Born Slippy - Underworld
A man watches Underworld in concert at a festival listening to "Born Slippy".
I’m standing here, yeah, feet rooted like they’re part of the goddamn Earth itself, and Underworld is right there. The stage is some kind of shimmering temple of light, and everything about it screams holy shit, you’re alive, man. "Born Slippy" starts up, and it’s like—no, wait, it’s not like anything. It just is. This relentless, pounding thing that eats its way into my skull and my chest and my soul, and I’m just here for it. Completely here.
Drive boy, dog boy, dirty numb angel boy... Fuck. Those words—they’re words, but they’re more than words right now. They’re bullets of meaning, and every single one is hitting me square in the face. I’m trying to focus, but it’s like I’m made of liquid, melting and reforming and dissolving into this crowd of sweaty, beautiful people. My hands are moving—am I reaching out for something? Someone? Who the hell knows? My fingers are vibrating with the bassline. I think I might be crying, but who fucking cares, right?
She smiled at you, boy. Goddamn. She smiled at you, boy. It’s not just a lyric; it’s a memory, and it’s everyone I’ve ever loved in a single flash. Every girl, every fleeting connection I let slip away, every goddamn moment I didn’t grab because I was too scared or too stupid or too… something. But here, now, there’s no fear. Only this overwhelming everythingness. And the lights—Jesus Christ, the lights are alive. They’re doing that thing where they look like they’re about to swallow the whole world and spit it back out better.
I’m moving. Or am I? Maybe it’s just the crowd moving me, all these arms and shoulders and heads a single mass. Some guy next to me, he’s yelling “lager, lager, lager,” and it’s so fucking absurd I can’t stop laughing. But then it hits me—it’s not absurd at all. It’s poetry. It’s the stupid, beautiful anthem of humanity. Lager, lager, lager. We’re all just shouting at the void, aren’t we? But tonight, the void’s shouting back, and it sounds fucking incredible.
Let your feelings slip, boy, but never your mask boy. Fuck. That’s it. That’s the whole goddamn secret to life right there, hidden in this pounding, spiralling chaos of sound. I let my feelings slip years ago—forgot how to pick them back up again. But the mask? The mask’s been glued to my face so long, I didn’t even know it wasn’t real skin anymore. Except now I do, because here, in this insane kaleidoscope of people and lights and sound, it’s gone. The mask is fucking gone.
Velvet mouth, succulent, beautiful. I look up at the sky. Or is it the roof of the tent? It doesn’t matter. It’s a cathedral, and it’s breathing. I’m breathing. Every inhale feels like the first one I’ve ever taken, and every exhale is the last. And it’s all fucking perfect. Goddamn it, Underworld, you bastards. You’ve cracked me open, and now all this raw shit is spilling out, and I don’t even care who sees. Someone brushes against me—some random angel in glitter and LED wings—and for a second, they’re my entire universe. I want to say something, anything, but the music swallows my words. It doesn’t matter. They smile at me, and it’s enough.
And now I’m shouting, too. "Lager, lager, lager, lager." It’s ridiculous, but it’s sacred, and I’m fucking alive. Every beat is a heartbeat, and I swear to God I can feel everyone’s pulse in this place syncing up to the music. The song’s building, twisting, unravelling me. I’m here. I’m fucking here, and for once, that feels like the only place I’ve ever needed to be.
When the song finally slows, it’s not an end. It’s a beginning.