THE HIP MAN AND FREUR

GODDAMN this one was hard. You see what I'm working with!? I did my very best to make the words out, but I take no responsibility for whatever butchering I've got going on here. Things I absolutely could not make out are marked with [?]. If you've got a better resolution version, hook me up.

Photo caption: Underworld’s ambient as a ten bob note.

New Musical Express (NME) | January 15, 1994

UNDERWORLD
Dub No Bass With My Head Man, Junior Boys Own, All formats

THE EMERGENCE of Underworld has put the whole [bedroom?] techno revolution into focus.

Where once young white studio boffins [swarmed?] to faithfully replicate blueprints by Detroit stalwarts like Derek May and only succeeded in ever creating nosebleed-inducing music, these Romford lads have thrown away the rulebook. Thus, the gauntlet is now thrown down for interested parties to create - not copy - a record that makes your staple diet of [indie?] music, hardcore or breakbeat seem old fashioned, redundant, [reactionary?] and moribound. An LP like the [flippantly?]-titled ‘Dub No Bass With My Head Man’ [in fact?].

Before Underworld’s startling remixes for Bjork and Orbital last year, no one would have put money on the members of [?] freur making the first visionary record of ‘94. Nevertheless, the [?] have changed their hair and made something you could inadequately describe in a moment of true [banality?] as techno-pop for people who don’t like techno-pop. The sheer weight of ideas on offer and the constant variations of [sounds?] and [features?] add up to a coherent, cogent whole, [?] a [?] together.

Karl Hyde, Rick Smith, and Darren Emerson are blessed with reasonable enough attention spans to avoid the soundbite culture of most chart techno, and while they don’t exactly [hesit?] Reggae basslines and sample old Rastafarians, there’s an element of dub to the spacey, supple [?] in which disemboweled voices float in and out of focus or electronics are phased in and out while a voice [?] in cut-up fragments.

Meanwhile, Karl might not be the world’s greatest singer, but he holds his own and he comes across an an [observant] individual - he sees Elvis and talks to God in the splendidly surreal “Mmm…Skyscraper I love you” - musing on religion, penetrations, transfusion, rock’n’roll mythology, and an eternal kiss of love.

By writing ‘songs’ - albeit playful, deranged ones, Underworld has come up with a solution for the tactlessness that blights some dance music. They might not be easily distinguished from their audience, but there’s a sense of self and identity that is distinct from the ego-fuelled dominator [tinge?] of most rock’n’roll.

The closing “Mother Earth” fits between eco-friendliness and self-[examination?] whilst musing about “beautiful destinations” and soldering coy, fairlight voices to a great bassline. Weirder still, the excellent “Dirty Epic” lands somewhere between pornography and an examination of sex in an age of technology with its references to phone-sex. And just to be contrary and show that they drink from the rock’n’roll well, “Cowgirl”’s skillful use of repetition and electronics-as-guitars is more evidence of Underworld’s [Catholic? Chaotic?] tastes.

Ambient music is usually a dead-end last resort for people who wish they had been in Tangerine Dream in the ‘70s. Yet Underworld’s takes on mellowness are well worth investigating. “Tongue” [dis…?] with beats entirely and maps out [lakes?] of emotion with a simple slide guitar loop and [disintergrating…disfiguring?] electronics. “River of Bass” goes [?] further and creates swampy techno with a melodic bassline. Dub No Bass is liberally sprinkles with cool European melodies throughout, sometimes to offset electronic approximations of African drums - but still keeps a laid back, spliffy feel.

All these diversions and detours and treks combine to make this a debut LP to cherish and a reminder how an overly-active imagination can be an asset when applied to music. Underworld might literally “think too much”, but that doesn’t mean they don’t treasure [?].

D. Fadele