Moby Call Me

OU’RE TOO OLD, let go, it’s over — nobody listens to techno!” It’s hard to think of Moby without hearing those words, even today. Back in 2002, Eminem’s notorious epithet against the electro icon on “Without Me” — the result of a very public feud between the two artists — was a devastating right hook. Its timing was impeccable: Moby was feeling the brunt of a cultural backlash. While Play, his 1999 electro-soul smash, was the first LP to turn a techno geek into a pop superstar, critics took umbrage with where they were hearing it: SUV ads, Nike spots, movie trailers. It was the first album to have all — every single one — of its tracks licensed for commercial use. Moby would become the early aughts’ poster boy for selling out, derided for making electronica (read: edgy, underground) safe enough for corporate America (read: not cool). His career took a hit, and he’s kept a low profile since. But here’s the thing: these days, everyone listens to What’s more, song licensing has become the new norm; amid a struggling music industry, bands can’t survive without hawking their tunes at ad execs. Turns out Moby’s only crime was figuring out the game sooner than the rest of the world. His influence is now everywhere. At 50, though, he’s blissfully indifferent about how he’s perceived. The reclusive New Yorker is content staying out of the spotlight, quietly crafting boundary-pushing albums (like this year’s meditative Long Ambients1: Calm. Sleep.) primarily for himself. Appropriately, his new memoir, Porcelain, captures his pre-fame rave days in the ’90s, back when his focus, like today, was on music and good vibes, not TMZ headlines. It seems Moby’s actually taken Eminem’s advice: he’s let go. And that may just be the sweetest revenge yet.

A decade after taking electronic music (and song licensing) into the mainstream, Moby doesn’t get much credit for what he started. And he couldn’t care less