Return Of The Prodigy Son

One of the most indelible images of fin-de-siècle pop culture was that of millennial droog Keith Flint gleefully rampaging through the hallowed grounds of contemporary music. From Glastonbury to Féile, Moscow to Los Angeles, The Prodigy’s mascot of mayhem was a harbinger of dancefloor apocalypse. God knows how many septuagenarian coronaries were induced through the sight of Flint leering satanically from the TV screen, an unholy visage of debauched excess in regulation combat fatigues, nose-stud, dripping eye-shadow and Flock Of Seagulls hair.

“Maybe rock stars are modern day court jesters,” muses Flint, relaxing in the sunshine backstage at Witnness. “They tend to confuse and disconcert people, and usually they’re quite fucked up individuals themselves. I think that throughout time, people haven’t really known how to approach flamboyance, and I think that’s why punk took off – people were scared of those bands not because of their brutality, but because of their flair and individuality.”

Flint’s latest attempt to break new ground both stylistically and sonically has arrived in the shape of his eponymous new band, a corrosive hard-rock quartet which evolved during down time away from The Prodigy.

“It’s scary enough taking on full responsibility for a band at any time,” reasons Flint, “but doubly so when you’ve been involved with such a high-profile act beforehand. I mean, since I’ve started doing press, interviewers have been insistent that there must be a way of comparing this to The Prodigy. I suppose that’s inevitable given that Flint is a far more traditionalist enterprise, but I’ve still found myself getting quite defensive, saying, ‘Listen man, I was into Black Sabbath back in ‘87, blah blah blah’.”

Talk of our respective favourite live bands leads me to eulogise about Mogwai’s set in the Rising tent the previous night, when the Glaswegian rockers overcame the handicap of a heavily-abbreviated timeslot to execute one of their trademark displays of mindblowing sonic pyrotechnics. Searching around for an appropriate analogy, I suggest that the 15-minute bout of sheer noise terror that climaxed the show most closely resembled a scene from Apocalypse Now.

“Funnily enough, that’s how our rehearsals used to end up,” reflects Keith. “Genuinely so, we’d jam for a couple of hours a day at least, and work on the music, sounds etc. Then Jim (Davis, guitarist) would pick up an empty beer bottle and be rubbing it up and down the strings, and it would all kick off from there. Now, somedays it would be comedy, but other days it would have some form of strange sonics that would actually make it an interesting piece of music. That to me, is when rock ‘n’ roll is usually best – when the group you’re watching are possessed by what they’re playing and, you know, anything could happen.”

Flint’s debut single, ‘Aim 4’, is out now on Polydor, with the album Device One to follow later in the year