A story about Moby
I don’t remember it being that great of a show. There were some cool kids to talk to and stuff. My friend Bobby was there. But, here and there I would get bored and go out to the patio and smoke.
Moby mixed his set with a lot of old stuff, with all of this rock stuff from “Play” and “Animal Rights”. I could barely hear the guitar, so I wondered if the amp was on. And for a lot of the set, I was in the front next to his amp.
At the end of the night, I managed to talk to the band.
The bassist, Greta, who had a “Guiliani is a jerk” sticker on her bass, was a really cool person to talk to. She signed my poster, saying “you rock”.
The drummer—I can’t remember his name, but I think his name was Scott—was cool, too. He was probably a bigger Moby fan than anyone in the audience. Down to Earth, and happy to talk to the fans.
It was tough talking to the man himself. Moby was being whisked away by his manager a ton, and when he really was into talking to the fans, apparently he was on a schedule.
Our conversation was brief. He signed my copy of “Everything is Wrong”. And the one thing I remember about Moby was that he said he didn’t intend to be bigger than he was at the time. He was playing a club that fit several hundred. Months later, I see him on TV playing at the Olympic Games.
I think that night was the beginning of the end, as far as my following him. Techno was less and less interesting, and more of a sign of the times for me. My ex has both the poster and the autographed CD. She can keep it because she appreciates them more than I do.
No offense to the guy. He was really cool, and for the time, he was one of the better artists. But meeting him was not something that really stood out in my life.
