Pitchfork

Last month I visited Venice. Along one of the main canals of the Dorsoduro, the southern peninsula of the city, I discovered a building defaced in green graffiti. It read, "DON'T BELIEVE THE HIPE." Something in the combination of the innocence of an Italian's misspelled English and the cosmopolitanism of punk cliches made me chuckle. But after listening to the over- anticipated third album from Underworld, I want to hunt down the mysterious Venician riff-raff author of this scribble (I picture him in a beret, scarf, and JNCO pants) and kiss him. For he is brilliant. You see, you shouldn't believe the hype (and furthermore, don't believe the hip.)

As far back as 1997, the hyperactive music press had been awaiting Underworld's followup to the brilliant Second Toughest in the Infants, or more specifically the Trainspotting epic, "Born Slippy," released like a boogie board on the crest of the electronica wave. Finally, after settling on the ridiculous title Beaucoup Fish, Underworld have finally answered. And it shouldn't surprise anyone in today's age of shattered expectations that Beaucoup Fish is not as great as we'd hoped. But, of course, what we had hoped for was the OK Computer of electronic music. Lofty. The final product lies more like The Bends of house music.

My legs and ass must admit that Underworld that can make me dance. Anyone who knows me, realizes the grand scale of this accomplishment. I have the rhythm of a poodle on his hind legs, begging for a milkbone. Jungle junkies looking for seizure beats and caffeinated tempos look elsewhere. Go pick up some Autechre or Squarepusher. Beaucoup Fish's thump comes direct and in repetition, a 50/50 mix of ambient synthphonies and thudding digital funk with a splash of rock and roll. Actually, Beaucoup Fish succeeds most when miming rock. "Push Upstairs," built on a pounding piano loop, could be a Girls Against Boys number, if GVSB completely got rid of stringed instruments. A pal o' mine complains that "Bruce Lee" sounds like the opening to a Thriller-era Michael Jackson tune. Well, yeah. That's why it's cool.

Unlike other techno groups, Underworld relies heavily on vocals. And a vocoder effect. Lots of vocoder effect. Although, the vocoder might just be covering up some downright silly lyrics. Underworld loves to chant a pastiche of commercial slogans, colors, consumer vocabulary, and whatever words they just think sound cool. Sometimes this works. And when it doesn't, you're stuck with lines like "King of snake/ King of snake/ King of snake/ King of snake." I'm not positive, but the lyrics for "Bruce Lee" might be built on the repetition of "Life is/ Juice from a box/ Bruce Lee." Underworld, being artists and designers, might try to label this "a postmodern commentary on the accursed share of capitalist dogma." Don't believe the hype.

Beaucoup Fish has no meaning in daylight and sobriety. Underworld have crafted a deeply agoraphobic record that demands the ambience of neon-lit city streets, the backseat of a boxy Japanese import, or the flesh-pressed dancefloor of a clubs with names like Fuse, Fix, Flux, Fax and Flick. Beaucoup Fish is a record for quantum body activity-- either let your body completely relax or completely move. As shallow as it sounds, Underworld are just sound cool and sexy. They're as inexplicably addictive as fashion, and just as inexplicably disposable. But isn't that what makes us like them?