But only a track later here's Prodigy pal Dave Grohl laying down a meathead motorik rhythm while Howlett displays a cringeworthy fascination with the oompah keyboards of modern day "clownstep" drum 'n' bass. "Take Me to the Hospital" and "Warriors Dance"- with their diva samples and sped-up dancehall soundbites and ambulance sirens and all the trimmings- are the cheap tracks of the Prodigy's first phase re-budgeted for an era of shrill French techno and restraint-free blog house. Who knew we'd one day praise "Smack My Bitch Up" for its relative sonic nuance? Even a quarter-hour of Howlett's music has become exhausting.īlessedly but briefly, halfway through Invaders the non-stop stadium rock posturing gives way to a fond look back the Prodigy's earliest (and best) records. What doesn't work is an album that tries to fill even half its running time with Mockneys shouting dumb-ass catchphrases like "your world's on fire" over hip-house so heavily distorted it's become one big digital smear. One track at a time, it sorta works, even with the non-stop bludgeoning of the rhythm programming and Howlett's complete lack of taste in rock. To say nothing of the volume level: The Jamaican chatter on "Thunder" sounds like he's straining to be heard over a double-decker stack of Marshalls, rather than nicing up the local dance. When he takes an instrumental breather on Invaders, with "Omen Reprise", the result's closer to the dumb, portentous rush of a gabba techno track, minus the drums.Īs for the "songs," Howlett's motley crew of vocalists pull out all of the sneers and grimaces and nu-metal tricks to match the music's testosterone level. The album-opening fade-in is about the only subtle touch on Invaders Howlett's music is more intractably aggressive than ever before. It's another lunkheaded, loud mash-up of rock and dance, a sound now so beefed-up and campy that it's perhaps only suitable for shotgunning cheap beer and practicing UFC chokeholds with your pals. From the first track through its final seconds, Invaders joylessly stomps through overly familiar territory. Howlett will not be budged from his noisy comfort zone, however much his fanbase shrinks in the face of creative burnout. The new Invaders Must Die, however, may in fact be a cry for help. But if you stuck to the singles you could almost hear the glowstick gleam of the old hooks under the not-so-scary noise. 2004's Always Outnumbered, Never Outgunned- the first Prodigy full-length following 1997's multi-platinum, America-wooing The Fat of the Land- was mostly a crass reiteration of Howlett's greatest financial success, offering slight tweaks to Fat's booming breakbeats and pissed-off rock vocals. Unfortunately, as he now wraps up his second decade recording as the Prodigy, the nicest thing you can say about Howlett is that his healthy attitude toward self-cannibalization occasionally makes for decent music. If you want to take a break from minimal techno to relive the rush of zillions-selling mainstream dance- and you've misplaced your Chemical Brothers collection- any of the three solid albums the Prodigy released between 19 will do the trick nicely. Howlett's proudly inelegant grooves made him a boogieman among critics allergic to bubblegum, even as the Prodigy enjoyed the kind of mass culture success that any dance producer would secretly envy. By the time he'd wrapped up his first decade recording as the Prodigy, Liam Howlett had released at least a dozen great singles, from his earliest squeaky rave classics to the snarling big beat that made him a millionaire in the late 1990s.
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