MOBY
Hail pounds brutally on the skylight of Moby's Nolita apartment, threatening to break the glass as we talk. His bookshelf, containing everything from Flannery O'Connor to Naguib Mahfouz to The MacHiavellian Guide to Womanizing, rattles from the storm. And Moby pauses every now and then to look worriedly around the room. His apartment is bare, wooden and sparsely furnished. It is the same place he lived when he recorded his first single, "Go," in 1991. Though his material circumstances don't seem to have changed, a lot has happened since then.
When he moved in, Moby, a veteran of punk bands in Connecticut, had reinvented himself as a local club disc jockey. The success of his first singles and albums catapulted him to the forefront of the first wave of next-big-thing techno in America, and he was heralded as the face of a so-called faceless movement. But Moby refused to stand as a symbol for something he didn't belong to: He advertised his beliefs as a vegan, drug-free Christian and, in concert, was unafraid to strap on a guitar and return to his hardcore roots. Slowly, his star began to fade.