By Beverly Grafton
As to my penchant for the odd and unusual, eccentric and strange, I blame my love for David Bowie. And my natural love affair with The Prodigy is no exception. At a time when my hormones were raging and I was aching to rebel against the paranoid, staunch Catholic, matriarchal rules set in place by my mother, The Prodigy provided a much needed escape.
They were everything Mummy said I couldn't like. They were a culmination of everything she said was bad, sinful even. To the curious me, they were my Goblin King in the Labyrinth and I was Jennifer Connelly but in this case, I wanted to be with the Goblin King. They were dark, decadent, hypnotizing and all but consuming the very essence of my innocence. I would be lost in a trance blasting their music in my ears as I pranced around in the confines of my Ivory Tower (my bedroom).
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