Having made his fortune with two albums of old blues samples, Moby has gone back to basics. On Hotel, the world's most famous bald vegan sings almost every track himself, and abandons his old techno noodlings in favour of a fairly straightforward set of electro-pop songs. He hasn't got the greatest voice in the world, it's true, but somehow his slightly weedy vocals suit the general tone of the music, which is simultaneously yearning and celebratory. The liner notes explain that Moby wanted to make a record that would capture the soulless, generic feeling of a hotel room - a rather odd ambition which thankfully, he's failed to fulfil. Instead, this is probably his most personal statement yet, a really beautiful album that perfectly illustrates the maxim of less is more. It'll sound great live, too.