, producing extraordinary music and occasionally spectacular performances, but it also permitted a considerable amount of juvenile thinking to masquerade as artistic sophistication. I've come to think of the mentality as *confidence lacking curiosity*. Once you're sufficiently convinced of your own brilliance, other people's objections cease to be information worth considering. They become further evidence that you're doing something terribly important. And yet the supreme irony of this album is that Liam Howlett's musical curiosity is almost inexhaustible. “Breathe” remains one of the most extraordinary records of its era. I remember first encountering it on MTV2 when my daughter Astrid wasn't quite a year old. It was a particularly cosy period of domestic life, and there's something wonderfully incongruous about remembering those warm, intimate days against a soundtrack of addiction, frenzy and psychological disintegration. The music and the memory have become inseparable, despite their entirely different emotional temperatures. The video was extraordinary, too. That oppressive, decaying interior, the insects, the sense of an environment becoming increasingly hostile, and the astonishing physical performances of Keith Flint and Maxim Reality. It was a complete psychological nightmare, and I couldn't stop watching. Musically, “Breathe” is an absolute marvel. That insinuating riff, the carefully controlled claustrophobia, the extraordinary use of the Wu-Tang-derived sample as a piece of rhythmic punctuation. Howlett's approach to sampling is worth examining closely because he's not merely lifting an attractive fragment from somebody else's record and incorporating it into his own. He's recognising possibilities in the source material that may have little to do with its original function. A sound becomes an interruption, a rhythmic accent, a threat, an instruction to the arrangement to change direction. It's sampling as composition, and Howlett is exceptionally good at it. But the vocals are just as remarkable. Flint and Maxim produce performances of an abrasiveness seldom tolerated by mainstream British pop, and their contrasting characters are central to the effect. Maxim brings a low-register authority, an unsettling impression of control, while Flint seems to be continually threatening to lose his. That magnificent, rhythmically articulated declaration of psychosomatic addiction became so ubiquitous that merely encountering an accidental suggestion of its rhythm in the surrounding noise of a pub could prompt someone to reproduce the vocal and reduce an entire table to guffaws. It was an extraordinary cultural achievement: one of the most menacing pop performances imaginable had become a shared joke, instantly recognisable to millions. The Prodigy had found a way to make genuine musical horror function as irresistible popular entertainment. “Diesel Power” demonstrates a different kind of intelligence. The opening establishes an oppressive sense of portent, with an absolutely enormous bass presence and upper percussion that seems to lope and shuffle around it. There's something wonderfully unstable about the rhythmic relationship. The low end feels almost immovable, while everything above it is constantly adjusting its position. Kool Keith's flow is the glue that holds the composition together. His delivery has an extraordinary rhythmic assurance, providing continuity across the changing instrumental textures without surrendering any of its personality. Howlett's arrangement and Keith's vocal performance are entirely complementary. It's a magnificent example of hip-hop and electronic production meeting on equal terms. And then “Funky Shit” arrives, and all hell breaks loose. What an absolutely immense recording. The Beastie Boys sample from “Root Down”, those glorious brass interjections from the theme to *S.W.A.T.*, the irresistible groove and the sheer exuberance of Howlett's rhythmic construction. He's having tremendous fun with his source material, but there's nothing careless about the arrangement. Every intervention arrives with precision, each borrowed fragment acquiring an entirely new musical purpose. The coda is extraordinary, too. Having established this gloriously funky environment, Howlett sends it careering into a menacing, lysergic landscape of sirens and electronic disturbance. It's like watching a particularly enjoyable party develop into an increasingly alarming police operation. The presence of the Beastie Boys sample introduces an interesting historical irony, given their subsequent objections to The Prodigy's performances of “Smack My Bitch Up”. Here were musicians who clearly shared a fascination with hip-hop, sampling and aggressive rhythmic construction, yet found themselves publicly disagreeing about the responsibilities accompanying artistic expression. And there's that bloody controversy again. I found myself returning to it repeatedly, not because it prevented me from enjoying the music, but because the music was becoming so astonishingly good that Howlett's earlier judgement seemed increasingly inexplicable. “Serial Thrilla” makes