For politcially unaware, socially unconscious, ethically moribund pop culture vultures, there's no bigger disappointment than UK hip-hop. In the past, that tiny little island has ingested the cream of American music and curdled it into some of the hugest moneymakers of all time. The list of UK successes is a long one: the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Howard Jones. Popular music makes so much money for the UK economy that Prime Minister Tony Blair could probably close down all the steel works and coal mines in Britain and pension off all the workers with funds generated by the Def Leppard back catalogue alone.

So why is it that the UK, until now, has been entirely incapable of producing a credible rapper? The superficial answer is that a sarf Lahn-dahn accent is not exactly as street- real as a Noo Yawk one. But the theory bites, because by that reasoning, you'd have to rule out Arrested Development and the No Limits roster (oh, go on, please!). This baffling conundrum morphs into an impenetrable enigma when one factors in trip-hop. Massive Attack and Tricky have produced some superb platters but I doubt that you would call any of them rap albums. (That's why they call it trip-hop, I suppose.)

But along comes Roots Manuva just to really baffle my already befuddled noggin. Brand New Secondhand is as near as I think the UK is going to get to an out- and- out and credible rap album. But with one proviso: Manuva delivers his consciousness rhymes in a sort of Brixton patois. So rather than getting something as woeful as MC Tunes banging on in his finest Mancunian eloquence, you get the most intriguing and appealing voices I have heard in years.

I find Roots Manuva's delivery addictive, compelling, and, above all, heartfelt. His rhymes aren't exaggerated fantasies about pimping, high- rolling, and dismembering. No, the man has immersed himself in Rastafarian culture vibe and speaks of injustice and inequality, strength and resilience. In short, he is the postivity rapper you don't laugh at.

"Juggle Tings Proper" advises that we should roll with the punches adversity deals out, but remain upstanding and proud. "Inna" is a realistic documentary about being in a bar, getting intoxicated and trying to cop off with the barmaid, before ending up in a semiconscious state on the floor. Manuva doesn't play this scenario for laughs; it's more of a warning against loss of self- control and dignity. Guest rapper Butterfly reprises this theme of pride in oneself "Baptism:" "If you ever catch me dancing on a table top in a thong/ In a seedy dive/ Looking sad/ Like my stuff's gone wrong/ Yeah, for now I'm focused, diligent, strong." And as a riposte to the callous exploitative stance of most commercial rap, Manuva chants during "Big Tings Gwidarn:" "I jump upon the stage/ But I won't grab my dick/ I get down though/ Giving thanks to the creator." Roots Manuva throws down such cruel, money- driven attitudes and replaces them with a roots- informed honesty and integrity.

All these heartical rhymes are accompanied by sparse, bass- heavy tracks. Manuva has selected the anti- Bomb Squad approach-- little more than a bassline and a beat box. But where Public Enemy's producers crammed every moment with an assaulting urban noise, Manuva adores the off- kilter silence, employed so compellingly in masterful dub records. Nanosecond snippets of a soul vocalist run through "Inna." "Juggle Tings Proper" is propelled by nothing more than a thunderous bass line and a thrillingly syncopated percussion track. "Strange Behavior" wobbles on a nervy fretless bass figure and the metallic clanking of a iron gate. Similar to labelmate DJ Vadim, Roots Manuva revels in the abstract sounds of everyday objects (check out the cover art of a tumble of ancient microwave ovens and furniture held together with duct tape).

So the album's title accurately reflects this marvelous album's contents. With his fresh dubby spin on rap, he's made a genre long gone the way of the hula- hoop relevant and dynamic, while simultaneously confounding vapid pop culturists everywhere. As he chants on the album's opening track, "There's no blood in my body/ Just liquid soul."

-Paul Cooper