Moby has hit the big time and seemingly untouched by the degeneration that is happening around him. He has acquired his 'perfect punk-rock girl' i.e. a vegan-Doc Marten-wearing, mosh-pit surfing, pink-haired supporting, all-round pulchritudinous babe. Which on paper seems the absolute perfect soul mate, but in reality, is not hot on laughs or shared anecdotes (or, it seems even conversation). When a reclusive nerd meets someone who speaks even less and is more curt than he is, things become a bit of a problem. Abrupt to the point of being rude, she seemingly doesn't want to even hold his hand, though quickie airplane sex seems to be on the cards.
Poor Moby, invested much too much in this relationship and the writing is pretty much on the wall; 'I was starting all our conversations with the word "so" again: "So... how was work?" "So...do you want to have spaghetti tonight?" "So... would you do me a favour and kill me in my sleep so I can be spared the pain of waking up in this terrible relationship?"'
Moby - I feel your pain.
I say that Moby has hit the big time and seemingly untouched by the degeneration that is happening around him. That is set to change soon. Meanwhile as Moby is supping his carrot juice and preoccupied with his tofu burgers, the ravers descend into darker avenues. It begins well enough with glow sticks and big pants, but the initial euphoria is wearing off, most described as 'like a laconic tribe on narcotics' (p.205), one of his peers has eyes 'as wide as man hole covers' (p.206). Critics would say that he had got enough out of the acid/ravers and why should he worry about the next chapter, but it is clear that the vibe is changing and things are not as chilled out and happy as it seems.
'Both the rave scene and my trips to Europe were changing. Two years ago, everything was new and celebratory. I had been making happy techno records for audiences on ecstacy [...] I was still happy to be part of a scene that was built on a foundation of joy. Now, by 1993, the music was getting darker and the drugs were getting heavier. Audiences were dancing less and passing out in corners more' (p.215). Another peer seems despondent how there are '"A lot of people [there] but they're all sitting on the floor. I f*****g hate ketamine"' (p.216).
Does make me wonder if Moby appreciates the irony of his situation. He grew up with a background of herion and crack addicts - why is he so surprised when his 'love generation' starts delving into deeper, darker things? I am not eulogising on the sins of drug taking, but it does rather come full circle.
To give Moby his due, he does have a knack with words and has a deadpan delivery that has made me laugh out loud several times. For instance the conversation with his dog Walnut, enticing it to play with a fellow pit bull; 'Walnut stared up at me, as if to say, "Really? Do I want to play with the giant psychopathic pit bull that eats glass for breakfast? Best-case scenario, I get cold and muddy and the pit bull ignores me. Worst-case scenario, I get slowly eaten by that monster' (p.236). Love it - a very human-canine interaction here, more warmth with the dog than with the monosyllabic snotty Sarah.
I think he is at his most eloquent, whilst composing a track. Conflicted about Sarah, he describes his musical arrangement and the prose just falls out of him. This gives me more hope for the rest of the biography and I do take yesterday's critique back a bit.
Quote of the Day
He begins drinking after eight years of sobriety; 'We were in a windowless dive bar [...] with thick cigarette smoke in the air and an alphabet of hepatitis in the toilets' (p.259).
Approaching the last quarter of the book - now on page 300.