Moby

Published May 30, 2023, 9:00 AM

Moby never stops working. His first taste of mega-success came in the early aughts after the release of his multi-platinum album, Play. In the years since, he's released 19 more studio albums including his latest, Resound, NYC, where he re-orchestrates songs he recorded between 1994-2010.

Moby has also spent a good deal of the last two decades unpacking his own unconventional upbringing and his meteoric rise to fame. He’s released two extensive memoirs, and he recently directed “Punk Rock Vegan Movie,” which explores the connection between two of his greatest passions: punk rock and animal rights.

On today’s episode Leah Rose talks to Moby about his compulsive desire to make music and why he’s cut out nearly all IRL socialization as a result. Moby also reminisces about the massive party pad he bought in upstate New York that led to years of all-out debauchery.

You can hear a playlist of some of our favorite Moby songs HERE.

Pushkin, Moby never stops working. His first taste of mega success came in the early yats after the release of his multi platinum album Play, which had a big hands in electronic music being embraced by the mainstream. In the two decades since, Moby's released nineteen more studio albums, including his latest Resound and YC, where he reorchestrates songs he recorded between ninety four and twenty ten. Moby's also spent a good deal of the last two decades unpacking his own unconventional upbringing and his meteoric rise to fame. He's released two extensive memoirs that detail his hard party in days and the low points that inspired him to get sober fifteen years ago. He's also directed and produced various documentaries, including the recent Punk Rock Vegan movie, which explores the connection between two of his greatest passions, punk rock and animal rights. On today's episode, Lea Rose talks to Moby about his compulsive desire to make music and why he's cut out nearly all in person socialization as a result. Moby also reminisces about the massive party pad he bought an upstate New York that led to years of all out debauchery. This is broken record liner notes for the digital age. I'm justin Mitchman. Here's Lea Rose with Moby.

I've spent the past couple of weeks trying to consume all things MOBI, and it's really really difficult to do because your body of work is just enormous. Twenty studio albums. You've written four books, two memoirs which are each over three hundred pages.

And that's truncated. They were each about eight hundred pages before we got rid of all the unnecessary stuff.

Oh my gosh.

Yeah, two documentaries, and then you just released Punk Rock Vegan Movie a couple months ago. You have a record label, a photobook, restaurants, a podcast. I just wanted to ask you, like, where do you think your work ethic comes from?

Well, here's the thing. I don't know if it's a work ethic. I mean, it's kind of It makes me think of a couple of years ago. And this is as an old person. Forgive me because I speak in pointless tangents. But a couple of years ago, I was hiking with a friend in Angela's National Forest and there was this weird shelf by a waterfall and a rattlesnake had gotten trapped there, and for some reason, I'm not afraid of snakes, and I jumped in and I helped save the rattlesnake. I sort of shepherded it away so like it could get away from this weird shelf that it was trapped in. And my friend said, Wow, you're so brave. I'm like, no, it's not brave at all, because I wasn't scared, Like bravery only exists when you're confronting something you're afraid of, Like I'm afraid of humans. I'm just not afraid of snakes. So the same thing with a work ethic, like work ethic to me implies industrious labor around something that's a struggle, something you don't want to do, and everything you just mentioned it's all just stuff I love doing. So to me, it's, you know, again that old cliche of like if you find something you love and you do it every day, you'll never work a day in your life. Like I honestly feel that way because when I'm confronted with tasks that I don't want to do, oh, that's when my work ethic completely falls apart. Like I hate I'm such a I don't know, like stunted adolescent child. And the funny thing is the way I procrastinate is by working on music or writing, or doing some other form of creative expression. Like that's also how I procrastinate to get out of doing the stuff I don't want to do.

What do you think is the thing that is powering the creative expression? What's the thing that's keeping you interested after all these years?

You know it's I mean, selfishly, it's just it's joy. Like it's just the pure emotional satisfaction that I personally get from making things. And I mean, I could expand on that and say that there's perhaps a more esoteric aspect, which is by creating, by making music, by making anything, by writing, we are sort of and it's going to sound really new, agy but like we're sort of we're channeling whatever strange spirit might inhabit the universe, and we're also trying to make sense of it, and we're trying to share it with other people because maybe in so doing we create a better can action with them, and also by sharing with other people, it helps the dialectic that's contained in that process, we sort of understand everything a little bit better, But ultimately it's just the selfish joy of making things, and it's almost a compulsion because and this might sound really obnoxious, but I don't understand how people get through Quotitian life without having creative outlets. Yeah, and that's I'm sorry if that sounds really entitled or presumptuous, But I look at people's lives. I'm like, how do you make sense of the world? How do you like? How do you make sense of your life? How do you fill your life with even purported meaning? If you're not creating something?

Right, it's interesting that you say that that it comes partially from a desire to share things with people. When I assumed that part of it was to learn more about yourself or make sense of, you know, your experience or your thoughts or whatever it is, I thought of it more as like an internal search.

