When one reaches my time of life (over halfway by current estimates), it’s important to establish some immutable musical certainties. I now know I will never see or hear a better band than The Clash; ‘Be My Baby’ by The Ronettes is as close I will ever come to the hand of God and ‘Born Slippy’ by Underworld is the worst pop single I will ever hear.
Down the years, we’ve had to endure Jedward, Mr. Blobby and Westlife, so you may think it perverse to pick ‘Born Slippy’ as the absolute low point in popular music, but I am merely calling it as I see it. However, out of respect for the many good folk who adore the record (and there are many), I should explain myself.
My opening salvo concerns the name of the record. Even its most vocal supporters call it ‘Born Slippy’ and a song of that name does exist. It isn’t the one we’re all talking about though. That would be ‘Born Slippy .NUXX’. I loathe this sort of shenanigans with song titles. It’s just a ball-aching excuse for superior DJ types to mock the uninitiated: “Oh, that’s not Born Slippy, that’s Born Slippy .NUXX – YOU IDIOT! Ha, ha, ha!!”
Down the years, we’ve had to endure Jedward, Mr. Blobby and Westlife, so you may think it perverse to pick ‘Born Slippy’ as the absolute low point in popular music, but I am merely calling it as I see it. However, out of respect for the many good folk who adore the record (and there are many), I should explain myself.
My opening salvo concerns the name of the record. Even its most vocal supporters call it ‘Born Slippy’ and a song of that name does exist. It isn’t the one we’re all talking about though. That would be ‘Born Slippy .NUXX’. I loathe this sort of shenanigans with song titles. It’s just a ball-aching excuse for superior DJ types to mock the uninitiated: “Oh, that’s not Born Slippy, that’s Born Slippy .NUXX – YOU IDIOT! Ha, ha, ha!!”
Quite what .NUXX means, I neither know nor care but for Underworld to have produced two tracks with almost identical titles is as silly as it is pretentious and almost as silly as the actual phrase ‘Born Slippy’. While it is actually nothing more than the name of a winning greyhound, the band clearly selected the title to come off all arch and hip, but ended up just being meaningless. All this could be forgiven if musically, the record was a thing of inspired beauty and breathtaking skill. It isn’t. Not by a long chalk.
Opening with a cheap metallic, sub Jarre synth figure, ‘Born Slippy’ somehow manages to convey its hollow pseudo psychedelic intentions with the first note. Underworld are in the habit of publishing a list of the equipment they use (another trait I despise) – and it is a very long list. So how they managed to pull such a trite and underwhelming sound from such a mountain of electronics, I can’t begin to imagine. Anyway, within a few seconds, this plonking dirge forms the bed for Karl Hyde’s vocal. And of all the offenses being taken into consideration, this aspect of the piece is the most guilty.
To freestyle lyrics as one goes along is a perfectly acceptable performance technique. Only, one has to be supremely adept and quick-witted to avoid the pitfall of producing utter nonsense. Hyde has none of the requisite abilities, and so unleashes a heavily treated, monotone of what is technically known as complete bollocks:
Opening with a cheap metallic, sub Jarre synth figure, ‘Born Slippy’ somehow manages to convey its hollow pseudo psychedelic intentions with the first note. Underworld are in the habit of publishing a list of the equipment they use (another trait I despise) – and it is a very long list. So how they managed to pull such a trite and underwhelming sound from such a mountain of electronics, I can’t begin to imagine. Anyway, within a few seconds, this plonking dirge forms the bed for Karl Hyde’s vocal. And of all the offenses being taken into consideration, this aspect of the piece is the most guilty.
