review originally published in farrago 2024 edition two
We are Beaucoup Fish.
How powerful is the divine inspiration for creativity? I recently read an essay from novelist Zadie Smith titled Something to Do, which scrutinised the question ‘Why do we write?’ Not expecting much, it was a profound reality check. Excerpts such as ‘carving a little area—that nobody asked you to carve’, and seizing an ‘occasion for self-improvement, [with] another pointless act of self-realisation’, completely mirror my behaviour through writing. Reading it nearly brought me to tears, as it affirmed the notion that I’m a mere ant next to a myriad of other ants trying to carve out their own space. In case that reads as unmotivating, I can assure you it’s anything but. I particularly resonated with one concept: attaining some time—some ‘space for yourself—after exhaustive ‘anxiety and debate’, only to end up with ‘nothing, an empty victory’. There is all the time in the world to make transformative art, but does using that time for such a spirited endeavour feel ‘wasted’, as Smith puts it? Absolutely not. As someone who feels more like themselves—and comfortable—on my own, the need to do or make something endlessly flows through my life. The most powerful art is an experience enacted through the artwork itself. Its foundation is that those creators exist and do it for the sake of it. For someone to stumble across a piece of art, and forge a new thing from it, is remarkable. That cycle makes my time worthwhile, and the same goes for techno’s elder statesmen, Underworld, whose ethos similarly relies on reworking the art of other people—their words—for their music.
Underworld’s two core members, Karl Hyde and Rick Smith, have steered the helm together since the late ‘80s. Following initial commercial failures as a new wave band, they reconvened in the early ‘90s with former third member Darren Emerson—a young DJ who introduced them to rave culture. The trio produced three cult electronica albums: Dubnobasswithmyheadman (1994), Second Toughest in the Infants (1996), and Beaucoup Fish (1999), the latter being Emerson’s last before his departure. Beaucoup Fish, which turns 25 this year, sees Underworld acting as the ‘band’ Underworld, not as poetic underground clubbers. With the rise of ‘Born Slippy .NUXX’, after its inclusion in director Danny Boyle’s classic Trainspotting (1996), Underworld went overground. The anthem is emblematic of dance music’s ability to be artistic and accessible. The subsequent added eyes and ears on Underworld never compromised their artistry—Beaucoup Fish is a wonderful breath of fresh air, compared to the urban allure of their preceding mission statements. Opener ‘Cups’ with its aquatic fishbowl well-roundedness is a loungey, almost seductive triumph in epic house, later crescendoing into a percussive whirlpool. Its climactic adrenaline rush bleeds into the blocky ‘Push Upstairs’ with lofty momentum and is soon relieved by the buoyant cuddles of ‘Jumbo’. ‘King of Snake’ opens with twangy strings, only for its interpolation of Donna Summer’s ‘I Feel Love’ to arrive lightning-fast like a bullet train. Outside of the opening quartet of bangers is melodic downtempo (‘Winjer’), dizzying pseudo-hip hop (‘Bruce Lee’), and enthralling breakbeat (‘Kittens’ and ‘Something Like a Mama’).
Returning to Smith’s essay, how does her existential platter relate to Beaucoup Fish? It’s because this record catalyses a perceptive way of life. Underworld’s discography is a conduit for taking in the ‘little things’ that permeate within our lives; everything seen on the surface, but taken for granted, and using it to create art. Fundamentally, Beaucoup Fish is a dance record, but it transcends that label with this abstract perspective. For one, it’s very humane: a tale of an estranged lover seeps its way through the group’s stream-of-consciousness lyricism (Hyde howls ‘I don’t want you to call again’ on ‘Skym’, then on the acid techno closer ‘Moaner’, he frantically announces ‘She’s calling from America’). It’s also situational: the elevator music-like ‘Push Downstairs’ is a hangover remedy compared to its talkative concertgoer counterpart ‘Push Upstairs’. Meaning can also be drawn from the art direction by design collective Tomato. The geometric shapes on each Beaucoup Fish cover exude a serene, innocent beauty in their simplicity. Underworld’s previous efforts were doused in grimier collages, so the gentler direction on Beaucoup Fish symbolises a new lease of life. It’s a more approachable Underworld, yet one that’s deeper; opening the door for not only greater audio-visual interplay, but an intimate relationship with the listener. After sitting with this record for years, letting it absorb in my everyday life, I am now equipped to share my admiration for it. I can recall it soundtracking distant memories, road trips, the walks, and moments to study. Underworld’s repurposing of others’ conversations into something substantial grounded those events. During the album, there’s voice clips of the band’s friends. They’re invitations into a long, free-flowing conversation. Without that humanity, these songs would be incomplete.
Smith’s idea of art as a ‘pointless act of self-realisation’ is far from true. Those moments in time reflect one’s footing in the world, and Beaucoup Fish led me to that conclusion. To add, the album’s deluxe reissue contains a fancy vinyl-sized booklet that’s more than a tasteful display piece. Inside is the mantra, ‘We are Beaucoup Fish.’ Each page features an artwork outtake and population statistics from various cities around the world. Earlier, I said we’re all ants, but to put Underworld’s words into play, we are many beautiful fish, all on our own paths, swimming in the deep blue sea that is life on Earth. The map that guides me through those waters is Beaucoup Fish, and I don’t think I'll ever shut up about its importance. To nurture an oeuvre as fruitful as this, compels me to reiterate: don’t ever stop making art.