I mean, I assume that that's a part of it, but it's the age old thing of you know. Whoever the person is the artist, the writer. If I wasn't ashamed to use this term, I would say the sort of the shaman. I mean, I feel dirty that that word even came out of my mouth. But the person who goes away has an experience and then comes back and wants to share it. And that doesn't speak to the quality of the experience, you know, because I'll never and I don't mean to be like too self deprecating, but I'll never speak to the quality of my work. I'll never for a second say that anything I do is good. But there's a lot of it, you know, and hopefully some of it's good, and hopefully maybe if I keep working at it. Like that's the idea, is that you wake up every day and you keep working in the hope that someday you start to get there.

Okay, so it's trying to get good.

Yeah, And the one other aspect of that is like, for example, I never take days off. I work seven days a week, and I don't take vacations. I don't really socialize. I certainly don't date. Because when I'm doing any of those things, there's a little part like in the back of my head, I'm like, oh, what could I have been making, like like by going to this party, by going to such like a red carpet event, by going on vacation. I'm like, oh, I could have made something and it maybe maybe this would have been the work of greatness that everything else was leading to. But instead I'm at Disney World taking pictures with Mickey.

What if though, like a comedian, what if that gives you material? What if going on you know, out to dinner or going to a party, whatever.

It is a couple hours.

What if that gives you some sort of new perspective and inspiration.

Oh?

Absolutely. That used to be the case all the time when I was living in New York, going out to bars and nightclubs. Yeah, especially pre sobriety, because I would go out and I would hear other DJs, and I would listen to bands, and I would hear what people were doing, and I would come home at two or three in the morning inspired and turn on my studio and channel that inspiration. So you're absolutely right, I am missing out on that that potential for we'll call it like real irl inspiration. But the problem there is it's a it's a tiny percentage of time that yields that inspiration, and more often than not, it's standing around awkwardly holding a bottle of carbonated poland spring, smiling inanely while someone tells me about a TV show they like, and I'm not maligning TV or sparkling poland Spring. I'm just saying, like I you know, most of the time, it's kind of banell.

No, that's very true.

Like one of the greatest gifts anyone can ever give me is canceling plans.

But you're also someone who has done so much, and you've been everywhere. You've been a superstar and had everything that comes along with that. You know, you've been on the top, you've been on the bottom. You've been to a million parties, you've been to every club, every concert, you've been on stage, you've been in the crowd, so you've sort of like experienced it all.

Yeah, I mean, I guess, you know, being fifty seven years old and having had a very varied existence, you know, experiencing wealth, experiencing poverty, living in a five level quintuplex on Central Park West, but also squatting in an abandoned factory in a crack neighborhood. And I love every single thing I've experienced because it's given me perspective. And it's also like, I think one of the greatest facets of experiencing fame is that you can no longer romanticize fame. Yes, yeah, we live in a culture, and again, forgive me for stating the obvious, but we live in a culture where fame is the pinnacle. Everybody wants fame, and if they have fame, they want more fame, and it's people are obsessed with fame. And I had it, and it's not that great. Famous people, as you've probably experienced. Hopefully present company may be possibly excluded, but famous people just tend to be kind of like, more entitled, less interesting versions of our friends. And I've been to you know, famous people parties and birthday parties and politician parties, and like, I have yet to meet a famous person who is smarter, funnier, or more interesting than anybody else I grew up with.

Do you think that's because of the time in your life when you met the people you grew up with, Since those people sort of mold us, they're like our archetypes in a lot of ways.

Except that I'm still largely in touch with most of those people, and they still are, Like, my friends are so much funnier and more interesting and more engaging and more curious and less entitled than any of the famous people I've ever met. And I've met I don't want to malign any of the famous people I've met, like they're all fine, but they don't really offer that much, Like there is that, And I assume you've experienced this as well, like with real like the big famous people, like they do kind of feel like ninety percent of the time them just showing up is enough. Yeah, And the truth is, for most people it is like if you're Brad Pitt, you don't really need to be the greatest conversationalists in the world because if you show up, the room comes to a halt. So I will say that about fame, like I'm so glad I've experienced it, because one, I also appreciate that it's given me a platform to address issues that I care about. But also it makes it so easy to not fetishize fame when you've seen it up close.

And it's something that you really do a good job in your memoirs of breaking that facade. And you know, you thought you would feel a certain way when you became famous or you had success, and you sounds like you even felt worse.

