Moby has just been a guest on the French TV show "20h10 pétantes".
Without fail, seeing or hearing Moby brings me back to 2000, on a suburbs train in Sydney, coming back from Homebush with a couple of friends, one of which just hates Moby's guts. The conversation was flowing, intellectual stuff of the highest order, and then one of us brought Moby up. Or maybe it was just the PA system in the train. Whatever. The M word was pronounced, and with that, Alex got started. We just sat there and listened to him rant hilariously for a while, just going on and on. Bitching, fabulously so.
As this was one of the first times I'd actually talked to him, it's stayed with me - you know how first impressions last.
Since then, every time I've listened to Moby's music, I've felt a pang of guilt. Like, oh dear, I hope Alex never finds out. Rest assured, he has, because I just blurted it out once - and boy did I feel like I'd just admitted to my parents that yes, even though they had expressly forbidden me to, I had indeed gone to that party*.
So, Alex, if you ever read this, I'll give you one thing, Moby's not really funny in the flesh.
Still does good music though.
*Mum, Dad - of course I didn't go.