Modern Mixology: Moby
Moby is one of the most influential names in the history of electronica. There’s no argument—it’s a simple fact. Nobody has moved more records, rocked more dance floors, and scored more movies. People who don’t normally listen to the genre have heard his hits blasting from boomboxes and televisions throughout their lives, and many can’t help but like it. If I play his music for someone that hasn’t heard him before, it will reliably tilt their head to a curious angle before they ask who we’re listening to. Back when I was briefly a wedding DJ in the early 2000s, “Bodyrock” was on every playlist a client handed me, and rightfully so. “Flower” was one of my aunt’s favorite songs, and my dentist bought a copy of Play to put on in his waiting room to keep patients calm.
The crater of Moby’s cultural impact is as immense as it is confusing to behold. How did this happen? Why does it still persist? Twenty-six albums and countless remixes later, the answer might seem obvious. That’s what I thought when I started researching this article. I was fairly certain I would be charting a straight line of Moby’s gradual, yet inevitable, evolution from hardcore faith punk for militant Christian teenagers to easy listening electronica for stressed-out soccer moms. After listening to every album, b-side, and remix in chronological order, I found that the truth was nothing so simple. Moby’s musical journey was not a straight line to a destination, but more of a circuitous odyssey full of branching paths, intriguing side-quests, and occasionally wandering around lost in a circle.
Before he was Moby, Richard Melville Hall learned to play music in church. He was a gifted pianist and a decent guitarist. His earliest performances were as part of various Christian punk bands formed with his friends. More of an interesting curiosity than a noteworthy musical milestone, as Christian punk generally misses the point of both ideas. But punk rock was an influence that would continue to haunt Moby’s sound throughout his discography, waxing and waning with the passage of years.
Moby’s earliest hits were underground bangers. Acid-infused rave anthems like “Voodoo Child” and “Go” blew the roofs off warehouses and shattered dance floors. Tracks like “Time Signature” and “Drug Fits the Face” showcase a young talent just starting to experiment with all of the exciting new electronic tools that musicians discovered in the 1990’s. The hit single “Next is the E” is just straight-up acid house. These tracks sound both technical and raw, like they were recorded on a corrupted translucent purple diskette. Moby’s first self-titled album from 1992 collected many of these singles and plenty of new tracks to create a disc that is pure rave fuel. Think thumping house beats augmented with enough techno sound effects to make a robot dance. Lots of beeps and bloops, but also a few of the piano riffs and distorted vocals that would become signatures of his later work. There are even a fewer softer, more subtle songs like “Mercy” that would be right at home in the chill room. Overall, this album has a decidedly electro-industrial sound, a relic of Moby’s halcyon raver days that would become increasingly rare as his career continued.
For his second album, Moby went in the complete opposite direction. Although still technically electronica, 1993’s Ambient bears little resemblance to his previous releases. It is a slow, simple, and somber affair, with no sign of the energetic beats that characterized his previous underground dance records. While it’s perfectly good meditation music, it was hardly memorable enough to climb charts. It’s tough to have a hit single when all the songs put listeners to sleep. Ambient exists, and it’s a pleasant enough listen, but there’s a reason it’s the only album in Moby’s whole catalogue to never get a remaster or re-release. I’ve come to appreciate the mellow vibe more in my old age, and it’s still more interesting to listen to than his later ambient works. It’s just so ponderously puzzling that an artist would decide to do something so different for only his second album, especially after the first was so successful on the nightclub circuit. But this would prove to be the natural progression of Moby’s career, constantly pinballing between various influences and inspirations, never content with consistency.
Ironically, Everything Is Wrong (1995) is the prototype for everything Moby would become over the next decade. It takes a “kitchen sink” approach to making a record, putting all of Moby’s most persistent influences front and center: punk rock, underground dance, and church music. This album also firmly establishes his fondness for pianos. Tracks like “Hymn” combine plinking keys with swelling synths to create the uplifting spiritual sound that would become the trademark of a Moby song. “Let’s Go Free” is a fantastic breakbeat—short, punchy, and easy to loop and scratch. “Feeling So Real” and “Everytime You Touch Me” are there to represent ‘90s acid house. But these are accompanied by the incongruously shrill punk tracks “All That I Need Is To Be Loved” and “What I Love.” If preachy self-righteous punk is your thing, you may enjoy them, but these tracks always inexorably drew my finger to the skip button. From start to finish, Everything Is Wrong is an audio adventure all its own.
