Thursday, April 28, 2005

I still have no clue how Moby is a visionary (unless you never heard "Lucas With The Lid Off") or why anyone on earth would be inspired to indulge in large doses of caffeine or sexual congress by the music on Hotel, but I'm enjoying the album more than I ever thought I would. Though he protests in the liners that he wants to make "messy, human records that are open and emotional," the songs here are closer to his description of hotels: "incredibly intimate places...made to look completely anonymous." His vocals are warm, human, but entirely devoid of interest. This keeps his hackneyed, monotonous lyrics from sounding either earnest or ironic. He's not fighting to be heard over his backdrops, placid even when uptempo - he seems unaware that logically he should be. Moby's full of emotion and as anonymous and replaceable as the residents of a hotel. Like those residents he's welcome to stay and cry, laugh, fuck, think and feel as long as he pays the bill and doesn't disturb others.

Both Hotel and Human After All work as post-promo palette cleansers, but where the latter's endless intros demand to be flung off the speaker once your batteries are recharged, Hotel has a sterile comfort that won't force you to think of something better to hear. You've been staring at the wall, waiting for your appointment, waiting for the desire to sleep or just staring to stare and suddenly "hey, that's a painting of a boat in the sea. Boston Harbor. Look at that little red house. Huh." Then you start thinking about houses, space out and again are unaware that the space is filled by something. Allegedly this promo is NOT the ambient disc.

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