Oh considerably worse. Because sorry to sound like a grad student, but like everything does have an existential subtext or an existential context. And what I mean by that is the human condition is terrifying, baffling, and at times kind of horrifying. Like best case scenario, you get old and die of sad diseases, you know. And I was just reading about how astronomers have discovered a super massive black hole. It's relatively nearby, and it's as big as one hundred and twenty billion of our sons And that's just one black hole out of trillions. And you put it in perspective and you're like, oh, so, here are these humans, these scared, little hairless, vicious monkeys, pretending that our lives have significance, pretending our lives have meaning. And maybe they do. I'm not saying our lives don't have significance or meaning, but there's a good chance the significance and meaning of our lives is not what we imagine it to be. It's certainly not material. So to that point of the existential subtext of fame is like, as we experience every time we look at the world around us, everyone's trying to exempt themselves from the human condition, or they're trying to win the human condition. And it's thinking that you could either accomplish that with fame, with money, with beauty, with accolades, with intelligence, even with cynicism, with drugs, with alcohol. It's it's all this attempt to somehow circumvent and conquer the human condition. And the reason I wrote those two memoirs is because that's what I kept trying to do, you know, to be like, Okay, when do you win, Like when, like at what point do you you know, accomplish enough, like whether through fame, materialism, accolades, what have you? When do you feel like you have finally, Like Ahab conquered Moby Dick. And there's a reason why I love my name, which I didn't give myself, but is at the end, Ahab is trying to conquer the unknowable, vast universe, and of course he's destroyed by it. It's like if the universe Las Vegas, the house always wins, like we as humans can never win the existential conquest, and so the only thing is to step back and have compassion for ourselves and for the other people who are struggling through the confusion of the human condition, and to learn from it and hopefully have a little bit of observational maybe bemusement. At least, this is after years of trying to beat the human condition with so many different ways. This is at least what I've come up with at this point. It could be I'm completely mistaken and the way to win the human condition is to go to Reno and get hair plugs and get married to a stripper. I have no idea.

What about money though, just you know, fame aside as somebody who grew up with very little in poverty. You talk about that a lot in your memoirs. What about the point when all of a sudden you have money. I mean, as someone who doesn't have a lot of money, I don't. I feel like there are legitimate problems that have money can solve. Oh, and it could buy happiness in a way like it can buy some happiness.

I mean, if it did buy happiness, then Kanye and Elon and Trump would be the happiest people on the planet. And they are mentally ill lunatics. So what I will say is having money, having a degree of money is great when you're able to like pay the rent, or you know, buy blueberries out of season, or take your friends out to dinner and not worry about picking up the tab like to be able to, you know, go to a good dentist who maybe doesn't accept health insurance. Like money, the practical application of financial security or financial stability is great, and no one could pretend otherwise the problem is going back to that idea of conquering the human condition. Is like when people expect money to enable you to transcend the human condition, that's when you end up in the White White House, eating hamberg or screaming at the television. You know, that's when you're elon on a private plane, microdosing acid and posting on Twitter eight hundred times a day about right wing conspiracy theories. Like money is great for practical reasons, but beyond that, and the evidence is everywhere if we're willing to look at it, beyond practical application, money doesn't fix anything.

That's very true.

Just seems like when you're when you don't have a lot of it, all problems, you know, do come back to money.

Yeah. I mean it's tricky because because I grew up very poor, everyone in my family was very poor. The weird thing, when I was growing up poor, there was almost never talk of money. Like my aunts, my uncles, my mom, all their friends, like everybody was like working New England poor, being a sculptor, being a painter, but never making more than minimum wage. And the weird thing, no one ever complained. And of course there was talk of like, oh, you know, I need to get snow tires from my car and I can't afford it. Winter's coming up. We need to go get winter jackets, so we're going to Salvation Army or Goodwill. But I was just like we all just sort of accepted it. So when I left home and I was as broke as anybody I know has ever been. I was living in an abandoned factory, making on average two thousand dollars a year. I didn't have running water, but it was okay. I was like, man, that's okay. I don't necessarily want to go back to it. But the strange thing, and I know this might sound like cliched public figure, relatively affluent narrative, but like, I was way happier with my friends in the abandoned factory when I was making two thousand dollars a year, then by myself in a quintuplex on Central Park West, bottoming out as a drug addict.

Yeah, And then I read also that when you bought the castle in La you at a certain point moved into a closet and just slept in there.

Oh well, actually the closet. I have slept in a lot of closets, but the closet was. I had this crazy compound upstate in Kent, New York. It's in Putnam County, and it was my sort of degenerate Sylvan country party pad. And it was great for that. It had a disco. It was sixty acres adjacent to three hundred acre state park. It was a phenomenal party palace. And I built this bedroom that was roughly as big as the house I grew up in, this massive, you know, huge bedroom you could like land an airplane in. But I couldn't sleep in it. It was too big, and it was too bright because I had so much all these skylights and all this glass, and so I dragged my futon into the walk in closet and I had to sleep in the closet.

How long was that place fun for?

I mean, it was the most fun place in the world. At one am before I got sober, you know, and I had thirty people come up from New York, and there was the disco. There was a spa there. I mean, it was really flawless when it came to one am, drunken, drug fueled debauchery eight o'clock in the morning, when the sun came up and you felt like throwing up, and you realized that the hot tub in the spa was the color and consistency of split pea soup. And that's when you realize, oh, that's right. No matter how much fun one am is, you can't avoid the eight am, dark morning of the soul.

Just thinking back on that period of your life, is there anyone that you keep in touch with from those days?

Yeah? My actually, my girlfriend from that time. She and I are still really good friends. Like a lot of people from then I haven't stayed in that much touch with because some of them are like still out trying to live the dream, and you know, people who've moved to Miami and are really exploring where cocaine addiction can take you, Like it's kind of hard to stay friends with them. But like the people who've gotten sober, the people who sort of aged out of it, like some of my good friends definitely are in the same boat as me. Is, like we emerged relatively unscathed, where you know, we can be old people who meet up and drink smoothies and talk about what it used to be like to gobble xanax and vic it in at nine o'clock in the morning just to try and fall asleep after doing so much cocaine.

