Say It's All Mine - a reflection on the 20th anniversary of 'Animal Rights' and a review of Moby's memoir 'Porcelain'
The thought behind writing your memoir is that you think
your own life has been interesting enough that it warrants writing it down and
that other people will want to read it.
Such is the case with Porcelain,
the recently published memoir by Richard Melville Hall, the musician most
commonly known as Moby.
A lengthy 400+ pages (plus two sections of photos), Porcelain is not a traditional memoir in
the sense that it recounts Moby’s life from birth up until he started writing
it; rather, it chronicles the years 1989 through 1999 and covers Moby’s humble
beginnings, his subsequent rise, and his fall in the wake of the critical and
commercial failure of his misunderstood 1996 album Animal Rights. The book ends shortly before the release of Play, as if to tell the readers, “Well,
you know what happens next.”
You learn a lot about Moby from reading Porcelain—specifically that at the tail end of the 1980s, he was
basically homeless. He was paying $50 a month to corrupt security guards so he
could live in an abandoned factory in a dangerous neighborhood when he was
still in Connecticut, prior to his relocation to New York City.
You also learn that Moby was a bit of a pussy hound during
the decade this book covers: after moving on from the very religious girl he dated
early on, he becomes involved with a raver girl and a vegan punk before he
throws himself into dating (or at least just sleeping with) former sex workers
and strippers, among others. I mean for a while, it’s like almost every other
chapter has some mention of a woman that he is current plowing or has plowed at
one point.
He also spent the last four years of the decade either
drunk, or hung over. After touting his sobriety through the early 1990s, yet
being immersed in rave culture at that time, Moby doesn’t pick up the bottle
again until 1995 after a messy break up with a girl named Sarah. Once he picks
it up, he doesn’t put it back down again.
Outside of his battles with alcoholism, a bulk of the
conflict in Porcelain comes from
within—a self-described “Christian,” Moby spend a majority of the book
struggling with maintaining his Christian ideals while doing things like having
sex in middle of a dance floor, surrounded by drag queens dressed as Stevie
Nicks.
The book is written out in a series of short anecdotes, or
vignettes, that cover specific moments or events, but in doing so, some things
fall through the cracks.
One thing that stuck out for me was Moby’s attempt to leave
his original, very independent label, and sign with Mute in the UK and Elektra
in the US. One minute he’s a close friend with Instinct Records label head
Jared—cleaning his apartment, taking care of mailing things for the label; next
thing you know, he wants out, but his interested labels have to buy him out of
his Impact deal. What happened? What went south? Why was this information
conveniently glossed over, but instead, Moby can remember what he purchased on
a trip to the grocery store and chooses to include that on more than one
occasion?
I stop short of saying that the book is “well written,” but
it is certainly a thoughtful reflection on a period of time. It’s not
unreadable by any means, and I commend Moby for actually taking this on
himself—the afterward discusses his interest in telling these stories to
someone else and having them write the book, but as an alleged descendant of
Herman Melville, he was encouraged to at least try to write the memoir himself.
It’s written out in a very casual tone—he tries his hardest
and succeeds in most cases to be an affable narrator of his own life. He’s
charming while detailing debauchery and self-deprecating in all the right
places. But one thing that struck me when reading this—I don’t read a lot of
memoirs or autobiographies, so I don’t think this kind of thought really hit me until now—but while
reading Porcelain, I realized just
how much of a memoir is “creative non-fiction.”
I can’t even remember conversations I had yesterday, let
alone from 20+ years ago. There’s a lot of dialogue in the book, so how could
someone who spent almost a decade under the influence of alcohol, among other
things at later points, remember conversations that he had?
I guess in telling your own story, you reconstruct the
moment as best you can.
Moby himself has a punk rock background, which is touched on
briefly in Porcelain, so to follow up
Everything is Wrong, he decides he’s
going to make a lo-fi punk album, much to the chagrin of everyone: his friends,
his record label, and as he would soon find out, his listening audience, who
just didn’t understand how he could go from rave anthems to screaming and
guitars in just a year’s time.
I bought a copy of Animal
Rights in the winter of 1997 from the K-Mart in my hometown of Freeport,
Illinois. I bought it based on the strength of having seen the video for his
Mission of Burma cover “That’s When I Reach For My Revolver,” and I also had
purchased Everything is Wrong on
cassette in 1995, shortly after its release.
To say I was not ready for Animal Rights, at age 13, is an understatement. And even 20 years
later, I’m still not 100% sure it’s an album I am ready for—but it’s an album
I’ve grown to understand and appreciate more and more over time.
Claustrophobic and cacophonic, dark and desperate, Animal Rights blisters from start to
finish and rarely does it let up. Fuzzy, scuzzed out guitars, distorted and
shouted vocals, and frenetic drum machine programming anchor down a bulk of the
album’s 16 visceral tracks—only after it crosses well beyond the halfway point
does it ever sound like something a guy who was headlining European raves would
produce.
And even then, it’s so far removed from the dance anthems of
Everything is Wrong—the ten-minute
“Alone” builds a restrained dance beat behind a heavy-duty synth wall; while
“Old” is an introspective piano piece and “A Love Song For My Mom” haunts in
its simplicity.
It closes with the evocative “A Season in Hell,” which, in a
way, is the inverse of the majesty of Everything
is Wrong’s “God Moving Over The Face of The Waters.”
The focus of the album, despite these brief reprieves toward
the end, is anger. The record was made following Moby witnessing the lack of
energy other electronic performers had while playing the festival circuit,
while being simultaneously moved by the raw energy he witnessed from loud rock
bands.
In Porcelain, when
his management team questions his decision to make a “rock” album, his only
response was, “It just feels right to me.”
I was well into my 20s before Animal Rights clicked for me. I had always held on to my copy of
it—never thinking to trade it in to a used CD store for cash—but I rarely
listened to it. As a young teenager, the angst of the album’s first half made
me nervous, but something about its structure, its sharp focus yet unfocused
execution all of a sudden made more sense to me as a listener.
It’s not a fun record; it’s not the kind of thing you throw
on when you are having dinner guests. 20 years later, it’s still a demanding,
complicated listen. It asks questions but provides no answers, and in the end,
there is really little resolve. But it’s still impressive, and two decades
later, considering how weird it sounded in the 90s, it still sounds weird today—and
not in a bad way. And despite it being a near killer at the time, it is a
pivotal moment in Moby’s career.
Considering I’ve been listening to the guy for over 20
years, I would say that I more than a fairweather Moby fan. Porcelain, as a book, is for a very
specific audience—fans of Moby. Maybe they are hard-core fans; maybe they just
really loved Play when it came out
and haven’t thought about him since then. It’s the kind of book that’s not out
to change the course of literature or impact lives in some kind of
transcendental way. It’s a memoir written by a musician and despite its
slightly cloying nature at times and for all its flaws, it kept me interested,
and I can’t say the same for all memoirs written by musicians.
And if you have not listened to Animal Rights at this point in your life, please heed the advice
written in the album’s liner notes: “Please listen to Animal Rights in its entirety at least once.”
Animal Rights is available for an odd price of $11.55 directly from Moby's online store; Porcelain is out now via Penguin.
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