Moby followed that with his most divisive album: Animal Rights (1996). It was built from the same blueprint as its predecessor, but in reverse and upside-down. This time, most of the songs are strident screaming punk and it’s the few mellow ambient tracks (like “Anima”) that seem to have gotten lost on their way to another album. It creates a sense of musical whiplash as the genre completely shifts from one track to the next. Animal Rights was poorly received and aggressively unpleasant to listen to. The ravers that made up most of Moby’s fanbase at this point were not interested, and those that bought the album based on his name alone felt betrayed. Your mileage may vary, but the critical consensus seems to be that it wasn’t very good even for punk music. This record put Moby’s career into a coma it seemed unlikely to wake from. And yet, in his interviews and autobiographies he has confessed that of all his albums, Animal Rights is his favorite one. What an eclectic genius.
Over the next few years, Moby released various compilation albums that collected old hits and forgotten b-sides in an effort to win back the ravers and rekindle the clubland flame that had ignited his career. The results were a mixed bag. Rare: The Collected B-Sides (1996) is an assortment of remixes that actually improve upon Moby’s already great underground classics. “Voodoo Child (Poor in NY Mix)” is an amplified roof-lifter. “Have You Seen My Baby” is transformed into a cyberpunk pulse perfect for hacking the Matrix. All the hard edges get sanded off “Drug Fits the Face,” leaving it as a smooth slice of atmospheric drum n’bass. “Thousand” is more of an intriguing curiosity than something you actually want to listen to—it still holds the Guinness World Record for fastest song, clocking in at over 1,015 beats per minute. And that is but the first of three world records Moby would achieve throughout his career. The Rare compilation also included a bonus disc titled Go: The Collected Remixes. Since Moby did all of these remixes himself, it is reasonable to assume (and many do) that these tracks are all early “drafts” of his first hit single: “Go.” You might think an hour-long mix composed of 14 versions of the same song would get repetitive and boring, but it never does. They’re all just different enough to make it feel like a concept album with many variations on a common theme.
Funny story—back when I was a teenager taking my car to inspected, I left this CD in the player. When the mechanic, a man of at least 60 years, brought my car back out, he excitedly pointed to the stereo and asked who I was listening to. After I told him he thanked me, shook my hand, gave me the keys and walked away without mentioning payment. It makes me smile to imagine the old man heading straight to the music store across the street after his shift and spending his evening at home listening to Moby for the first time. Never underestimate the power of good music.
That double-disc was followed by I Like To Score in 1997. This album is an assembly of songs that had featured in commercials, television, and movies, with a few random b-sides thrown in to fill out the tracklist. You will (probably) remember “God Moving Over The Face Of The Water” from Michael Mann’s 1996 film Heat. Or (probably not) the “Love Theme” from MTV’s first big flop, Joe’s Apartment. But the star of this show is undeniably Moby’s energetic re-version of the James Bond theme, which was featured in Tomorrow Never Dies. This remix almost single-handedly resuscitated his music career. It reminded people what Moby is good at, and so there was a primed fan base ready to receive whatever he put out next.
Fortunately for him and all of us, what came next was Moby’s magnum opus: Play (1999). It will be challenging to say anything about this album that hasn’t been said before, as it is easily the most-discussed record in the history of electronica. Even 25 years later, it remains unsurpassed. So it’s more than a little ironic that Moby originally intended Play to be the swan song for what he considered to be a failed musical career, having yet to achieve the critical respect he sought. Instead he produced the best-selling electronica album of all time, moving over 12 million copies and setting Moby’s second world record. Play transformed an underground dance DJ into one of the most famous musicians in the world. All of the elements that would define his style going forward are present on this record. The funky breakbeats and the elegiac pianos coupled with an old blues sample—the sound people think of when you say the name “Moby.”
“Porcelain” is basically the thesis statement for this new phase of his career. The distorted and otherworldly vocals combined with a drizzling of ethereal keys and an energetic breakbeat make this track equally suitable for the chill room or the dance floor. “Honey” uses the same formula, but comes up with a jazzy party jam. The punk influence is almost entirely absent from this album, save for the occasional guitar riff. Like on “Southside,” the closest Moby ever came to a straight-up pop song, complete with celebrity guest vocal by Gwen Stefani. “Bodyrock” is the high-water mark of this record, and possibly Moby’s entire career. A propulsive track of electric body music designed to make people move, this song also bears a striking sonic similarity to the James Bond remix that saved his career from early obscurity. It was, of course, the breakout single of the album. If you were alive and had ears between 1999-2002, there was a zero percent chance you did not hear this song. It was everywhere—in clubs, on commercials, blasting out of car windows. It was even on a compilation CD my mom bought at Starbucks because it sounded “pretty neat.” Quite frankly, it would be impossible to overstate the significance of this song. Play would still be a phenomenal record without it, but it wouldn’t be the best-selling electronic album of all time.