Yeah, when you meet people or when you're recognized on the street, people come up and talk to you. Is there something that people ask you about that surprises you.

I mean one of the main things that I've been asked lately is, you know, when I earned fifty I started getting vegan tattoos on my body, And so that's the main question. And it's not really even me being recognized. It's just random people saying, hey, why do you have Vegan for Life tattooed on your neck? Why do you have animal rights tattooed on your arms? So I guess that's not there's nothing surprising about that, because when you have giant letters tattooed on your body, it's not surprising that people would ask you about it.

Right, Yeah, do you wish that you got them like thirty years ago? Especially in the hardcore scene, in the punk rock scene.

Well, so here's the thing in nineteen ninety five, I had my sort of we'll call it like my big alternative music year, and I went on tour with the Chili Peppers and the Flaming Lips and I did Lollapalooza with Sonic Youth and Beck and Pavement and my album in nineteen ninety five, Everything is Wrong with Spin's Album of the Year, and like it was like this big indie year for me, because before that I'd just been like a sort of shy, retiring nerdy I was still a shy, retiring, nerdy techno guy. But suddenly I was on tour with the Chili Peppers, and everybody in the Chili Peppers and in their band and crew they all had tattoos, and I wanted to get tattoos. And what I really wanted to get were those tribal tattoos that bouncers at strip clubs have totally and so I'm there. So to your point, I'm thrilled that I did not get tattoos back then, because if I had, I would be one of those middle aged guys with faded tribal tattoos, which on some people it can be a good look, but it would not like as my old skin starts to sag. It would definitely not be all that attractive.

We have to take a quick break and then we'll be back with more from Lea Rose and Moby. We're back with Moby and Lea Rose.

In your movie and punk Rock Vegan Movie. It was really interesting that you made the connection between punk rock and compassion, because I think for a lot of people when they think of punk rock, they think of skepticism and like middle Finger to the establishment. It's not usually compassion. That's one of the first ideas that is equated with punk rock, and you really made that point very beautifully. Can you talk about when you discovered that compassion was a part of that scene, well.

Part of it. I remember my first exposure to the world of punk rock and veganism was in nineteen eighty two. My band the Vatican Commandos, with a whole bunch of other Connecticut hardcore bands, we drove to Akron, Ohio to play a show in a pizza parlor. It's like a twelve hour drive. There were more people in the bands than were in the audience at the pizza parlor, but we slept on the floor of what turned out to be a vegan squat. And I remember so clearly waking up on the floor of this squat and I didn't even know what a squat was. I was a fifteen year old suburban kid, and this guy was a blue mohawk walked into the living room of the squat and said, hey, welcome to Akron. We made lentils. And I didn't know what a lentil was, and he said, yeah, this is a vegan squat, you know, welcome. You're all welcome. And I'd never heard the word vegan before because I was a McDonald's eating kid, and I thought this was so weird that, like these punk rockers ate beans. Lo and Behold. Two years later, I became a vegetarian and nineteen eighty seven became a vegan. And my understanding in the eighties when I became a vegetarian and a vegan, the vegan world was weird punk rockers. You know, there were a few hippies, but for the most part it was you know, Youth of Today and Gorilla Biscuits and the Cromags and you know SIV so I had. I've always associated veganism with punk rock, and then Lo and Behold, it turns out most people weren't aware of that relationship, and the compassionate side is so easy to miss. Yeah, I brought some friends. I think it was like a Youth of Today show, maybe H two O were on the bill, these straight edge vegan bands, and I brought some friends to the show. And my friends were horrified because they'd never been to a hardcore show before, and they were genuinely taken aback, like it was so loud and screaming and stage diving, and I tried to tell my friends. I was like, no, those musicians are the most principled, ethical musicians I've ever met. And the lyrics are all about, you know, supporting your community and doing the right thing, and it's almost like nineteen fifties cliches about straight edge, you know, about like clean living. But my friends were like, no, they're just screaming and jumping off the stage. So I understand how it's very hard to get past the screaming and the stage diving to realize that, like a use of Today lyric is like beautiful and extolling and exalting the virtue of compassion.

Yeah, and it's funny with the vegan in the community and squats and stuff like that. I always associated that more with hippies and jam bands and that type of lifestyle and the connection between punk rock and maybe that hippie scene, other than maybe veganism vegetarianism. And I realize this watching your movie is a Hari Krishnas. It's like they were showing up everywhere.

I mean, yeah, use it today with you know, Ray and Purcell and the Cromags and then Shelter. There was a lot like the Krishna connection, especially in the East Village in the eighties. You know, you had prana foods. The word prana, I believe is Sanskrit for life, for us or breath. So yeah, there was definitely And I don't know anything about Krishna or I've never read the bog of Adgita. My friend Eddie and Mike Dee are very much into the Hindu yoga world. I don't know anything about it, but that definitely was a fertile ground for getting people like John Joseph from the Chromags and Ray and Purcell and some other people interested in yeah, philosophical, compassionate living. And I don't know, Yeah, honestly, without that encouragement, it's possible that the punk rock vegan connection wouldn't have been as strong.

