To paraphrase one of my favorite movies, Zoolander: Moby would be a person I consider a hero. The music he’s made in recent years? Yeah. I…uh…don’t really listen to it. The fact that he’s making it, though? I totally respect that.
When it comes to his work outside of music, that’s where things get very interesting. In addition to his hip Los Angeles vegan restaurant (which I fully intend to dine at one day), Moby is also a pretty solid storyteller. His 2016 memoir, “Porcelain,” is an engaging account of how his life progressed from squatting in vacant warehouses, DJ’ing in some of NYC’s most revered clubs of the late 1980s/early 1990s, and gaining worldwide fame with songs like “Go.” The book ended as he considered quitting music, but not without putting out one last album, which became Play.
Lo and behold, there is more story to tell, as Play “catapulted Moby to superstardom. Suddenly he was hanging out with David Bowie and Lou Reed, Christina Ricci and Madonna, taking ecstasy for breakfast (most days), drinking litres of vodka (every day), and sleeping with super models (infrequently). It was a diet that couldn’t last. And then it fell apart.”
I don’t know about you, but this sounds right up my alley. Tales of rock and roll excess are my jam, and it looks like we’re in for a lot of debauched yarns from the bald Christian messiah of techno.