Alive in Concert Rating: 2.0 / 10.0
If Found, Please Feed Roasted Porkand Place in Incubator.
Moby has been one of the most popular proponents of club / electronica for several years now, although I'll admit I've never been quite sure why. Aside from a couple of excellent tracks and a handful of recognizable commercial beds, his brand of music has always struck me as particularly fey. Ecstasy will do a lot for your listening pleasure, however, and one thing's for sure -- there is nothing in his oeuvre that could in the least bit offend anyone, being utterly innocuous as it is. Like a bowl of vanilla ice cream with marshmallow topping, Moby music eases by with nary a lump or an audio double-take.
This preconception notwithstanding, I sat down to absorb "Last Night" with my ears as open as they could be. I'll offer a running commentary on a handful of tracks.
Ooh Yeah: If you have ever felt the desire to hear a classic Abba disco track with all of the interesting parts removed, and slowed down to a nearly unbearable tempo, then this will be "right up your alley." I imagine the title comes from the fact that a sampled "oohyeaH" is heard consistently, unerringly at the beginning of every four beats. Just a guess. The strongest part of the track is the female vocal harmonies, which are kept timidly buried in the mix, as if Mr. Moby is afraid to make any one part stand out too much.
Okay, that's enough of that - the above-mentioned description holds true for pretty much the rest of the album: one endlessly repeated vocal sample, buried in the mix behind limp disco beats and soft house chords. That's the formula. Nothing interesting in the way of harmony, timbre, or rhythm. Move along, people - nothing to hear here.
Ironically, Moby takes a public stance against the use of drugs. I say ironically, because I think the only way I could be brought to enjoy this music is stoned beyond my cortex. And even then. . .
Overall, after giving "Last Night" the old college try for a few listenings, I would describe it this way: tired, bland, uninspired, and frustratingly unwilling to take a musical stand at any point along the way.
In the Apollonian / Dionysian continuum, music works best at one extreme or the other, unless we're talking about that rare artistic genius who can meld both elements with equal creative aplomb. "Last Night" sits oh so comfortably in some sort of detritus filter, smack dab in the middle of Blah-ville. If it were a book, it would be a competently written plumber's manual.
My advice: save your money for the plumber's manual.
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