Yeah, because I remember seeing them in like Washington Square Park or you know. I used to live on First and First and there was some sort of like Krishna temple right there, like near East Village Radio.

Oh yeah, that's where I got sober. Really, when I say that's where I got sober, I mean literally specifically in that building. There was an AA meeting on the third floor of that temple. And so when I finally bottomed out as an alcoholic and a drug addict, I went to the one PM Living Now AA meeting and it was non denomination on, nothing to do with Krishna or Krishna Murti or you know, any of the people they venerated, but it was every day for about two years I went to that temple and had to take off my shoes and sit to go to this AA meeting.

Was there any feeling of I don't belong here, Well.

That's funny. I've gone to some twelve Step groups that I don't belong in because there's so many different types of twelve Step groups and some of which I just I don't identify as being a part of them. But when I went to AA it was a puzzle piece. It was the Rosetta stone, it was you know. I was like, oh, yep, because from the first drink I had, I kind of knew I was an alcoholic. I had never once in my life drank in moderation. My father killed himself drunk every everybody. My grandfather drank every day of his life. Like, I don't remember being around sober adults until I was maybe in my twenties. So, you know, when I finally really sat down in a you know, at that living now meeting where you used to live, I was like, yep, this is me. I wish it wasn't. I wish I wasn't. I wish it was a way around this. I wish there was a way I could keep drinking and doing drugs and not body me out. But I was like, no, the last twenty years have proven to me just I'm just an old timey alcoholic.

But that feeling of finding a puzzle piece must just be incredible.

It's terrible when that puzzle piece means you can no longer go out and be a drunk, you know, Like, in some ways I'm glad because there's no wiggle room. Like, I know a lot of people, as I'm sure you do as well, who spend years trying to figure out if they're an alcoholic, a drug addict, or an addict of some sort. So there's there's something nice in having the certainty around that of just knowing, like, yep, I'm an alcoholic. So when I go to meetings and raise my hand and say, yup, I'm obi I'm an alcoholic, there's no doubt. You know, I have decades of evidence proving yeah, that I'm an alcoholic, so I never have to question it, which is there's a great comfort in that. But for years I was like, oh, isn't there some way around this? Isn't there some way I can keep going to Max Fish every night until four o'clock in the morning.

But the interesting thing I found was that you, in all your years making music, you always made music sober.

I tried once, and only once, to write music drunk, because I thought to myself, well, some of my favorite musicians pretty much only made music when they were drunk. I mean, some of the best records anyone's ever made are records that were made, you know, fueled by cocaine, fueled by heroin, whether it's you know, the Velvet Underground or Station to Station or exile on Main Street, physical graffiti. I guess all the gun Club records on and on and on, these amazing alcohol fueled, drug fueled records, and I was like, you know what, I'm going to try and write a song drunk. And it was bad. And it was bad in a way that made me nauseous. It was just it had a mediocrity that was like sludgy. Yeah, I was a falling down, bottomed out alcoholic drug addict, but I would never profane my studio by being drunk or high in my studio. Other people like Oasis on and on like made amazing drug fueled alcohol field records. I just could never be that person.

It sounds like you wanted to protect the thing that was the most important to you and not bring the sludge into the thing you cared about the most.

Yeah. That and veganism, like from nineteen eighty seven I went via and there was never a question like that was never compromised. So those two things, like working on music and being a vegan, those the only two things that never got compromised during all the years of egregious compromise.

Was there a period of time where you made a jump from making punk rock music to electronic music or did they overlap?

You know, and I think if you were to talk to Rick or anyone in the Beastie Boys, or even Madonna or anyone who used to hang out in dance Atyria, it's the danceteria eclecticism of you know, when I first went to Dance Atyria, I went there to see the Bad Brains or I went there to see a mission of Burma. But by being in this incredible space, this super cool space, you were exposed to hip hop, to burgeoning house. And this was nineteen eighty two, so five years before house music, but electronic music and all this eclecticism. You know, New York in the early eighties almost went out of its way to be eclectic. You know, you'd go to see a punk rock band and beforehand they'd be playing Johnny Cash and reggae, and that eclecticism was so cool and so interesting, and it didn't come naturally to me, but it was so interesting and so appealing that I embraced it, and it just sort of wove its way into my musical DNA. So then from that point on, it never made sense to me to focus on one style of music exclusively when there was so much to be gained from being weirdly eclectic totally.

So let's talk a little bit about the new album. So the new album resound NYC. So the little pr line that I have about it is it's reimagines and orchestra.

It's fifteen of your most icon tracks.

Even though half of them no one's ever heard before.

But yeah, recorded in New York between ninety four and twenty ten, And looking at the liner notes, a lot of the songs, if not every song, you play percussion, keys, bass, guitar, add vocals on a lot of them. You recorded a lot of them yourself. So when you were sitting down to reimagine the songs, did you have to put yourself in sort of like the headspace of being back in New York in the nineties.