the contradiction even sharper. The Nirvana-flavoured frenzy of distorted guitars and electronic percussion is accompanied by another extraordinary Keith Flint performance. What increasingly strikes me about Flint is that he isn't simply an aggressive vocalist. He's the voice of previously voiceless menace. Addiction, temptation, disruption, danger: these are forces that usually exist as abstractions, impulses or consequences. Flint gives them physical presence. He doesn't merely describe them. He becomes them, delivering performances that make otherwise intangible threats feel as though they've acquired a body and are advancing towards you. It's a remarkable piece of theatrical intelligence, and one that Howlett understands how to exploit musically. Flint's voice is not simply sitting above the instrumental arrangement. It's another element within the machinery, capable of disrupting and destabilising everything surrounding it. “Mindfields” demonstrates that Howlett doesn't always require such spectacular aggression to achieve his effects. Here the defining characteristic is withheld pressure. The opening establishes an extraordinary sense of apprehension, a genuine *what now?* moment after the relentless energy of the preceding tracks. The sub-bass is magnificent, booming and blooming into the surrounding space. Rather than merely underpinning the rhythm, it seems to fill the environment with the possibility of something enormous approaching. What particularly fascinated me was the relationship between the synthesisers. They seem to be conducting a conversation, speaking sub-linguistically and exchanging comments on the rhythm. One intervenes, another responds, a third appears to offer some incomprehensible observation. They have the gestures and inflections of language without quite becoming language themselves. It's a wonderfully animated arrangement, despite its oppressive atmosphere. And Maxim Reality is superb. His measured authority is exactly what the composition requires. When he announces that this is dangerous, the declaration carries conviction because the music has already established the threat. Flint is the danger escaping; Maxim is the danger introducing itself. Then comes “Narayan”, and the album achieves something approaching transcendence. Crispian Mills brings a psych-spiritual quality to Howlett's surging electronic arrangement, but the remarkable thing is how disciplined the composition remains. The groove is tightly controlled, the rhythmic foundation established with absolute confidence. Mills is allowed to develop his incantatory performance without the music becoming aimless or self-indulgent. Consequently, when the *Om Namo Narayana* mantra arrives, it drops like a stone. That's the extraordinary achievement of the piece. Something ostensibly spiritual and transcendent acquires tremendous physical weight. Rather than floating above the music, the invocation seems to descend into it, becoming part of the force of the arrangement. “Narayan” also helped clarify something fundamental about Howlett as a composer. I'd recently been listening to *90* by 808 State, and the comparison is revealing. That record is often content to explore a groove, allowing musical ideas to wander and textures to develop without necessarily insisting upon an immediate payoff. There's an exploratory quality to it, a willingness to inhabit an environment and see what emerges. Howlett is much more interested in immediacy. He has an extraordinary instinct for identifying a compelling musical idea and placing it squarely in the listener's path. Where 808 State sometimes invite you to wander through a composition, Howlett grabs you by the lapels and shows you what's happening. At heart, I think he's an exceptionally gifted composer of pop singles. That might seem a peculiar observation about someone responsible for such ferocious electronic music, but the evidence is everywhere. His hooks don't necessarily depend upon melody. They can be a rhythmic pattern, an extraordinary sample, an interruption, a vocal inflection or a particularly memorable electronic texture. Whatever their source, they're organised into compositions with unmistakable identities and carefully constructed moments of release. And “Narayan” doesn't contradict this. At over nine minutes, it operates with the structural discipline of a great pop single, simply extended to accommodate material that requires more time. Mills needs room to establish the mantra. Howlett understands that the payoff will be more powerful if he allows that process to unfold. It's pop architecture operating on a larger timescale, and it's magnificent. At this point I found myself thinking about “Smack My Bitch Up” again. How could somebody capable of creating something as disciplined, ambitious and genuinely transcendent as “Narayan” be so determined to defend a relatively inconsequential provocation? Wilfully daft. And then comes “Firestarter”, which makes the comparison almost cruel. This is an astonishingly well-structured pop record, a hammering roller coaster of electronic aggression, distorted guitars and