The unexpected runaway success of Play not only resurrected Moby’s career, but also completely changed how he would produce and release his next few decades of work. In 2000 he released Play: The B-Sides, which assembled the outtakes from the previous album’s singles. It was essentially a whole bonus album built on the same principles and vibe as its predecessor, almost like a sonic sequel to Play. “Flower” captures the same funky energy as “Honey” and was more than good enough to be its own single. “Sunday” sounds like a moment of quiet contemplation slowly expanding to fill a lazy afternoon. “Whispering Wind,” with its synthetic bell tones and distorted vocals, is the perfect lullaby for robots. And “Running” is there to remind everyone that Moby used to make house music. Although Moby himself described this as a collection of songs that “didn’t make the cut” for Play, it’s certainly not due to a lack of quality. “Flower” can be heard in several movies, most notably Gone in 60 Seconds. And “Memory Gospel” soundtracks the final act of Southland Tales. While Play:The B-Sides may not be as groundbreaking as its predecessor, that’s only because it wasn’t released first. Moby followed it up in 2001 with Play: The DVD, which collected all of the music videos from the album and also included an hour-long DJ mix composed of the best remixes of Play’s biggest hits. A showcase of talented electronic artists of the age transformed Moby’s songs into everything from chill dub house to epic stadium trance.
With this trilogy of albums, Moby had firmly established the new approach he would take to releasing his music going forward. He followed a similar pattern for over a decade—he would release a new album, then either a bonus b-side collection, a selection of remixes, or sometimes both. It effectively made every album into two or three, which turned out to be just as beneficial artistically as it was financially. It allowed Moby the freedom to explore all of his crazy ideas to their fullest without worrying if something would “fit” on the album.
After the record-breaking success of Play, Moby had carte blanche to do whatever he wanted on his next release, and 18 is the result. For the first time, he maintained a similar style for two sequential albums. 18 is built on the same sonic philosophy that produced Play—breaks and keyboards tossed with some blues samples—but it doesn’t have even a fraction of the pulsing energy of its predecessor. “Fireworks” is a surprisingly somber piece of piano noodling played on a haunted synthesizer. The titular track, “18,” is a keyboarding showcase that impresses without showing off. The whole album feels like a decisive shift back towards the ambient end of the spectrum. There’s not a single dance floor banger to be found on this record. “The Rafters” is close, but it’s more of a transitional track than a showstopper in its own right. 18 is also host to some of Moby’s worst singles. “We Are All Made of Stars” is a cringeworthy attempt at a pop rock song that sounds like your uncle’s drinking buddies playing Blink 182 covers. “Jam For The Ladies” is so overproduced that it feels like a parody of hip hop; the kind of song that would be attributed to a fictional musician in a comedy to demonstrate the character’s ridiculousness. But just because 18 lacks a runaway hit like “Bodyrock” doesn’t mean it’s a bad album. It just can’t compete with what came before. That’s why it sold less than a third as many copies as its predecessor—this slow and sober record just wasn’t what the public expected from the visionary creator of Play. Unfortunately, that reductive “musical genius” label would haunt Moby for the rest of his career.
18 B Sides was released in 2003. In addition to collecting the b-sides from the previous year’s singles, it also included five new songs. While this record has more energy than its companion, it only reinforces the perception that both are merely made up of the misfit songs cut from Play. “Landing” sounds like synth pop on Ambien. “Love of Strings” is just “Signs of Love” with a slightly faster breakbeat and some extra guitar twangs. “Nearer” is the chopped & screwed version of “Whispering Wind,” slowed to just shy of unintelligible. “String Electro” further adds to the impression of recycled music, sounding like an early draft of “In This World” picked up off the cutting room floor and remixed for elevator play. Puzzlingly, the electro rave anthem “Horse & Carrot” is the sole banger of the bunch—so why was it banished to the b-side collection? Just like its companion, 18 B Sides feels like half of a good album. Perhaps if the best of both had been combined… but probably not.
And then in 2005 Moby released his seventh album, Hotel. It was…different. To say the least.
*insert lengthy sigh*
Hotel is a record nobody wanted to make, and fewer still wanted to listen to. Not even Moby himself. And it is painfully obvious. It feels like he got a homework assignment to make an alt-rock record and turned this in after a weekend. All of his biggest weaknesses as an artist are on full display here, and it’s hard to listen to without constantly frowning and grinding my teeth. For the first time since Ambient, Moby eschews the use of vocal samples and it is a catastrophic mistake that ripples through the entire album. His flat, emotionless affect only draws attention to the rudimentary rhythms that back these tracks, making them feel cheap and slight compared to their predecessors. The characteristically smooth and clean production of Moby is tragically misplaced on this record that is never raw enough to rock, nor energetic enough to power a dance floor. It sold half as many copies as 18, continuing a serious downtrend. At the time, Moby was deep in the throes of alcoholism and a rapidly escalating drug habit, which caused him to alienate most of his friends. He was also high on his own hype, so obsessed with maintaining his fame that he convinced himself he had to make a commercially viable mainstream rock album to prove he was the musical genius everyone said he was back in 1999. He must have been on some really strong stuff to think that the best way to distinguish himself as an artist was to try and do the same thing everybody else was doing. No one asked for this record and no one wanted it, not even the creator. In interviews and his autobiography, Moby freely admits that Hotel is his least favorite of all his albums. And I have to agree with him. This was the album that convinced me to put Moby in a “time-out” for a while. I stopped buying or even listening to his new records for almost a decade, because if this was the sound he was shooting for, I was emphatically not interested. To add to Moby’s unforced error, the deluxe version of the album came with a bonus disc titled Hotel: Ambient, a selection of sleepy songs made by stripping the beats and vocals from Hotel’s lackluster tracks. Although this was much easier to listen to than its companion, it’s always a bad sign when your entire album can be improved by removing two-thirds of the musical elements from it. Sadly, learning from these mistakes would not prevent Moby from repeating them in the future.
