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Moby's biography triggers me

When Moby became relevant, sometime in the early nineties, I was in my early teens and the music I listened to was all over the place. I couldn't have been further away from the rave scene. With a bit of perspective, it's easy to see why: it was already completely commercialised at this point. And I was barely 15 or so. The only reason I got in touch with Rave was because records were sold at normal record shops in the closest town I had access to, and no, that wasn't even Zurich..

I remember a friend of mine introducing me to Moby's Play, that would've made me 17 at the time. I never got into post-techno/rave Moby much, though. But the girl I had a crush on at this point was into it. So I kinda was into it, too. At this point in time I started to dabble in music production myself, in the cheapest possible ways..

Reading Moby's biography pushed me down memory lane. The quintessential difference between small-town swiss and NYC suburbs grown kid at the time.. worlds apart. Still though, there's things that I can relate to.

His biography puts me in a strange mood, strangely compelling, to write about here. I don't know why. Maybe it's the blunt way in which he describes himself and his environment growing up, struggling, becoming famous and rich, and then collapsing. The drugs, the sex, the rock'n'roll. A very honest report.

Maybe it's because, at least at some point, I aspired to become that, too. I wanted to be on-stage. I wanted to have attention, allures, and I wanted to be famous and loved. But I was also extremely anxious, a nerd. I found other things that require less exposure. So I never even tried, but for some anonymous releases on a netlabel or two. I guess, if life allows and if you're anxious, you always take the route that seems less exposed.

Moby's life is extreme in every regard. The utter opposite of my life. Yet I feel strangely connected, to the depression, the anxiety, the need to be creative. The ways it played out though are completely different. Which makes me wonder what could have happened if things would have been slightly different for me. If I would have grown up close to a metropolitan area of millions where "western" music culture was heavily influenced by, where things originated from, in the nineties: technology, music, art. Interesting thoughts.

I think this alone made it worth for me to read his biography. I can completey understand why he wrote it. He's probably trying to find closure. I can understand why he'd need it. He's been a real dickhead.

Still though, I heavily empathise. Even if our life's couldn't have turned out more different. Even if the same feelings cause different reactions. What's underneath is eerily similar. I grew up in a comparatively low-income household in the middle of nowhere, a distant father, knowing that I'm different and that my peers have more of everything; love, toys, holidays, friends. A need to feel recognised and be part of something but barely fitting in anywhere. Being anxious, depressed and inconsequential to everything. Completely incapable of forming a relationship with a girl. Never even really trying for the fear of rejection. And once a relationship actually formed due to some fluke of the universe, complete and utter disaster for many, many reasons. Addictive behavior might be another parallel that could be drawn, yet I never had the same level of access. Thank god, I guess.

Or I'm just seeing patterns where there are none. But I guess we're all, at least somewhat, broken.