irresistible rhythmic hooks. The Art of Noise sample from “Close (To the Edit)” is deployed with marvellous precision, repeatedly insisting the music onwards. Everything seems perpetually on the verge of flying apart, yet the underlying construction is meticulous. And Flint! That extraordinary performance, with its sneering delivery, manic physicality and almost equine snorts, remains one of the most genuinely unsettling things I've ever encountered in mainstream popular music. The black-and-white video, filmed in that oppressive underground tunnel, was genuinely frightening when it appeared on family television. The complaints that followed, and the subsequent withdrawal of the video from BBC broadcasts, testify to how unexpectedly disturbing audiences found it. But what a piece of work it was. Flint looked like something had escaped from an institution, discovered popular music and decided to terrorise everybody within earshot. And somehow this became enormous chart pop. That's the kind of artistic provocation I admire. The music is frightening because the band have used extraordinary imagination to make it frightening. The threat is embodied in the arrangement, the performance, the images and the sheer physical aggression of the sound. Compared with the genuinely unsettling horror of “Firestarter”, the whole SMBU business seems schoolboyishly puerile. Which brings me to a distinction that became increasingly important during the listening. There's an enormous difference between making people uncomfortable through the imaginative power of your art and assuming that making people uncomfortable is, in itself, an artistic achievement. The Prodigy were masters of the former. Their handling of SMBU suggests they occasionally mistook the latter for an equally worthwhile accomplishment. “Climbatize” offers yet another demonstration of Howlett's gifts. It fades into existence with something of the monumental grandeur of the KLF's Stadium House period, as though the music is gradually appearing over a distant horizon. Then the pitch-wheel distortions begin interfering with that apparent solidity, making the whole structure seem faintly unstable. Gated guitars dominate before the bass finally arrives, and suddenly the enormous construction acquires its rhythmic foundations. What an opening. I think the drum programming here is the finest on the album. There's tremendous sophistication in the relationship between the underlying pulse and the intricate percussive activity surrounding it. The details continually shift and rearrange themselves without disturbing the essential forward movement. And the melodic hook is glorious, sounding like some lost 1960s television adventure theme. There's something wonderfully evocative about that vintage, slightly exotic melodic figure appearing within such an enormous electronic production. Once again, Howlett demonstrates how sophisticated rhythmic construction can coexist with an instantly memorable pop hook. The arrangement is elaborate, but the music never forgets to be accessible. Then, having spent the best part of an hour demonstrating his extraordinary command of electronic composition, Howlett closes the album by gleefully kicking the furniture over. “Fuel My Fire” is a gorgeously frantic rendition of L7's song, sounding for all the world like Riot Grrrl imposed upon the opening sequence of *The Powerpuff Girls*. It's gloriously excessive, cartoonishly energetic, and Flint sounds as though he's having the time of his life. But L7! An all-female punk band whose confrontational music and public identity were closely associated with resistance to sexism. The Prodigy evidently appreciated the sheer force and vitality of their work, and the decision to close the album with one of their songs introduces yet another peculiar dimension to the SMBU controversy. Of course, admiring L7 doesn't establish what Howlett understood of their politics. But the juxtaposition remains extraordinary. This is a record that opens with a sample whose implications concerning violence against women caused enormous controversy and closes by enthusiastically adopting the work of women who had developed their own magnificent vocabulary of punk confrontation. If anything, it reinforces my sense that The Prodigy's difficulties arose less from a coherent objectionable ideology than from a spectacular deficiency of judgement. I found myself thinking about Sleaford Mods during the discussion, partly because Jason Williamson is another artist capable of formidable verbal aggression, but also because I admire his willingness to examine his own behaviour. His response to the controversies surrounding Gaza hasn't always been exemplary in the moment, but his subsequent capacity for self-criticism is admirable. He appears capable of distinguishing between reconsidering his conduct and abandoning his convictions. And that comparison acquired additional significance when I remembered that Williamson subsequently collaborated with The Prodigy on “Ibiza”. That doesn't mean he approved of SMBU, nor that he ever discussed it with Howlett. It does, however, demonstrate that