Go—The Very Best of Moby was a greatest hits compilation released in 2006, his second such collection. There’s not much to say about it. It’s all of Moby’s best songs, including the post-Play era. If you just want a sample platter of his best stuff, this one’s for you. More interesting was the remix album that followed in 2007. Many of the best DJs and producers of the time put their own spin on Moby’s classics, and the result is his most club-friendly record since 1999. Ferry Corsten takes “Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad?”, one of Moby’s most somber and spiritual songs, and transforms it into a pulse-pounding trance anthem. Sandy Rivera reimagines “In My Heart” as a jazz-infused house thumper, while Vitalic manages to create the weirdest remix of “Go” to yet exist. “Porcelain” is unrecognizable as a tribal circle jam that has more energy but significantly less chill than the original. Mylo reinvents “Lift Me Up” as electroclash. CJ Bolland does what he does best to Moby’s version of the James Bond theme, producing a rough and raw acid break straight off a ‘90s hard drive. Even “Bodyrock” gets re-engineered into a funky tech-house banger. “We Are All Made of Stars” still sucks, and no amount of remixing will ever change that. But sixteen out of eighteen songs being good is practically unheard of in the history of CDs. If you were just getting into Moby in the early 2000’s, this double disc was the perfect starter album, packaging all of his best songs and their hottest remixes together for two hours of listening pleasure.
Last Night (2008) is Moby’s long-awaited return to his roots, finally making another proper dance record. The vibe is a wild night of clubbing in New York City condensed down into just 65 minutes of music, from early-evening pre-game to a floor-shattering climax to the peaceful sunrise smoke sesh. And it’s mostly successful. “Ooh Yeah” is the perfect electro jam to get you and your friends pumped-up for an epic night out. By the time this song ends, you’ll be ready to party. “I Love to Move in Here” has just enough energy to maintain your mood on the train ride into the city. “257.Zero” is the track that comes blasting out when the bouncer opens the door into the neon-soaked wonderland of nightlife. It’s time to get your dance on. The distorted vocal sample of a woman reading off numbers sounds like a technician trying to find the best frequency for maximum vibes. “Everyday It’s 1989” is classic piano anthem house. But there are a few puzzling missteps as well. “Degenerates” sounds like a smoke-break in the alley, with the muted cacophony of basslines rumbling down a street lined with nightclubs. “Sweet Apocalypse” is the perfect soundtrack for rolling that last spliff of the night. “Live For Tomorrow” is the most confusingly constructed track on the album, a weird mashup of house and blues that does neither particularly well. “Alice” is another misfit single—too slow to rock the dance floor, but also too harsh-sounding for the chill room. The titular song of the album undercuts the vibe by being the sleepiest, least-danceable track on the whole record. The primary weakness of this album is that it starts to mellow out too soon. It does great on the buildup and the breakdown, but you’ve only heard one true banger before it slides into the electric lullabies Moby so loves to make. You’ve just gotten in the zone by the time this record tells you to head home and crash. It’s a bit abrupt, but overall Last Night is a welcome return to electronica, even though it doesn’t quite live up to its bold ambitions.
Fortunately, Last Night: Remixed (2008) was able to deliver what its predecessor did not. This is what an epic night out in the big city sounds like. Plenty of amazing producers were assembled to put their own unique spins on Moby’s songs, and pretty much all of them totally slap. Holy Ghost transforms “I Love To Move In Here” into a funky disco house banger. Kris Menace’s version of “Ooh Yeah” is upbeat electro pop with a much more vibrant sound than its inspiration. “Live For Tomorrow” becomes a rumbling progressive house track in the hands of producer Tocadisco. The Shapeshifters’ Maximal Remix turns “I’m In Love” into a deep slice of epic trance. General MIDI salvages bits of “Alice” into a tech-break that is a massive improvement over the original. Mason’s Glowsticks Remix envisions “I’m In Love” as a hardcore ‘90s rave anthem ripped off a translucent diskette. AC Slater breaks from the pack by turning “The Stars” into a warbling jungle track, which is an unusual but intriguing flavor for a Moby remix. The only real clunker of the bunch was Drop The Lime’s take on “Alice” that was even more boring than the original, which is an impressive but not interesting achievement. Last Night: Remixed is one of those rare remix albums that is just an overall upgrade to the original. This record fulfills all of the club-rocking promise that its source material could not.
