Chicago Tribune from Chicago, Illinois • 253

Chicago Tribune, Sunday, August 2, 1992 Section 13 Page 19 Arts Breakfast with Moby, techno's reigning wizard ft Richard Hall, otherwise known as Moby, a flesh-and-blood star in a dance movement that puts tech- -nology on a pedestal, is ordering breakfast in a Manhattan restaurant: a glass of grapefruit juice. Skinny and softspoken with short-cropped hair, he is a devout Christian and vegetarian. Two nights earlier, amid the frenzy of a rave party, he would dedicate his most famous song, "Go," to "my Lord, Jesus Christ." And then he would plunge into the music, body shaking, arms pumping, with renewed fury. As one admirer, a deejay named DB' says, "Moby turns from this mild-mannered, well-spoken young man into a psychopath on stage." Moby smiles at the description, but has no trouble explaining the apparent contradiction. "Dancing might seem hedonistic, but it's an important part of being alive," the 26-year-old produc-jerperfbrmerdeejay says.

"It has played such an integral role in civi-" lization forever. The drugs and the hedonism are part of it, but what's also coming into place is a sense of community and a sort of spiritual release. When people dance for six hours, I don't think it's hedonism as much as satisfying a physical need. "I think the first documented rave happened in the Old Testament, when the Ark of the Covenant was brought into Jerusa-. lent and King David took off all his clothes to H.inre lilte rrrnv He to be on a desert island, I'd probably bring every Brian Eno record." His music integrates these disparate influences: It has the sinceri-' ty and rage of Black Flag and the relentless groove beloved by dance deejays, yet there's also an ethereal quality that recalls the ambient atmospherics of Eno's "Music For Airports." All of it is created in his 600-square-foot apartment in the East Village of New York, which has no running water and no kitchen.

He has a bathroom and sink down the halL "It's primitive, but it's a bit more spacious than my other place" in Connecticut, he says. "That place was so small that if you stretched your arms you could touch the walls on either side." "I've lived modestly all my life," he explains. "My average yearly income for the last six, seven years is between $8,000 and $11,000. 1 like humility. can't be a proud Christian.

It's one of the central tenets of my religion." The money is pouring' in these days, primarily from his remix work for artists such as Michael Jackson, the B-52's and his. hero, Eno. But he says he can't enjoy it. One of his tracks, "JDrop a Beat," is climbing up the dance charts, but he says it's an inferior work released without authorization by his record company, Instinct. "The last six months I've been sleepless nights because of this," he says.

"I'm under a five-: year contract that I'm trying to get out of. Music can be such a sublime' thing, yet it attracts so many scumbags. He notes that though "Go" has sold more than 200,000 copies worldwide, he has -received only $2,000 in royalties for it "Billie Holiday is laughing in her grave, saying, 'Welcome to the Moby says. But he's not "I believe human beings thrive in adversity," and his marvelous records ''Go," "Mobility," his startling remixes of Michael Jackson's "Who, Is It?" prove it. Greg Kot energy and beats-per-minute replace melodies and vocals In this new sound.

hi Istations plav th as (from lese saunder- Jbergenand liuill 9 I 33. underground nd was heavy id deep basses, 122 beats per i says. "When cords, we used ihcsizer noises po to about inute." ith synthcthic uence of Ger-and Japan's red electronic is well as the lines of Bcr-y Parliament-Is. Even the groups as the oys prefigured i sounded like iusic," Saun- 1 JVelocity, derson says. "Me and Derrick took a slightly different approach, but we were all using electronic effects to make the energy happen on the dancefloor." As is usually the case with American underground music, the records made in Detroit were ignored at home but caused a sensation in England and Belgium, and helped spawn a generation of techno artists.

"The Detroit people definitely influenced and inspired us," says Ian Loveday of the London-based group Eon. "They tend to stick to a similiar format, which is very good as a base. We've reinterpreted it to suit our own tastes." The ubiquity of MIDI (Musical Instrument Digital Interface) technology in the mid-'80s made it easy for any non-musician to layer electronic sounds atop a rhythm track, in the comfort of his bedroom. Moby is skilled on a number of instruments, and even played in a few hard-core punk bands, but creates all of his music in a 600-square-foot apartment in Manhattan with the aid of computers and synthesizers. "A lot of the best ideas have come from deejays who don't know what they're doing," he says.

"I find my musical knowledge to be a hindrance sometimes when it comes to making a good record." Loveday was a deejay with a background in electronic engineering who began making records in "I don't consider myself a must-; cian in the conventional sense, even though r-do compose things on keyboard," he says, chainsmoking cigarettes in the offices of Columbia Records in Manhattan "The first question people ask is," What's your Well, it's percussion, keyboards, effects and mixing. Any piece of technology can be treated as an instrument. In Britain, dance music is ingrained in the pop culture, and Detroit techno and its spinoffs were warmly embraced at raves just as Chicago house and acid house, Jamaican raggamuffin and Italian disco were before it v. In America, dance music has been an underground pariah ever since the "disco sucks" era, but-many white youths raised on rock are responding to the macho aggression of techno. "We don't sell many records in', the inner-city, surprisingly enough," says IRS' of our sales are in the urbs." "Kids see techno as indy independent music, a new sound that taking over for industrial" bands such as Skinny Puppy and Ministry, Saunderson says.

But as the music has gotten more macho, more aggressive, it's losing whatever vestige of soul it had left. "They're pushing the tempos to 150 beats per minute," DiStefano says. "It's so kinetic I don't know how you can dance to it let alone enjoy it" All of which leaves at least one of techno's innovators a bit. bewildered. "You call this' crap techno?" said Juan Atkins to a roomful of deejays, producers and promoters from Europe at one New Music Seminar panel in New York ccntly.

"If it don't, say Detroit on it, it ain't techno!" While-Saundcrson disagrees with Atkins' narrow definition, he is clearly disturbed about the way in which Detroit's innovation has See Techno, pg. 26 OT had; his naysayers there, including wuc, wnu saia ne just maae a nimseit. But he responded that he' was filled with the spirit, ana ne just naa to express Himself. And I think exnircsinor vnursplf in that way can be a positive thing." has been expressing himself through -music nine he was 10. He is proficient on any number oi instruments, including guitar.

bass, drums and keyboards, and performed in hard-core punk bands before becoming involved in the dance community as a deejay. He's also a huge fan of electronic music "I love the aggressiveness of techno," he says, "but if I had Deejay Richard "Moby" Hall loves the VtSfrj innrt fir nV iftirimmir imm aggressiveness of techno. I'M..