I mean, there's that, and the same thing with writing those memoirs. It's a really odd contrast. Like, for example, the first memoir, like I was writing about like these as you read it, it's like these really grimy, degenerate experiences, while I was like sitting in my living room sober drinking organic white tea on a beautiful Los Angeles day, Like it was so odd comparing and contrasting here and now with there and then and with music like one of the most wonderful things. And it's not just my music for me, but the idea of music as it's like a time portal. It's like a little sonic wormhole and revisiting who we were when, like in my case, when I wrote something, when I released something, but even hearing songs from a certain period to state the obvious, whether it's the seventies, the eighties, the nineties, whenever, remembering like you know, what we were wearing, what the world looked like, who was president. And it's such an almost like somatic, tactile way of actually revisiting the past. Like I don't know about you, but like if I listened to, like one of my favorite songs from ninet te let's say eighty seven, I can remember like it. It's not academic, it's not like a description of nineteen eighty seven. It's a physical memoryeah. And that's even enhanced when it's a song that you've written and you know, I remember, like what was going on in the world, what my studio looked like and it's it's such an interesting way of gaining perspective on who we are now. But there is and and this is the sad part, if I'm being really honest, there's a very depressing aspect to it, which is not just being old and one day closer to death, but the fact that and this is so depressing it's almost even like hard to address that. In the nineties everything was optimistic, and we it was so optimistic, we didn't even know it was optimistic. But like I look back at it, and like Bill Clinton was president, and like the Soviet Union had ended, and Russia was thinking of joining the EC, and China was enacting democratic reforms, and the Internet was going to be this wonderful force that brought us together and enabled the communication of great ideas. Climate change at that point wasn't even an al Gore book. Like the world was so optimistic, and culture was interesting, and sure there were bad things, but it seemed like history had gotten to the point where we had learned from the old mistakes and we were going to move past them, and we were going to have young, smart, progressive, educated leaders, and we were moving into this new future and boy, oh boy, were we wrong. So I don't know, even if you talk to Gen Z people and millennials, like, there just doesn't seem to be ough so depressing, but there doesn't seem to be much optimism if any you know. Yeah, yeah, I'm really glad that we grew up at a time when optimism was actually sort of empirically supported.

I was going to ask you, like, are you happy that you were born when you were Yes.

I'm very glad I was born in nineteen sixty five because being nine years old in the seventies and listening to AM radio in the morning and hearing every from the Eagle to Elton John to Queen to led Zeppelin to Paul McCartney to on and on and on, I'm.

Like, wow, it's insane.

That was great, and like, of course getting older is a little challenging, but at the same time, you know, to be in New York in the late seventies when hip hop and punk rock and indie rock and electronic music were all being invented, like that's and I feel bad for young people today for many reasons, like dealing with pandemics, climate change, the pressures of social media, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. But the other is like when I was growing up and you experienced this as well, Like we got to experience things as they were being invented, Like I mean, hip hop was invented, house music was invented.

Techno and raven ever existed before. It hasn't always been here.

Yeah, And another thing that makes me so grateful for I'll include you even though you're so very young, but like the fact that we when when we became adults, you know, twenty twenty one, we could move to any city in the world because every city was so inexpensive, you know, Like when I was twenty years old, I was like, Wow, you can move to any city in the world and not even have to worry about paying the rent. Like my first rent in New York was one hundred and thirty dollars a month rent on fourteenth and third, And that was true for everybody, and as a result, there was no pressure. You're like, oh, if you want to be a filmmaker, spend five years figuring it out, because guess what, your rent is so cheap. Or a writer or a musician or a playwright or whatever you had that time, it was almost like apprenticeships, Like we all had extended creative apprenticeships facilitated by a lack of financial pressure because cost of living was so cheap. And it breaks my heart that like a twenty one year old today, there's nowhere in the world for them to live.

We'll be back after another quick break with more from Lea Rose and Moby. We're back with the rest of Lea Rose's conversation with Moby.

I wanted to ask you about a couple of the songs on the new album. When It's Cold I'd like to die. So there's a new vocalist on this song. It's so beautiful, it's so moving, it's sad, but it's so triumphant. So how did you find the vocalist and what usually draws you to a vocalist.

Well, when I was really little, I desperate wanted to be a great singer, like it was my goal. When I was seven years old, you know, being in post corner pizza listening to Queen on the jukebox, I was like, Wow, how what a great life that would be to sing like Freddie Mercury or Paul McCartney. And then I started playing in bands and I learned very quickly. I'm not a great singer. I'm a solid B B minus white guy singer. And I learned in the early nineties, if I want to have beautiful voices on my records, I have to learn how to work with singers. And so that forced me to work with singers on my records and also produce and remix other people. I mean, I got to work with everyone from David Bowie to Ozzy Osbourne to Britney Spears to Chris Cornell, like you know, everybody from Chuck d to the Beastie Boys, and that exposure to voices made me fall in love with the process of It's frustrating because like you with technology, you can make technology do what you want it to do. The human voice is not technological like That's why it is so compelling and powerful, because it expresses that vulnerability and strengths. And it's such a challenge getting great vocal performances from people, but when you do, it's sublime and transcendent. So the original version of When It's Cold I'd Like to Die came out in nineteen ninety five with this amazing woman named Mimi Gaizy who had been in a band called Hugo Largo, and it was an obscure song that was at the end of a record that very few people had listened to. But somehow, weirdly, people kept discovering that song, like it was used in The Sopranos when Tony soprano spoiler alert, when Tony soprano it goes into a coma. People kept finding it and then lo and behold. Last summer, it was used in the season finale of Stranger Things So cool for about four minutes, and I had the very strange, disconcerting experience of watching Stranger Things. My song started playing and I started crying because I don't know if you've seen this last episode, but it's really intense and so emotional, and it created this very strange phenomena of really young kids on TikTok listening to this song and crying into their cameras.