Just when it looked like the old underground Moby was back, he got real quiet again. As was his usual tendency, he departed in the complete opposite direction of what had come before. 2009’s wait for me. is much slower, softer and more funereal than even his previous downtempo efforts. Lots of plinking ivory and swelling synths coupled with ethereal female vocals. “Study War” is a perfect example of the tried-and-true Moby formula in action: a compelling vocal sample hooked over a mellow breakbeat in a bed of pianos. “Shot in the Back of the Head” is techno noir sad dad music; the mournful strings create the impression that the record is crying to be over because it just can’t handle getting any sadder. “Division” is all sleepy synths and strings, a great soundtrack for a moonrise. “Pale Horses” is the typical sad lullaby Moby has always excelled at, while “Walk With Me” is a synthwave hymn for loneliness. “A Seated Night” sounds like the Church of Techno just concluded services for the day, while “Mistake” is exactly that—another ill-conceived alt-rock dud by a guy who should really know better by now. “One Time We Lived” is the only song with any energy, but Moby’s vocals are just as flat and bland as always, deflating what would have otherwise been the album’s only banger. It’s rather ironic that one of the most influential dance musicians of all time has a catalogue that is 90% weapons-grade sleep-aids. Stranger still, the deluxe edition of wait for me. came bundled with a bonus disc of ambient versions of all the songs, as if the whole record wasn’t lethargic enough. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a CD with less of a reason to exist—wait for me. was a sedative of a record already. The ambient mixes are flat-out comatose. Fortunately, it was soon followed by the remix album. A veritable army of DJs and producers turned all of Moby’s lullabies, hymns, and elegies into thumping techno shredders. Highlights included Carl Cox’s bass-heavy re-version of “Walk With Me” and Yuksek transforming “Mistake,” the worst song on the album, into a far superior funky French filter house groove. This remix record was the true successor to albums like Last Night and Play.
As Moby’s remix era continues, I can’t help but wonder if these alternate versions are the only thing still maintaining his cultural relevance. The majority of the music he’s produced since 18 hasn’t got much play on the radio or in the club, and would be completely forgotten if they hadn’t gotten sick remixes from some of the best DJs on the planet. Is he just churning out remix fodder now, waiting for other artists to find and fulfill the true potential of his tracks? While events in the future have made that seem less and less likely over time, it seemed quite plausible in the decade between Play and wait for me.
2011’s destroyed. was and remains Moby’s lowest-charting album, underperforming both critically and commercially. Most of it was composed during insomniac nights spent alone in his hotel room while out on tour, and it shows. Many songs come close to recapturing that classic Moby sound, but they all fall short in their own unique ways. Far too many lilting ethereal vocals make a lot of songs sound the same, like “The Low Hum” & “Rockets”—I can never tell those two apart. “Sevastopol” would be an excellent minimalist techno piece if only it had a deeper bass line to counter its very crowded high end. “The Day” sounds like a thorazine drip daydream, while “Lie Down in Darkness” is yet another variation on the classic formula: blues sample plus synths, multiplied by breakbeats equals Moby. While there are many perfectly fine tracks on this record, none of them innovate enough to feel like an evolution of what came before. No boundaries are being pushed. This album could just as easily be another collection of lost b-sides from Play. It certainly nails the vibe of an empty airport at 2 AM, but never offers any explanation as to why.
It was followed in 2012 by Destroyed: Remixed, the last compilation from Moby’s Remix Era. All the best versions of all the best songs from that album can be found on this double-disc. Holy Ghost reimagines “Blue Moon” as a popping Italo disco record from 1987. John Lord Fonda turns up the tempo on “Sevastopol” without losing any of the sleepiness of the original. For some reason, Ferry Corsten always hears warehouse-shaking trance whenever he listens to a Moby song. I don’t understand it, but I do appreciate the audio results. Tommy Trash transforms “After” into a sizzling electroclash kicker. But “Lie Down In Darkness” is the biggest winner here, with five different remixes of varying quality. I think the Bassjackers did it best, but your mileage may vary. Sadly, this was the end of the great Remix Era. Of course plenty of DJs and artists continue to remix Moby’s works to this day, but after Destroyed: Remixed the fans could no longer count on a compilation to accompany his future albums. For any other artist, this would have been the preface to a major departure from their signature style, leaving all previous influences and references behind. But not Moby.