To freestyle lyrics as one goes along is a perfectly acceptable performance technique. Only, one has to be supremely adept and quick-witted to avoid the pitfall of producing utter nonsense. Hyde has none of the requisite abilities, and so unleashes a heavily treated, monotone of what is technically known as complete bollocks:
Drive boy dog boy / Dirty numb angel boy / In the doorway boy / She was a lipstick boy / She was a beautiful boy / And tears boy / And all in your innerspace boy
There’s something intensely irritating about these lyrics. Not so much because they are stupid, but because they are obviously presented as something profound. Of course daft words can work extremely well in the right pop setting (‘I am the eggman / I am the walrus’). But they have to be acknowledged as such by the artist. A certain playfulness is necessary. When delivered with Underworld’s po-faced earnestness, it is all just too preposterous and indulgent. Unfortunately the indulgence hardly lets up for the remainder of the track, but the weak keyboards do. Quickly abandoning the introductory stab at woo-woo trance, the whole endeavour moves to a cacophony of rumbling drum samples and away from any semblance of a tune. While this may sound impressive in a sweaty club with a head full of chemicals, it is actually incredibly lazy and smacks of a ‘will-this-do?’ attitude to music making.
The percussion is also a wholesale lift from The The’s splendid ‘Uncertain Smile’ and I note Karl Hyde’s sly attempt to ape Matt Johnson’s vocal style at other points in the work.
This is usually as much as I can bear of ‘Born Slippy’ but on occasions, when I am unable to shut it off, I have to brace myself as there is worse to come. Just over halfway through the single, we are subjected to the moment when Hyde’s extemporising degenerates into a one word chant:
“Lager / Lager / Lager / Lager” he goes.
Could this be a straightforward (if moronic) celebration of the brassy, overly fizzy beverage or some kind of post-modern commentary on modern social preferences? Who knows? Both explanations are pretty lame, and the whole passage makes me feel more nauseous than any amount of beer.
There’s something intensely irritating about these lyrics. Not so much because they are stupid, but because they are obviously presented as something profound. Of course daft words can work extremely well in the right pop setting (‘I am the eggman / I am the walrus’). But they have to be acknowledged as such by the artist. A certain playfulness is necessary. When delivered with Underworld’s po-faced earnestness, it is all just too preposterous and indulgent. Unfortunately the indulgence hardly lets up for the remainder of the track, but the weak keyboards do. Quickly abandoning the introductory stab at woo-woo trance, the whole endeavour moves to a cacophony of rumbling drum samples and away from any semblance of a tune. While this may sound impressive in a sweaty club with a head full of chemicals, it is actually incredibly lazy and smacks of a ‘will-this-do?’ attitude to music making.
The percussion is also a wholesale lift from The The’s splendid ‘Uncertain Smile’ and I note Karl Hyde’s sly attempt to ape Matt Johnson’s vocal style at other points in the work.
This is usually as much as I can bear of ‘Born Slippy’ but on occasions, when I am unable to shut it off, I have to brace myself as there is worse to come. Just over halfway through the single, we are subjected to the moment when Hyde’s extemporising degenerates into a one word chant:
“Lager / Lager / Lager / Lager” he goes.
Could this be a straightforward (if moronic) celebration of the brassy, overly fizzy beverage or some kind of post-modern commentary on modern social preferences? Who knows? Both explanations are pretty lame, and the whole passage makes me feel more nauseous than any amount of beer.
Beyond this point we are 'treated' again to the Bontempi chords from the begining and some more banging and rattling. As Underworld haven't bothered with any coherent structure, it may as well simply repeat and repeat eternally (and live versions do).
Equally, this autopsy of a truly dreadful record could continue interminably. I could easily bang on about the band’s overly pompous design business called ‘Tomato’ (it would be, wouldn’t it?). Or maybe rip into the inexplicable decision to award them some overpaid commission to write the music for the Olympic closing ceremony. But then I would be in danger of becoming as turgid as ‘Born Slippy .NUXX’ itself.
So I’ll leave it there, taking comfort from the fact that in my world, Underworld have achieved infamy and immortality as the creators of the very worst pop record I will ever hear.
So I’ll leave it there, taking comfort from the fact that in my world, Underworld have achieved infamy and immortality as the creators of the very worst pop record I will ever hear.