a thoughtful artist can recognise artistic value in someone without requiring every earlier decision to meet an impossible standard of moral perfection. Which is precisely where I find myself with this album. I have considerable respect for those who cannot get beyond “Smack My Bitch Up”. I remember the original objections, and I don't think those who raised them were necessarily being censorious or humourless. The Prodigy repeatedly chose to make an issue of the song, and their critics were entitled to respond. Nor do I require evidence of direct harm before considering a decision artistically or culturally irresponsible. Equally, I have no evidence that the song caused anyone to behave violently, and I'm not prepared to invent consequences in order to strengthen a criticism that doesn't require them. What I find so frustrating is the disproportion between the musical achievement and the judgement involved in defending that particular piece of work. During the listening I encountered a review awarding the album one star, in which the writer became so absorbed in the controversy that he effectively abandoned discussion of the remaining tracks. I understand how he arrived at that position, even though I cannot share it. But it crystallised something about the peculiar experience I'd been having. Some listeners find the controversy so objectionable that they cannot get past it to hear the album. I've heard the album, and its extraordinary musical achievements keep bringing me back to the controversy. Every time Howlett demonstrates another aspect of his brilliance, the question becomes more insistent. Why choose this particular confrontation? Why elevate that particular recording? Why spend so much time and cultural energy defending it when the music surrounding it makes a vastly more persuasive case for the band's artistic freedom? And the fact that the question remains so prominent nearly thirty years later suggests that the controversy has acquired a remarkably durable life of its own. The irony is that the very confidence that enabled Howlett to construct these extraordinary musical experiences may also have contributed to the band's more regrettable decisions. That absolute faith in his musical instincts, his refusal to observe conventional boundaries and his determination to push ideas to extremes were fundamental to the excitement of The Prodigy. I wouldn't want any of that diminished. I don't wish the band had been less adventurous, less abrasive or less confrontational. I wish they'd shown a little more curiosity about what they were confronting, and why. There's a useful distinction between artistic certainty and intellectual inflexibility. The former can produce astonishing work. The latter can leave you defending something long after the defence itself has become more embarrassing than the original offence. And perhaps that's the enduring contradiction of *The Fat of the Land*. It was made by musicians with an extraordinary capacity to imagine new sonic possibilities, operating within a cultural environment that sometimes encouraged them to regard their own judgement as beyond meaningful challenge. Musically, this is an almost overwhelming achievement. The sampling is exceptionally inventive, the rhythmic programming frequently magnificent, the arrangements brilliantly controlled and the vocal performances among the most distinctive of the decade. It can be terrifying, hilarious, oppressive, exuberant and genuinely transcendent, sometimes within the same composition. Howlett's greatest talent is his understanding that musical excitement need not depend upon conventional melody or harmony. It can emerge from the placement of a sample, the interruption of a rhythm, the withholding of a bass line, or the precise moment at which an apparently familiar groove is transformed into something unexpected. He's a pop composer of exceptional gifts, working with an extraordinary range of musical materials. Which is why I find the whole SMBU affair so maddening. The band possessed virtually every musical means imaginable of expressing aggression, danger, rebellion and transgression. They demonstrated those abilities repeatedly, often with breathtaking results. Yet they allowed one comparatively slight and conspicuously ill-judged provocation to acquire a cultural significance wildly disproportionate to its musical achievement. I began the album irritated by that decision. I ended it considerably more irritated, having spent the intervening hour marvelling at almost everything else. It's a record that repeatedly made me want to congratulate Liam Howlett on his extraordinary musical imagination, then ask him what on earth he thought he was doing. The music deserves the highest admiration. The judgement surrounding its opening track emphatically does not. Five-star music, diminished by sustained twattery. And the most exasperating thing is that The Prodigy had already made a far more convincing argument for their artistic freedom through the astonishing records they were creating than they ever managed through the controversy they seemed so determined to sustain.