Instead, he released Innocents in 2013—a nostalgic return to form that was more regressive retread than retro revival. It’s an entire album of hypnotic hangover music, all soft beats and gently vibrating chords. It copies the uplifting spiritual sound that has become Moby’s signature, but it can’t quite replicate the same creative energy he captured back in 1999. “Almost Home” feels like waking up on an airplane you have no memory of boarding, nor any clue as to its destination, and just being cool with it. “The Perfect Life” is another one of the oddly energetic lullabies that have become the most recognizable staples of a Moby album. “Illot Mollo” could be an update to “Everloving,” emphasizing the slow build and swelling strings that have long characterized his sound. The songs aren’t bad, but few can stand toe-to-toe with the great singles of his discography. Unfortunately, this album’s biggest flaw is the same one that has dogged him for his entire career. Moby continues to insist on writing lyrics, and lots of them, even though its consistently been his most obvious musical shortcoming. Despite his best effort, Innocents is full of great guest vocalists singing the most banal middle-school poetry. Although he is great at many things, Moby has never written a memorable line. Yet, he continues to paste them over his otherwise great downtempo tracks, like an interior decorator wallpapering over a Banksy. For the first time since Play, the new album was not followed by a collection of b-sides or remixes. The deluxe edition came with an extra six songs, but they only reinforced the notion that Moby was recycling old ideas instead of exploring new ones. Most of the tracks on this record could have been slipped onto 18 or wait for me. and not seemed the least bit out of place.
Moby didn’t produce another dance record for seven years. He continued his journey backwards with Long Ambients 1: Calm. Sleep. in 2016. These were tracks he engineered as his own personal relaxation mix and then made them available to download for free. It’s a slow burn from start to finish, but that seems to be the point. Is it possible to be aggressively ambient? Most of the songs don’t even have a beat. Or a title—they’re just serial numbers. If all you need is some immersive white noise while you do something more fun or important, this album will keep a vibe chilled for over four hours. A sequel, Long Ambients 2, was released for free in 2019. There’s not much to say about it except that it is more long-form meditation music that will definitely help you fall asleep. But Moby never stayed in that lane for too long.
Like so many of us, Moby was quite angered by the results of the 2016 presidential election. That righteous rage sent him right off the rails, musically speaking, and he reverted back to his young punk days. He assembled his own electro punk band, dubbed The Void Pacific Choir. This cadre of drunken uncles having concurrent midlife crises spent a summer shirtless and sweating in a tiny room while they punished their instruments as if they had caught them stealing the last beer. These Systems Are Failing is a return to Moby’s origins as a hardcore Christian punk. The result is a featureless wall of noise where every brick looks exactly the same. It’s more preachy than catchy, and not nearly raw enough to be a serviceable rock record. Overall, this album is a tedious exercise in shrillness, unlikely to sway anyone that does not already share its point of view. One thing is for certain—Moby is doing whatever the hell he wants, and no one has the power to dissuade him from his most cherished musical delusions. Mainly that a 50 year old man can cut a relevant punk record. I didn’t even know this album existed until I started researching this article, and honestly, it was better that way.
Moby had so much fun screaming in his garage that he just had to do it again. So, the very next year he released More Fast Songs About The Apocalypse, another punk record that nobody listened to. Once again, Moby failed to rock because he just can’t resist making crisp, clean professional productions that are far too tidy to fit in a genre that is entirely about giving zero fucks. Despite being mostly inspired by anger, Apocalypse lacks the raw energy of the records he is trying too hard to imitate. For such a devoted fan, Moby seems to know paradoxically little about actually making a punk song, and he hasn’t learned anything new thirteen records later. But, no one can accuse him of giving up. He’s still writing sanctimonious lectures disguised as music, and they are no more persuasive for it. It’s a good thing this album and These Systems Are Failing were free downloads, otherwise the sales numbers would have been another Animal Rights level embarrassment. Even Hotel is a better listen than either of these misguided punk experiments.
Everything was Beautiful, and Nothing Hurt (2018) definitely has the best title of all the Moby albums. Too bad the record that wears it is a decidedly mediocre assembly of mournful melodies masquerading as electronic mood music, and downtempo to a fault. “Mere Anarchy” is a lonely piano soliloquy that would have been right at home on Everything Is Wrong. “The Waste of Suns” is a cool piece of computer jazz complimented by a cowbell. “Like a Motherless Child” is yet another great bass beat ruined by Moby’s mumbling. He continues to overestimate his ability to sing, inserting unfiltered vocals that do nothing but puncture the atmosphere the song had been developing before he opened his mouth. “A Dark Cloud is Coming” is easily the best song on the album—a melancholic blues ballad with just a hint of breakbeats in the background. This record is a frustrating listen for a longtime Moby fan. At this point in the discography, I found myself wondering why Moby so steadfastly refused to combine the energy of his rock influences with his talent for constructing intelligent dance music. It was this combo that produced all of his greatest early hits, so why is he so afraid to return to that well? He certainly feels no such reluctance about revisiting his ambient and punk works on a regular basis. Why not take inspiration from the best work he ever did, instead of churning out yet another album devoid of any dance floor fodder? There are answers to those questions, but I hadn’t found them yet.
