Once tagged the ‘Iggy Pop Of Techno’, New York electronica geek Moby’s come a long way. Back in the early ‘90s, it would have been hard to imagine the staunch vegan with less than radio-friendly taste for techno and thrashing punk would ever have to struggle with life as multi-platinum household name. But that’s exactly what his sixth album finds him doing. And evidently, he really is struggling.
Not to put too fine a point on it, “Hotel” is a very dull record. Over the course of 15 tracks it wanders and meanders to nowhere in particular; stops off to take in the view where there’s nothing to see and then plods off again. It’s the sound of a man who’s not really sure who he is anymore; who just wants to make people like his records. But if “Hotel” were actually a hotel, it’d be a Travelodge somewhere on the outskirts of Slough - rooms are functional and clean, but hardly worth a second visit.
The album’s lack of focus and direction, and the fact that it’s the first time Moby’s completely abandoned samples surely can’t be coincidental. As the ubiquitous blues and gospel fragments which defined 1999’s breakthrough “Play” proved, his use of samples is his greatest strength. Without these fundamental building blocks to spark his imagination, “Hotel” is Moby as a conventional singer-songwriter, albeit with a slightly tech-y disposition.
To be fair, the soft-rock-with-keyboards moments aren’t so bad. The MOR acoustics of “Beautiful” make for a pleasant swayer, single “Lift Me Up”, with its electro chant is catchy and “Raining Again” – a close cousin of Buggles' “Video Killed The Radio Star” – is a brief sign of a chorus to hum. It’s the ambient side, previously his most alluring aspect, that’s the real turn-off. For “I Like It” and “Forever” he’s so subdued and disinterested that his ethereal reflections are the musical equivalent of a coma.
Grey as “Hotel” is, it’s easy to see how he ended up here. After years of extreme behaviour, he toned down, released the brilliantly simple “Play” and sold ten million albums. When he then watered “Play” down for follow-up “18”, he sold millions again. He could be forgiven for concurring that bland is the way to the hearts of the masses. But as “Hotel” proves, there are limits.