10/10 - just the right mix of electronic beats with rockish at times. Absolute classic album in the golden age of The Prodigy. Also props to them for having no filler and not having an overly large album for the sake of it when others during this period were just rushing out 20-song albums

It's an absolute icon of the trip-hop genre. For good reason too, it just hits right on every track. I absolutely love it.

Couple of songs I liked but didn't feel like much was happening with the album as a whole and I honestly didn't even really notice when it had ended

I've definitely heard Smack My Bitch Up more times than I could count, back in the day. That track is pretty much all this album has going for it. Invaders Must Die was better.

Only knew Firestarter, glad to have heard more cuz Firestarter’s an instance of most popular song not being their best.

It’s a real shame that Beavis and Butthead only did a reaction to Poison instead of Smack my Bitch Up

Problematic bangers!!!! I definitely enjoyed this one, but it got a bit samey by the end (aside from the killer Firestarter to break the vibes up a bit). Why is there so much big beat on this list anyway? There's plenty more EDM out there to represent!!

It was okaaaaaaay. Lot of samey stuff that didn't really distinguish itself in the middle. Felt like most of the songs absolutely did not deserve their long ass runtimes. It did hit a somewhat high note with the last few songs though. Climbatize... phew.

Funky Shit was promised and very well delivered. The thing with the big beat genre is that it generally doesn't lend itself to full album listening, and this is no exception. It does get a bit tiring by the end of its nearly hour-long runtime. Take your pick of individual bangers, though, for there are plenty to be found here! Standouts: Breathe • Diesel Power • Climbatize • Fuel My Fire

By no means a bad album, but a really long and repetitive one. Could I tell the difference between Fuel My Fire and Breathe, for example, without the words? I don't think so. A lot of these big beat albums from the late 90s or early 2000s have CD length disease and it shows. There are some highlights, like Smack My Bitch Up and Climbatize which made me wish they went for more unusual instrumentation and variety.

🦀🦀🦀hell yeah🦀🦀🦀

5/10

I see crab celebrating, I rejoice

The Prodigy is essential to my childhood and adolescence memories, and these memories are good. Love this album.

Jesus

definition of the late 90s - early 2000s music. great introduction for electronic music. 4 stars only because it's not my favorite genre.

A little too chaotic for me to fully enjoy

Really don’t care for whatever you call this type of electronic music, IDM?? I guess it’s fine enough as gym music cause its energetic enough, but i generally feel nothing for this.

una verga total. 3/10

I really liked it!! Great beats.

The three singles are bangers. The rest of the album bounces up and down in your face without let up. Overall, high-energy big beats, not to be sniffed at.

Pretty decent. Not something I would listen to otherwise but I’m glad I did. I liked breathe and diesel power a lot. A little too gritty though. Felt like something that would play on killer bean. The replay ability doesn’t seem asking for me. Still enjoyed it overall.

This was great in the late 90s, and I enjoyed the nostalgia of listening to it again. But it's really not that great, and it's pretty monotonous.

that`s some HARD penis music

Didn’t hit for me

Pensé que me iba a gustar más que el otro de Prodigy, y si, pero no mucho más jaja. Está bien.

C’est prodigyeux

Of course I’m giving the prodigy a high score, though I’m surprised with how much the first two songs carry this album

This music is pretty fun for about the first minute and then it gets extremely repetitive and unbearable for the next four. Every single one of these songs are triple the length they need to be, regardless of how energetic they are and follow a very formulaic song structure that makes every track feel so similar. The production is obviously meant to be played in a club with a pounding bass, but it was not kind on my ears as I sat in my living room at 8 pm. Most of the lyrics are pretty bad, so it definitely doesn't make the static nature of the album any better. There are a few fun parts and the instrumentals themselves aren't anything short of good, but the monotonousness outweighed the pros. Can't forget to praise some of the smoothest transitions I've heard on a 90s album in awhile, not to mention this being pretty ahead of its time for the use of electronics as well. Very high 2. I just wasn't on enough MDMA to fully enjoy this.

Shit is cool. Just look at the cool crab on the cover, he is enjoying this fire shit.

yep. i was waiting on this one. not a big fan of it, but i can see why it made the list. this is one of the genre defining industrial rock albums of the '90s. i remember when "firestarter" came out, it was a HUGE hit. again, not my thing, but i can see why they decided to add it to the list.

This was the better of the electronic rock / pop, whatever you want to call it, that I have heard. It actually attempted to sound similar to traditional guitar / bass / drum type music, and it wasn't super repetitive. It also had some form of a structure with verse vs chorus stuff, and for the most part had vocals. It was tolerable. Id still prefer real instruments.

I would imagine if you like funky dance club music this would something one would enjoy and appreciate but since I don't I don't.

Wasn’t trash but I just couldn’t get into any of their songs.

Not my thing

Solid interesting album to dance to or get some energy, it's a bit long and it's obviously a bit controversial in places but it's overall pretty good

I never bought this record but I did have it on tape, I don't remember what was on the reverse side of the C90 but going off the date of release it could have been the first Stereophonics album -which seems a bit of a contrast but they were cool at the time-. Coming back to this now I was surprised how great the album tracks were, particularly Diesel Power, Funky Shit, Serial Thrill and Mindfields. I don't think I need to hear SMBU or Breathe -which is just a Firestarter retread -ever again, but everything else was quality, even the track with Crispin Mills on which I hadn't remembered fondly because of a dislike for Kula Shaker was decent. Strong 4.

Bajo

Joa nicht so meins

Not much of a raver m'self :-). But I can see the appeal.