The album was followed later that year by Everything was Beautiful, and Nothing Hurt (Remixes), which filled in many of the blanks left by its source material. Unlike previous remix compilations, all 25 alternate mixes were done by Moby himself. This makes the ponderously slow tempo of Everything was Beautiful even more puzzling, as the remix collection proved that Moby was still perfectly capable of doing the things he has obviously been avoiding for almost a decade at this point—namely, rocking a dance floor. I’ve never seen an artist more determined not to do what they’re good at, and I simply could not understand why. It would be like if Carlos Santana decided “No more guitars!”
Fortunately, Moby released All Visible Objects in 2020. It was a proper club record and a modern update on his early underground sound. “Morningside” returns to Moby’s origins in early ‘90s acid house, combined with his penchant for climactically swollen synths. The main sample almost sounds like an allusion to one of his earliest underground hits, “Voodoo Child.” “Power is Taken” is a dark and intense cyberpunk anthem, while “Rise Up in Love” is ethereal stadium trance—something Moby has never done before. Upon hearing it, I can only wonder what took him so long. “Forever” would be a perfect finale track if only it didn’t wait until the literal last minute to drop the beat. Of course, Moby could not resist including a few lilting lullabies like “Too Much Change,” but they’re all stacked at the end so that they don’t interfere with the rest of the album’s flow. Perhaps Moby finally took the criticism to heart, or maybe a dull monotonous existence under quarantine inspired him to recreate that classic speaker-smashing sound in remembrance of better days. Regardless, All Visible Objects was the Moby record people had been waiting to hear since 1999. This was the album that made me finally let Moby out of time-out and start listening again. To the delight of fans everywhere, Moby debuted the album in a live-streamed DJ mix session, the only way to do a record release party during a global pandemic. This free internet concert didn’t just brighten the spirits of the audience trapped at home—all proceeds from the record sales were donated to various charities as well. All Visible Objects was deliberately engineered to create as much positivity as possible during a dark and dreary time, and it absolutely delivered.
Later that same year, Moby released Live Ambient: Improvised Recordings. It was basically the antithesis of All Visible Objects—a slow and quiet contemplative record with no beats at all. It’s mostly Moby riffing on pianos while the synth swells in the background, accompanied by the occasional plucking of guitar strings. It is quite relaxing and impressively cohesive for something that was improvised live, but it’s not a memorable listen. I’ll go ahead and mention Ambient 23 (2023) here, because it is not significantly different from Moby’s previous ambient works. This one doesn’t even seem to have a unique vibe to it. It’s just more weapons-grade white noise. Just like its predecessors, it’ll help you fall asleep and there’s not much else to say about it.
Reprise (2021) is an album with no artistic reason to exist. In yet another misguided attempt to prove himself a “serious” musician, Moby remade various songs from his career in the classical style with a full orchestra of acoustic instruments. But in transforming his groundbreaking beats into traditional arrangements, Moby removes everything that made his sound unique, leaving behind the musical equivalent of wallpaper. It doesn’t sound terrible, but it’s not particularly memorable, either. Moby made the exact same mistake with Hotel, only Reprise is more tediously insistent on conforming to conventions of style. Once again he is high on his own hype, determined to be the miraculous musical wunderkind too many mythologized him as, rather than the very talented electronica artist he actually is in reality. This record takes some of Moby’s greatest hits and asks “What if that song was boring?” It’s not a remix album. It’s just a retread that has nothing new or interesting to offer, which is a rare occurrence in Moby’s catalogue. Not even the follow-up remix compilation could salvage this dull dud.
Always Centered At Night (2024) is a fitting capstone to an eclectic career, drawing inspiration from Moby’s entire history to make an album full of melodic mid-tempo mood music suitable for a chill hang or an after-party. “Feelings Come Undone” tiptoes right up to the line of being a proper banger, but stops just shy. “Where Is Your Pride?” is an intriguing piece of abstract dub-flavored house that never delivers the climax it sets up. It just… stops. “Transit” sounds like an early draft of a Massive Attack song that needs a little more refinement to be album-ready. “Should Sleep” is a piece of keyboard-driven funk that totally slaps, while “Sweet Moon” is a bluesy meditation on spirituality. “Medusa” is a weird atmospheric electro drum n’bass track. This and “Feelings Come Undone” are the only songs with a danceable energy on the album. Although Always Centered At Night never builds much momentum, Moby’s typical easy-listening formula is elevated by a gathering of amazing vocalists giving the best performances ever captured in one of his songs. Omitting his own voice was the best decision he ever made, and I can only hope this album has taught Moby a lasting lesson. Specifically, that he cannot and should not sing his songs himself.
