Showing posts with label
Everything Was Beautiful and Nothing Hurt.
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Showing posts with label
Everything Was Beautiful and Nothing Hurt.
Show all posts
I don’t quite know
what to make of Moby’s latest album, All Visible Objects. It’s been touted in
some sections of the music press (or corners of the internet) as a somewhat
rusty return to his rave/techno roots, but I’m not sure anyone really needs
that right now.
I really enjoyed
the introspective nature - on the surface, at least - of his 2018 album,
Everything Was Beautiful and Nothing Hurt, but this one leaves me feeling
bemused. And frustrated.
That’s no real
surprise. I’ve always had a rather fractious relationship with Moby’s music (as documented here). He’s difficult to warm to as an individual, with multiple
faces or hard-to-embrace personas being presented to the wider public over the
past 30 years.
What that actually
means when it comes to analysing Moby’s music rather depends on your own level
of investment in the man and his art. Mine’s been minimal, so I’ll try to focus
on the music.
All Visible
Objects is the proverbial mixed bag of an album, with a few highs, more lows, a
selection of guest vocalists, and the odd (very odd) cover - in this case, a
soulless take on Roxy Music’s ‘My Only Love’, featuring regular Moby vocal
collaborator Mindy Jones. A version that strips away the despair and emotional
poignancy of Bryan Ferry’s original, and pads it out with lush layers of
faux-rave, almost euphoric, synth fluff.
Slightly more
endearing is the (co-write) collaboration with Linton Kwesi Johnson on
‘Refuge’, which, although quite repetitive, resonates with me more than
anything else found on the album. But that might just be because I’m a fan of
LKJ’s trademark vocal delivery, and not because it’s an especially strong Moby
adaptation.
The rest? Well,
there’s some truth to those return-to-rave claims, not least on the lead
single, ‘Power is Taken’, which is another collaboration, this time with D. H.
Peligro (of Dead Kennedys), and quite possibly the worst thing here due to its
unimaginative high bpm techno, its inauthentic anti-“the man” right-on
pretentiousness, and the annoying refrain ... “those who hate oppression, must
fight against the oppressor. Power is not shared, power is taken” …
Sure, Moby has as
much right as anyone else to be angry at the world, but for whatever reason
(pick one), it just rings a little hollow coming from him. In much the same way
it does when a mansion-dwelling millionaire hip hop mogul raps about life in
the projects and living on the edge (man). We’ve been here before.
And while are
there are other big room hands-in-the-air moments that hark back to the halcyon
days of ‘Go’ and ‘Move’ without exactly replicating those (now dated) highs,
much of this stuff - particularly across the second half of the album - would
be equally at home on any of his more ambient works, or even as extended interludes
on a commercial blockbuster like Play.
‘Too Much Change’,
one of a handful of tracks featuring primary guest vocalist Apollo Jane, is
decent enough, but at something close to ten minutes in length, it might have
been improved with a little more judicious editing.
So it turns out
that my latest liaison with the music of Moby is once again going to be a
short-lived affair. It turns out Everything Was Beautiful was yet another false
dawn, and the frustration I’ve endured with a lot of his work over the years
resumes on All Visible Objects.
Where Everything
Was Beautiful seemingly showcased a flawed middle aged man slowly coming to
terms with an ever changing world, All Visible Objects is more about a
misguided one stubbornly determined to recreate former glories. And not doing
it particularly well.
I was tempted to
close with a forlorn attempt at clever wordplay around “one man” and his
obsession with “knobs”, but given that all sales proceeds from All Visible
Objects are being donated to various charities, I should probably cut Moby some
slack, and just say that this one is for resilient fans only.
A few years back,
I couldn’t have cared less if I never heard another Moby album, ever. The uber
producer’s 1999 effort, Play, pretty much destroyed any ongoing interest I had
in the artist. Thanks mainly to the ridiculous level of exposure it received.
For a few years around the turn of the millennium, Play was everywhere, and I
became heartily sick of hearing it, or snippets of it even, especially as the
musical backdrop for copious amounts of corporate advertising (in particular,
see ‘Porcelain’).
I’d been a fan of
Moby’s early Nineties output, with club bangers like ‘Go’ and ‘Move’ being my
introduction to his work. But Play took Moby into another stratosphere entirely
with its crossover mix of ambient pop and cod-blues. And since Play, I’ve
somehow managed to avoid everything else Moby has subsequently released. Until
a few months back, that is, when in a moment of apparent weakness, I found
myself downloading a gratis copy of his new album, Everything Was Beautiful and Nothing Hurt.
Of all the
spontaneous decisions I’ve made in 2018 - mostly questionable ones - that has
been one of my better choices, because Everything Was Beautiful and Nothing
Hurt turned out to be a genuine revelation. It’s a long way removed from Play,
and almost 20 years on, I can’t help but wonder what I might have missed in the
interim. After all, Play was studio album number five, while Everything Was
Beautiful and Nothing Hurt checks in as album number 15. That’s a whole lot of potential
artistic development, right there. I’m also aware that post-Play albums like 18
(2002), and Hotel (2005), were massive sellers, so they can’t really have been
all that bad. But only if you embrace the notion that units sold is an accurate
representation of the quality on offer, which isn’t always a straightforward given.
It could be that I
just needed a lengthy break from Moby in order to appreciate his work again. Everything
Was Beautiful and Nothing Hurt has made my return far more painless than I
initially thought it might be.
The album is
refreshing in ways I never expected it would be: fragile, melancholic,
haunting, and dripping with the existential angst we’re all bound to
experience at some point along this journey. It’s jammed full of self-deprecation and insecurity. It feels a bit personal, like we’re privy to a “confession”
in places … particularly when confronted by Moby’s own voice, be it spoken word
or singing, as opposed to the multitude of guest vocalists who also feature
(see Mindy Jones, Apollo Jane, Julie Mintz, plus others).
It examines the
state of the world through the eyes/voice of a middle-aged man who really isn’t
all that happy with what he’s seeing in 2018 (or more accurately, 2016 and 2017
when the album was conceived). But there’s also some acceptance there. A resignation that we’ve little choice but to live with, and absorb or consume, the fear and
disillusionment our infinite information/communication networks lumber us with every
minute of every day.
So, the lyrics are
designed to provoke and challenge, but they’re cushioned, for the most part, by
an almost unfashionable electronica backdrop, something of a throwback to trip
hop’s best days. Moby’s own production is superb - it was recorded at home - and
I think the word “lush” probably best describes the wider feel of the album,
which clocks in at just under an hour.
Highlights: ‘Mere
Anarchy’, ‘Welcome To Hard Times’, ‘The Middle Is Gone’, and saving the best until
last, ‘A Dark Cloud Is Coming’.