So the guy with the crazy hair started as a "dancer" in the band and only later started adding vocals?? I watched a live performance and all the wide shots are just like a guy with crazy hair looking so focused and doing the running man really fast for a full song. So much fun I love it. 1997 was a crazy time. I think it's cool to start fires but I don't support smacking women.

almost an hour of Matrix action scene music. this sort of 90s EDM never truly fills my cup, but it does grow on you over time. 3.5/5

Not as good as Music For The Jilted Generation but still pretty good. 3 stars.

An album I simply didn't appreciate at the time. I had gotten out of my Goth industrial phase by this point, so found it middling and derogatory. It's not. It's great and I'm glad I've finally accepted that.

Saw them live in the early 2000’s and it was awesome. This album is all killer no filler

Great for driving to. Not much more to add

Very very good record. Was the gateway for me to enjoy more electronic music.

Forgettable sampling electronics.

Started with "Smack My Bitch Up" and nothing on the album redeemed it.

Got a teeny bit repetitive at parts, but far less than most electronic music that's been on this list so far. A couple iconic tracks, and the ones new to me weren't bad either. Makes me want to hack something.

Fun trip down memory lane. Probably the best to ever do the genre. Breathe is just an all around great song.

Great album

This was a fun but scary way to start the day.

It was fine to have on in the background. A little bit more of a dark electronic album. Breathe was a HUGE song when I was a teen. I remember this album and the rage behind it. Enjoyable listen.

Full transparency: Was not in the right mood for electronic music this morning. 1.) Smack My Bitch Up: This may be the only song that I knew prior to listening to this album. It was in a bunch of montages and scenes in late 90s/early 2000s movies. Didn't know about the singing in the background. 2.) Breathe: There is a whooshing sound in the background that is distracting me. It reminds me of cartoon fighting sound effects. Not a fan of the vocals on this one. It reminds me of the Gorillaz. I like the bassline on this one. 3.) Diesel Power: The first seconds of this reminded me of the "For the Love of Money" by The O'Jays. No correlation just weird thought. This had 90's boom-bap rap style. Wasn't too impressed with the lyrics on this one. 4.) Funky Shit: Has a Giorgio Moroder-sounding synth. Interesting sound effects on there, like a Beastie Boys sounding vocal and a Mario jump sound. 5.) Serial Thrilla: Not a fan of the lagging sound in the beginning and appears throughout the song. I do like the mix of electronic guitar in this one. Feel like you don't usually hear instruments in electronic music without it being sampled. 6.) Mindfields: This one is so weird that I kinda do like it. It sounds like it could be in a Mortal Kombat game. Has a cool synth effect where it almost sounds like a saxophone at one point. 7.) Narayan: Didn't like the keyboard on this one. The melody sounded like an 80s horror B-movie. Honestly, after the keyboarded ended and the vocals came through, it reminded me of Cher's "Believe". Overall, wasn't feeling it and with the 9-minute run time, made it a skippable contender. 8.) Firestarter: The beat on this one is similar to Smack My Bitch Up. It really sounds like a B-side Gorillaz song. 9.) Climbatize: The beginning before the bass jumps in sounds like "We Won't Get Fooled Again" by The Who. I do like the bongos on this one. This one might be my favorite on the album. 10.) Fuel My Fire: The beginning with that sustained note sounds like "Slow Ride" by Foghat. I kinda like this one. It has almost a punk sound to it but then there is an organ in the middle of the song.

I've always liked the cover of this. Ugh at the first track, pick a different phrase. But overall fairly funky, not a terrible listen.

Again, not my cup of tea 🤷‍♀️

Now this is just straight up filthy and dirty beats. Holy moly the beat is infectious.

now this is some good stuff 🦀🦀🦀🦀 💥smack my bitch up 💥breathe 💥diesel power 💥serial thrilla 💥mindfields 💥firestarter 💥fuel my fire

I know of this album. I feel like everyone knows of this album. I remember it on my older siblings shelves from the cover. I didn't get the nostalgia I expected.

Yeah. No.

Pas mon genre

- I thought I had owned this album but only recognized the hits, which are still great. The others don't live up to those, but they're still high energy and engaging. I love the breakbeats and production - the music really surrounds you and makes your body move. - The lyrics aren't much to talk about other than Smack My Bitch Up being obviously problematic. - I find the album goes on a bit too long, but I did enjoy everything more on the second listen.

