The title track from The Prodigy’s upcoming album, ‘The Day Is My Enemy’, shatters glass with its paramilitary bombastic snare, snarling midrange synth sweeps, joker-cool heroin vocals, and reeled in BPM all before a cock-sure monster drop throws back to the tone and tempo of 90s big beat. The elder statesmen, these sewer rat emperors of yesteryear have been pressing that electronic has lost its menace, movement, and danger. Their intention is to reverse the tide. Immortal if not in art world presence but biology, The Prodigy are like the fucking terminator. The concept of aging is pointless for the privileged men and women who possess the cockroach gene; the gene that gives eternal life and dogged determination to those with it in their sequence despite the abuses of rock star living. They may well achieve their intentions.
Nothing is particularly genius, beyond, or brilliant about the track. It’s like Motörhead; they do a thing, and they do it relentlessly and uncompromisingly well. Those 90s timbres are taught and crisp, lean, mean, and, most importantly, fresh. The track avoids nostalgia. And the ability to carve something so fresh out of such a worn groove, that’s a nod to their ruthless talent as producers.
Overall, the presence and power of the track stir the same intoxicating affects as 1.5L of cheap wine paired with Wagnerian German Romanticism. A bunch of aging British gutter-punks would never admit to delightfully sneering at such a non sequitur compliment. We’ll see if they bring the heat when their new album ‘The Day Is My Enemy’ drops at the end of the month. The real test for The Prodigy is overcoming the perils of proving more bite than bark. This track suggests there might still be venom in the fangs.