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Moby’s 11th album resembles a 19th-century painting in which well-heeled travellers gaze in sublime rapture at ruins.

Ornate synthesiser swashes and tastefully melancholic vocals convey a self-conscious sense of emotion; a plodding beat ensures the feelings don’t get out of hand. Sampled blues hollers look back wistfully at Moby’s biggest success, Play; meanwhile the maverick DJ who once boasted of making the fastest song ever is nowhere to be heard.

All hope is lost when The Flaming Lips’ Wayne Coyne pops up with the trite observation that “Life is all we need” as a gospel choir expresses melismatic gratitude in the background.



(Republic of Music)

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