Keith Flint Was A Frontman From Another Dimension
As news of Keith Flint's death spread this morning, tributes poured in to mourn the loss of The Prodigy frontman. He was just 49. At the height of his fame, the artist who set the world ablaze as a twisted fire-starter did the same with the style rulebook: he looked nothing like the identikit headliners of yore, and there's been no-one quite like him since.
Flint's style combined BDSM touches with drum 'n' bass shabbiness, and he pushed it forward with the gusto of a possessed drill sergeant lost in the throngs of Block 9. The Prodigy's lyrical controversy - something that triggered Mary Whitehouse pearl clutching amongst the conservative Middle England of the 90s - was only made worse (or all the better, to his fans) by Flint's often deranged appearance.
An early display of Flint's signature look could be spotted during a 1997 performance at Brixton Academy. As was standard practice for an evening with The Prodigy, the crowd swelled and convulsed and raged to 'Smack My B*tch Up', and Flint led the parade of profanity in a shredded, crimson strait jacket of sorts, and - of course - the now iconic reptilian horns of hair. Where his cohorts settled for pieces indicative of the era - skin tight camo, and wideboy sportswear - Flint bucked the trends for something akin to Mad Max in the Book of Genesis.
It looked evil, and fun, and inspiring, and the crowd react with the same level of hedonistic, exorcised fervour that cemented The Prodigy as a set of wrong'uns that were oh-so-right for the time. This was no exercise in cult music, either: the group scored a number one album in the UK and the US with The Fat Of The Land, while racking up multiple top 10 hits from then onwards. They helped America discover its now insatiable taste for dance music.
He stood out then, and still does now. Not just the music - that hasn't aged, that somehow, even if it were released tomorrow, would still sound and feel like something from outer space - but by somehow bringing the stomach-churning terror of a ketamine overdose into his personal style and then spitting it into the mainstream.
This man was on Top of the Pops, back when popular music still had the capacity to shock, to shake things up. Thanks to The Prodigy's early work, club culture became defined by obstructive piercings and primary hued hair, by the head-banging and Satanic tattoos and kohl-tipped eyes. With Fat of the Land, Flint dragged it all tripping and screaming into your front room. He terrified and hypnotised us in equal measure. How many frontmen of modern times can say the same?
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