For a town so prone to being set on fire, Robert Hood learned the art of control.

Where others shouted, he moved in silence. 

Tightened up. 

Stripped down. 

Went minimal. 

Not emotionless – never that.

Quite the contrary, his music is equal parts sweat and machinery, holiness and steel, automation and soul.

Born onto Detroit’s east side, where factories had long since closed their doors and white flight was the norm, Hood found rhythm where others found ruin.

He’s one of Motown’s sons and the architect of a new kind of gospel: technology as a form of resistance, not escape.

It was a desire that would lead to him becoming one of the founding members of Underground Resistance (UR), a militant musical collective alongside Jeff Mills and “Mad” Mike Banks in the late 80s and early 90s. 

This was no ordinary music group.

They wore ski masks.

They released tracks without faces. 

And they weren’t seeking fame.

They merely wanted change. 

In short: UR wasn’t music – it was a manifesto. 

Hood’s contribution? 

A sharper blade. 

He single-handedly invented minimal techno – cutting out the excess, the decoration, and getting to the raw, unrelenting pulse below.

But this was never just about sound.

It was a statement on survival – something far from the norm in Hood’s Detroit. 

In an era where jobs were disappearing, families were crumbling, neighborhoods were falling due to blight, and the mainstream had moved on, the underground was thriving.

Tracks like “Minus” and entire albums like “Internal Empire” were not just club bangers.

They were lyrical structures – little cathedrals of repetition, movement, and refusal.

This was rejection of capitalist excess.

A sonic protest you could get lost in.

One that led to an inevitable shift. 

Robert Hood became a born-again Christian on the day his ill grandfather visited him in a dream and told him to give his life to Christ.

He even went as far as becoming an ordained a pastor in 2005 – a move that made many assume that he would give up techno altogether.

Instead, he fused his two passions, his gospel techno project alongside his daughter Lyric Hood – “Floorplan” – going on to turn the dancefloor into a sanctuary.

But that wasn’t the end.

Tracks like “We Magnify His Name” and “Never Grow Old” were just as hard hitting, transforming the club into a church and repetition into prayer.

Robert Hood never became a caricature of himself, nor did he retreat into the comfortable shadows of the legacy circuit.

Instead, he has kept evolving, pressing vinyl and playing marathon sets all around the globe – always finding his way home to Detroit at the end of it – the city that taught him how to grind, how to endure, and how to pass joy through a single, perfect kick drum.

No flashing lights are necessary for him.

He does not need fame.

He has principles.

Precision.

A certain pureness that makes him both myth and man.

Where other people add, he subtracts.

What remains is distinctly him – a Detroit legend with a preacher’s spine, a technician’s hand, and a prophet’s ear.

Victoria Jackson (Editor In Chief)

Victoria Jackson is a lifelong student and sharp-eyed documentarian of all things Detroit, from its rich musical roots and cultural icons to its shifting neighborhoods, storied architecture, and underground legends. With her finger firmly on the pulse of both the city’s vibrant past and its rapidly unfolding future, she brings a deeply personal, historically grounded lens to every piece she writes.

Published on: July 25, 2025