Spin Control
 

April 6, 2008

BY JIM DeROGATIS POP MUSIC CRITIC

For all of the charges detractors throw at him, from the claim that he can be self-righteously preachy to the oft-repeated criticism that he can't and shouldn't sing (a notion I refute), no one has ever accused Moby of trying to appear cool -- not when he was an underground presence on the then-burgeoning techno scene of the early'90s; not when he scored a phenomenal worldwide pop hit with "Play" in 1999 and certainly not now, when he's returned to his dance roots after two commercially unsuccessful song-oriented albums in "18" (2002) and "Hotel" (2005).

For all of the charges detractors throw at him, from the claim that he can be self-righteously preachy to the oft-repeated criticism that he can't and shouldn't sing (a notion I refute), no one has ever accused Moby of trying to appear cool -- not when he was an underground presence on the then-burgeoning techno scene of the early'90s; not when he scored a phenomenal worldwide pop hit with "Play" in 1999 and certainly not now, when he's returned to his dance roots after two commercially unsuccessful song-oriented albums in "18" (2002) and "Hotel" (2005).

No, the famously bald, vegan, 42-year-old musician has always geekily but proudly followed his ultra-square muse wherever it might take him, and on his eighth proper album, it takes him on an all-night, presumably substance-fueled tour of the many diverse sounds of New York's clubland, neatly condensed into a 65-minute album-length experience. And from the amped-up, pulsating sounds of dance-floor ravers such as "Everyday It's 1989" and "Disco Lies," to the merger of house and hip-hop on "I Love to Move in Here" (featuring Grandmaster Caz of "Rapper's Delight" fame, one of a number of guests who pop up on the disc), to gorgeous, introspective, evening-ending chill-out tunes such as "Sweet Apocalypse" and the title track, it's a joyous ride.

The key to Moby's appeal and simultaneously the biggest reason why hipsters always shun him is a devotion to sometimes elaborate but always fetching melodies that are absolutely old-school -- and I'm talking very old-school, as in Bach or Mozart. His grooves may not break new ground, and they may sometimes merely ape the work of more cutting-edge DJs. But the combination of those rhythms with his best, often spiritual-sounding hooks makes for an emotional experience uniquely his own and as welcome on the music scene as it was when he made his first big splash with "Go" in 1991.

 

ART ROCK: Destroyer, "Trouble in Dreams" (Merge)

If one were looking to find a band sunk by the weight of all the worst indie-rock traits of the moment -- fey, affected vocals; orchestral filigree applied to mask melodic deficiencies; pointless complexity rubbing up against annoying faux-simplicity and wannabe Ivy League lit professor lyrical allusions -- it would be difficult to find a better candidate than Destroyer, the revolving-lineup art-rock showcase for Vancouver, Canada-based eccentric and songwriter Dan Bejar.

Although Bejar has released a staggering eight albums plus assorted other effluvia under the Destroyer name since the mid-'90s, he's best known as a contributor of some of the finest songs on albums by the indie-rock supergroup the New Pornographers. There, his most self-indulgent and grating tendencies are mitigated by the big-band dynamic, if not checked by unofficial bandleader Carl Newman. But there are no similar filters in Destroyer, and we suffer for it.

Mellotrons chirp, EBowed guitars imitate sawing cellos, wispy backing vocals la-la-la and every time it seems as if Destroyer may rise to the moment and deliver an arty pop gem imitative of Brian Eno's pop albums, the vibe is ruined by a self-conscious allusion to a lite-rock band like Air Supply, some over-the-top production gaffe, pretentious references to Bejar's earlier work or our fearless leader popping back with an even more fake accent than his usual upper-crust Brit impersonation to croon a line such as "You in white and me in gray go well tonight/So let's linger here/This used to be my favorite palm tree/I was starving in that s--t-house, the world" from "My Favorite Year" (1993, if you're curious), one of two especially wince-worthy prog-rock epics at the center of the disc.

 

 

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