Moby spills some warm milk over the quality control dial on this ninth studio album, resulting in a sprawling, intermittently luminous record.
Moby laid down the basics for Destroyed during insomnia-wracked nights on his last world tour, trying to capture the detached, desolate beauty of sunrises or departure lounges.
Evocative perhaps, but the translation is a flimsy and often cold affair. The Broken Places, which opens the 15-song, 71-minute set, isn’t bad as corporate hold music, but its formless electro-soup feels hermetically sealed lest creativity start to fester.
A hint of womanly soul appears halfway through, allied to quivering violins on Lie Down In Darkness. But he did better on Play.
Only with After, which struggles over five long minutes, does the insomniac bottle something of the ‘narcotic’ epiphany he strived for, and Stella Maris’ cathedral echoes and violin strains offer a detached beauty.
More half-baked than Destroyed.
2 stars
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