Wow.

So it's this bizarre zeitgeist moment for an old guy like me, where like suddenly fifteen year old kids in New Zealand are having these emotional moments into their phones on TikTok. So long winded way of saying, I really wanted to find a great singer to sing the version of when It's Cold I'd Like to Die for this album. And I worked with a bunch of different people, you know, honestly, like quite a few people who great singers, who couldn't do it. They could deliver the technical perfection, but they couldn't deliver the emotion, the vulnerability. And so I just thought like, Okay, well, I guess that means it's not going to be on the record. But then last minute, Hail Mary, even though I don't know really what that means. And as someone who doesn't know sports, I shouldn't use sports analogies. But my friend Jonathan went to a wedding in Texas and he heard the wedding singer, this guy named Paul Banks, same name as the singer from Interpol, and he thought he might be good on when It's called I'd Like to Die. So he brought this wedding singer, Paul into his studio, and Paul the wedding singer, nailed it like so much better than anybody else I had worked with, and I was like, wow, so pt Banks, this wedding singer from the middle of ten Exis, ended up delivering the most vulnerable beautiful vocal performance and when it's cold, I'd like to die.

Oh my gosh, it is so moving.

And I was wondering if you have any tricks as a producer for making a song anthemic, Like, is there anything that you can add or anything in your toolkit that you go back to that you know, if you add a little bit of this, it's gonna make it huge.

You know.

The tricky thing there is it all depends on what type of song, what's the genre, what's the instrumentation. But like with when it's called I'd like to die, like especially the version on Resound NYC, like, there're no electric electronic elements, So in a weird way, it's chord voicings, it's chord progressions. But it's also it's the juxtaposition between restraint and bomb bast, you know, and whether that's a hip hop track or a tech no track or in this case, like a piece of classical music with vocals on top of it, it's the restraint. It's letting the restraint be achingly vulnerable and letting the bomb bast be incredibly grand and creating the dynamic tension between those two things, but also ultimately using myself as the first sounding board. Like, if I'm working on a piece of music and I have a profound emotional reaction to it, that increases the chances that it might be worth playing for other people, and the hope that they'd have an emotional reaction to it.

Do you listen to music really, really loud when you're making it?

Do you know what's funny? I hate loud music. I've worn ear plugs since nineteen eighty two, maybe nineteen eighty one. I saw the Misfits play in Bridgeport, Connecticut, and my ears were ringing the next day, And so I've always worn ear plugs because I maybe shouldn't even admit this. I just don't like loud music. I love when I'm working in my studio. I can hear outside sounds way louder than I can hear anything i'm working on.

So interesting. So how would you handle that?

If you were djaying a huge party or a rave or something big and loud.

I would wear I wear those yellow foam earplugs that the guys wear. Who wear who do jackhammers?

Yeah? And so you would put your headphones over those?

I try to, Yeah, I mean, like for a while and this is something else I shouldn't admit. My dad was a sharp shooter in the military, and I hate guns, and I think guns should be outlawed and banned. But nonetheless, I sort of grew up around a little bit of guns sport, not shooting animals, but like target shooting. And when I used to do target shooting a little bit competitively, I would wear those yellow foam plugs with shooters earphones on top of them because the noise is just like loud noises make my brain explode.

Yeah, I read that.

For the new album, you built bespoke orchestration around a lot of the tracks. Do you have to know music theory to do that? Like how do you write orchestral parts?

Yeah?

I mean I when I was very young, before I discovered punk rock, I actually studied music theory in a very idiosyncratic way with a weird music teacher in Connecticut when I was from the time I was nine until around thirteen, So, oddly enough, a degree of rudimentary music theory is kind of baked into my musical DNA. So when it came time to make the first record with Deutsche Grammophone, which is a much more traditional orchestral record. I wrote the basic orchestral parts, and then I didn't trust myself enough, so I handed them over to an orchestrator who turned them into something it could be played by an orchestra. And when I listened to what he did, and when I watched the process, I realized, oh, I can do that. I can't conduct, like I wouldn't know how to conduct an orchestra, but I can write. I'd say I can get orchestral parts to ninety five percent finished where they can be presented to an orchestra to be performed. And it's I love that process, Like writing orchestration and doing orchestral arrangement is so satisfying and so much fun. And what the use of the word bespoke in that press release, what that means is traditionally an orchestral album would have a conventional orchestra for each song. And what I did with this record and the Pandemic definitely encouraged this as well, is each song got its own orchestral approach. So in some instances that was just working with a quintet, maybe augmented with a mellotron, and other times it was actually working with a full eighty five piece orchestra. But that's clearly a bit hard during the pandemic, so we weren't able to do that much of that, whereas the first record was a lot of that big eighty five piece orchestra. Yeah, so that's the bespoke aspect of that. Like even in some songs, like the version of Helpless it's on the record, the Neil Young song.

