A Fish Tale

In conversation, Moby seems utterly incapable of provoking such chaos. His speaking voice is small, even timid-sounding at times. And although he grows intense when discussing topics about which he feels strongly, such as the destruction of the environment and the irresponsibility of many right-wing religious organizations, this "lover of Christ" (his words) is unfailingly polite and reluctant to judge others who believe in the live-and-let-live doctrine. "My ethical understanding of the world is pretty much whatever an individual wants to do to him- or herself, that's really their choice. So if they want to take drugs, if they want to kill themselves, if they want to get tattoos and piercings, that's their choice. And if it involves other people, as long as it's consenting, the state should not be allowed to intervene. As long as no one is hurt, it's fine."

A similarly freewheeling aesthetic infuses Moby's approach to music. "Five years ago I felt much more of an allegiance to the world of electronic dance music than I do now," he concedes. "I like it, but I've never really seen any reason to like one thing to the exclusion of anything else. Just because I like techno or electronic dance music doesn't mean that I don't also love classical music and punk rock and folk music and jazz--and I do. And to be honest, I don't really like one more than the other."

For proof, look no further than Moby's Elektra catalogue. Everything Is Wrong, his impressive 1995 debut for the company, included plenty of wonderfully invigorating dance beats, but they shared space with alternately somber or uplifting mood pieces and nasty guitar riffing that was pure rock and roll. The following year he took an even greater risk by issuing Animal Rights, which put electronica on the back burner in favor of punk and metal that proved far clunkier and radically less imaginative than his dance-music output. Listeners and critics alike were united in their revulsion for the disc--reactions that disappointed the man who created it. "I kind of hoped that people would evaluate the record on its own merits and put it in a broader context. But because it wasn't what people expected at all and it was in a style that most music journalists despise, they just couldn't deal with it. Afterward I realized that when people get confused, they don't become reflective; they become reactionary."

Such folks will likely be relieved to discover that the next Moby disc, due in September 1998, won't be as homogenous as its studio predecessor. "It's very, very eclectic," he says. "It'll have some dance things on it, some instrumentals, maybe one or two punk rock songs. I don't feel the need to make another record like the last one--something that's self-indulgent and difficult. To an extent, I got that out of my system."

Not entirely, though. Moby is not going to produce the next record by Guns N' Roses, as has been long-rumored, because of schedule conflicts, but he expects to help out here and there; he describes the legendarily volatile Axl Rose as "a very smart, aware, sensitive person who I get along with very well." And while he isn't preparing Animal Rights II, he declares that he continues to love punk and metal--"so that definitely will be part of what I do." But for the moment, he's pleased to be a dance man again--and happy that electronica is finding a larger audience.

"My perspective on the world of electronic dance music has always been formed by traveling around the world, where it's already part of the mainstream," he says. "So it doesn't really surprise me that America is finally catching on. I'm only surprised that it's taken this long."

Moby, with Juno Reactor and Skwidboy. 8 p.m. Friday, November 28, Boulder Theater, 2032 14th Street, $12.60-$14.70, 830-