Despite listening to all of his albums multiple times in a short period, Moby remains a tantalizing mystery. I have absolutely no idea what he will do next, and I must admit that is part of the fun. When I began researching this retrospective, I thought Moby’s musical journey was a mostly linear one between two sonic extremes—a gradual slide from hardcore faith punk to easy-listening electronica. But that didn’t turn out to be true. Instead, his extensive discography revealed a musician constantly embattled with himself, chronically unsure of his own sonic identity as he grappled with different influences and tendencies. That’s why his style often changes so drastically between albums before he inevitably retreats to the safety of the familiar for one record, and then he starts the cycle over, hoping to satisfy his ego the next time around.
Spoiler: he never has, and it’s unlikely he ever will. That’s what makes Moby’s music just as frustrating as it is fascinating. I can’t help but wonder how many more amazing dance records might have been produced if Moby hadn’t been so obsessed with proving himself as a “serious musician.” A fixation which is all the more ridiculous since that has been an undeniable fact since 1999. By any definition, Moby is without a doubt one of the most significant and influential music-makers of the modern age. And yet, that wasn’t conclusive enough proof for Moby himself. All of his worst albums (Hotel, These Systems Are Failing, Reprise) were records he thought he should make rather than what he really wanted to make, and it shows in the slick soulless production coupled with uninspired songwriting. They sound professional, but that’s the nicest thing you can say about them. His best albums (Play, Last Night, All Visible Objects) come from a more authentic place, combining the energy of underground dance records with the ethereal ecstasy of church music to create that singular Moby sound that would dominate radios and clubs around the world. Despite that success, Moby spent a lot of his career running away from what worked so well. For somebody so concerned with his own critical consensus, he was surprisingly reluctant to play to his strengths. It certainly seemed like he was ashamed to be considered “just” a dance musician and tried to distance himself from that part of his work, like it was a phase he had outgrown on his way to becoming a mature artist. But that perspective ultimately did him a disservice.
The existence of Voodoo Child lends credence to this theory about the constant contradictions of Moby’s career. Back in the 1990s, “Voodoo Child” wasn’t just Moby’s first underground hit—it was also his alter ego. While the Moby persona went on to evolve into an experimental musician with a broad and varied soundscape that we all know and love, Voodoo Child continued producing the kind of techno-infused acid house that kept clubs pumping. This wasn’t just some forgotten side project with a handful of singles. Voodoo Child produced multiple EPs and full-length albums over the years. Sweet Childhood, his latest release, came out in 2022. Listening to the Voodoo Child discography, it becomes clear that this is where Moby banished all of his rave-related influences when he put on his “serious artist” act, which became more and more frequent after 1999. For example, Baby Monkey (2004) is a collection of the kind of classic speaker-busting bangers that Moby rarely indulges in anymore. But while they will make decent transitional tracks in any house DJ’s set, they lack the unique sonic texture that made records like Play so memorable. Just like a lot of his prime ego’s later output, Voodoo Child’s music is good, but none of it is truly great. That’s a shame, because it’s not hard to imagine how a lot of Moby’s albums could have been improved by blending all of their influences and elements together, instead of trying to keep his inner DJ hidden away like a dirty secret.
Sadly, a Moby divided against himself cannot stand. He stubbornly insisted on keeping his innovations separate from his inspirations, and it caused a kind of sonic stagnation the longer he kept it up. While his main albums veer wildly from one style to another, most do fall within that nice and comfy easy listening electronica range—the kind of stuff you listen to when the party’s over and its time to chill. Or if you’ve aged out of your raver days, when it’s time to do a deep clean of your kitchen. Moby made plenty of songs that were a pleasant enough listen, but never again ascended to the Brobdingnagian heights of “Bodyrock.” Even though he continued to make dance music as Voodoo Child, those tracks sound underdeveloped and outdated compared to his early underground work. Sweet Childhood and Baby Monkey sound like they were recorded in the same session, despite being separated by almost twenty years. That’s not a good sign for any musician, let alone one with as much history as Moby. Perhaps if he expended less effort trying to “prove” himself a serious artist and simply took all of his music seriously he would have one legendary discography full of classic records instead of two mid ones dotted with just as many missteps as highlights. But, we’ll never really know.
Despite everything I just said, I’m still a huge Moby fan. Make no mistake, he has plenty of room for improvement. But the only reason I’m so harsh on him is because I’ve seen his potential in action and I know what he’s capable of. Even if he can’t accept it, Moby has proven himself one of the most significant musicians of the turn of the century, and I’ve never stopped being curious about what he’s going to do next.
Doc Awesome has put together a 2-hour continuous DJ mix of all the best songs and remixes mentioned above, and you can listen to it here.