Now that Moby is a bona fide star, it's easy to forget just how obscure this maverick DJ once was. His really is one of the strangest success stories of recent years: a man who released an electronic blues album Play to widespread indifference, aggressively licensed key tracks to advertise everything from cars to trainers and found himself with a 10m bestseller on his hands. Sad to report, then, that 18 is a decisive step backwards: a bland rehash of Play with weaker tunes and most of the blues taken out. Moby's trademark sounds (symphonic keyboards, chillout grooves) are present and correct, but most of the vocals here are made up of jaded soul samples, difficult to engage with on any emotional level. The plain fact is that lacking the a cappella parts of Play, 18 has no urgency - it's technologically polished but chugs along inconsequentially and is ultimately impossible to care about one way or the other.

Your Comments

No comments have been posted for this article yet. Be the first!