October 2010

[Sweder]

Classic Album: The Fat Of The Land, The Prodigy

An early start in the Smoke meant I missed out on a ‘welcome home’ run this morning. Hours later, tread-weary and commute-hardened I lumbered home, casting a jealous eye toward the fabulous turquoise of the evening sky. The penny dropped: an evening run’s a-foot! Chasing the sinking orange orb over the western hills into a slowly reddening sky. What a great way to unwind after a long day in the heartless City.

I strapped on my iPhone, dialing up a recently-downloaded edition of The Fat of the Land. Undoubtedly the best-known (and perhaps best-loved) Prodigy album this collection of fine drum ‘n’ bass tunes laced together with sampled harmonics and dance/ rave electronics creates a splendid soundtrack for an evening scamper. There’s a strong start from Smack My Bitch Up, a catchy little number that invites one to inject one’s somewhat loose-moralled yet romantically-inclined gal with heroin. It’s not all laughs and giggles though. Track two, Breathe, resonates with me, conjuring clear, happy memories of myself, Rog-Air and the mighty Moyleman, huddled in the girls’ bedroom in Paris. We chose Breathe as our Gone In Sixty Seconds/ Low Rider pre-race psyche-out track, ingesting the gut-twisting bassline, spat lyrics hissing through Tina's tinny speakers over intricate trip-clicking drums and crazily spiralling keyboards. It worked for me then as it did now, infusing my running with unusual urgency from the start.

I scaled Blackcap in record time. Diesel Power, Funky Shit and the chart-topping Firestarter added fuel to my running furnace, feet flying over the deepening shadows, finding firm footing on the slippery dew-kissed grass. I'm aware that The Prodigy won't be everyone's cup of tea but they do it for me, certainly in a running sense. I snapped some shots as the sun sank behind me, picking out the silhouette of sheep grazing under a crescent moon, horizon glowing gently like the embers of a softly dying day.

Chest heaving, brow flecked with sweat I arrive home grinning and breathless, revitalised after a day strapped into a whistle and flute, renewed by nature and the inherent dangers of twilight hill running.

Yes Keith, that was some funky shit