Видимо, лучший альбом The Prodigy. Почти все песни - хиты. Но опять же даже их я не могу слушать долго и постоянно. Плюс за качественную музыку, остальные минусы - просто не мои предпочтения.

High 3

This had more legs than I thought it would.

I enjoyed the songs, but not enough to add any of them. Might need to revisit this album

Some killer, not really any filler, dancing around on the precipice of this sort of balance between off your nut at a punk show and off your nut at a rave, with the 90s hip hop interest thrown in for spice. It’ll never be totally my bag as a dance album that I love, but it’s a hell of an hour of music to fry out your brain and burn through your shoes to, that’s for sure.

no es algo que me guste especialmente pero me ha gustado no se si porque era lo que necesitaba ahora mismo sjsjjs la primera mola

Epic

Not exactly my style.

Not for me

This was a fairly fun listen. For a techno album, I like that it felt more like a rock album than a lot of these do. It was cool the way a lot of the tracks segued into each other with no gap, and that every song had their own feel. Like any of these techno albums, though, I was beyond ready for it to be over by the time the end came around. Definitely the best one I've heard so far in this project, though!

I’d compare this unfavourably with another ‘big beats’ album I’ve had on this list, Fatboy Slim’s ‘You’ve Come a Long Way, Baby’. While that album had a bit of lightness and humour to it, this one takes itself much more seriously. When the songs largely consist of one line repeated ad nauseum with the same electronic sounds, that makes the album drag for me.

One of the better electronic albums I’ve had so far. Nonetheless, while it might well be different in the right context, as a purely listening experience I still find the overall album as well as some individual tracks too repetitive to hold my interest to the end, especially the nine-minute-long ‘Narayan’. The three big hits (‘Smack My Bitch Up’, ‘Breathe’ and ‘Firestarter’) are the best tracks, followed by ‘Diesel Power’ and ‘Mindfields’. There’s definitely a lot of rock/punk influence, although funnily enough the track where this was clearest (‘Serial Thrilla’) may have been my least-favourite. Strong 3 stars overall.

Amazing energy. Heavy beats and bass but still really catchy. Loved this!

I mean for some this is a classic but doesn't move me at all

En voilà un album plutôt cool ! Pas forcément mon truc, mais je dois bien admettre que l'énergie était énorme, même si les chansons étaient un peu répétitives. L'écoute m'a un peu fait penser à The Future Sound of London et maintenant, je me demande qui a influencé qui. Dans tous les cas, ça fait plaisir à entendre, mais heu... quand même... "Smack My Bitch Up" ? Ils se sont fait tirer les oreilles pour ça, et à raison.

I'm going to ignore the dumb lyrics. The first couple tracks were kinda fun and energetic. But by the end of the album I forgot about them and this faded into the abyss of other 90s house/techno that I really don't care about. It was popular for a reason, but I don't think it innovates or does anything remotely interesting for its genre.

weirdly disappointing burnout paradise menu music. sort of slimboy fat wearing a cool gnarly aesthetic, except all but a couple songs were just pretty boring. technically capable and fine but absolutely of its time and entirely unexciting. if my little cousin showed me a couple of these drum loops he put together I'd say "that's awesome man, keep it up you've really got something going here". i liked Smack My Bitch Up and Serial Thrilla. strong 2

Rating: 9/10 The crab rave album. Hip hop infused 90’s EDM that gets pretty hardcore too, I’m a sucker for these classic electronic records that hold up as great listens. Pretty sick from front to back, with a few exceptional highlights. Smack My Bitch Up and Breathe make for a killer start that’s a bit hard to follow up but it’s still fun as hell. Firestarter is a total banger too

It's not my style of song. I think the 3 last songs are the best in the album, but it become a little bit boring to listen everything

Equally deadly serious and gloriously dumb, The Prodigy dropped a few tracks here (if you're an elder millennial like me you know the ones) that well and truly absolutely owned the zeitgeist for a while, and stand amongst the definitive tunes of their (jilted) generation. Doesn't really matter if the rest of the album's any good really, but luckily it's pretty good, if dated.

More like the crap of the land - these clownheads put some patently offensive lyrics on their record and then disavow any knowledge of said offensiveness, tossing up a nonsense explanation that makes it seem like they don't actually understand the English language.

I did so much socializing under fluorescent lights in one day that I was kind of dissociating on the drive home while I listened to this but it mostly worked tbh

Found a lot of this too slow.