Yeah, it's beautiful, Oh.

Thank you, But like the orchestration, there at times it's so pulled back because I was working with a quintet and you know, a French horn player and an English horn player as opposed to that full eighty five piece orchestra. Because when you have an eighty five or larger piece orchestra, you kind of want them all to be doing something, which is great for bombast but not so great for austere vulnerability.

Yeah.

Is it possible to capture the thrill of an eighty five piece orchestra on a recording.

That's a great question, I mean, because you could almost expand it to say like recording and mixing, it's to state at the Abbeys it's trickery. Like John Bonham, how did they make John Bonham's drums sound so like with just a couple of microphones, how do you make them sound so big? You know, Yeah, it's a lot of trickery taking you know, John Bonham's drums, or taking a giant orchestra or a gospel choir and getting it down to a little file that's going to sound wonderful on two speakers or two earbuds on the L train during morning commute. Like, yeah, it makes me feel a little bit like a liar. That like part of my job is, you know, you start with something big, you make it really small, and then figure out how to try and make it big again.

Speaking of trick, does Ozzy Osborne you said you worked with Ozzy Osbourne? Did he with those Black Sabbath albums? Did they do something to his voice in post production or is it doubled or is that just the way he sounds?

His trick is very straightforward. It's doubling his voice. So when you say it's because when we were recording his vocals and really no one ever needs to listen to the song we did, I hate to say it's it's it's not either one of our best moments. It was on the Beavis and butt Head soundtrack. But I was just thrilled to be working with Ozzy and uh totally at that point he had this amazing band. But when he recorded his first vocal take, the engineer and I looked at each other, We're like, uh, oh, that was kind of uh, we're gonna have to work with that. That's it was not perfect, I say diplomatically. And then he said, okay, now let me double it. And when he doubled it, the engineer and I looked at each other and was like, oh my god, now now it's Ozzy. So that doubling of the vocal that I believe he I don't know at what point, whether it was Geezer Butler or whomever encouraged him to do that, but that is the azzy sound like that immediately registers as Ozzy and taking it sort of a little bit full circle back to the punk rock Vegan movie, there is one original hard rock vegan musician, which is Geezer Butler. Geezer has been vegan longer than anybody on the planet. He's been vegan since the late sixties. Very cool and unfortunately now I do have to get going in just a minute, but Can I leave with a story about one of my favorite musical, personal, professional, spiritual, existential anecdotes about the greatest singer who's ever lived.

Yes, please, And it's actually.

In the memoir. So I apologize for plagiarizing myself. But David Bowie in the late nineties became my neighbor. He was on Lafayette and Mulberry and I was on Mott Street and we would wave to each other from our balconies. We became friends, and we agreed to play a fundraiser for Philip Glass for his Tibet house. And so David Bowie came over to my apartment one morning and brought coffee from Gitan, and just the two of us sitting in my living room, and I worked up all my nerve and I asked him, I said, what if we do an acoustic version of Heroes? And I really thought he was going to finally spit on me or something like. I was like, have I crossed a line? But because he was so delightful, he said, yeah, sure, let's give it a try. So the two of us sitting in my living room on Mott Street on a Saturday morning, drinking cafe Gitan coffee playing heroes on acoustic guitar, and it was very special. But then towards the end he brought his voice up an octave. It was so transcendent and like, it's possible that on my deathbed, that's what I'm going to try, and like when I go out, that's what I'm going to try and remember.

Yeah that's beautiful. Wow.

Well, thank you so much for taking the time. I know I've held you way too long.

Oh no, this has been great. Like I feel like this has been like like a gestalt therapy session, Like I need to venmo you a couple hundred dollars for therapy.

No need, Thank you, and congratulations on the album. It sounds fantastic.

Oh thanks, And yeah, this was really wonderful, and thank you for taking the time. And please say hi to Rick for me if you see him or speak to him.

Thanks to Mobi for a thoughtful consideration of all aspects of his career. You can hear all of our favorite Mobi songs on a playlist at Broken record podcast dot com. You can subscribe to our YouTube channel at YouTube dot com slash broken record Podcast, where you can find all of our new episodes. Broken Record is produced with help from Leah Rose, Jason Gambrel, Ben Holliday, Nisha Venkat, Jordan McMillan, and Eric Sander. Our editor is Sophie Crem. Broken Record is a production of Pushkin Industries. If you love this show and others from Pushkin, consider subscribing to Pushkin Plus. Pushkin Plus is a podcast subscription service that offers bonus content and unintrupted ad free listening for only four ninety nine a month. Look for Pushkin Plus on Apple Podcasts subscriptions, and if you like the show, remember to share, rate, and review us on your podcast staff. Our themes expect Anna Beats on, Justin Richie

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