Porcelain is about making it, losing it, loving it and hating it. It’s about finding your people, and your place, thinking you’ve lost them both, and then, finally, somehow, when you think it’s over, from a place of well-earned despair, creating a masterpiece. As a portrait of the young artist, Porcelain is a masterpiece in its own right, fit for the short shelf of musicians’ memoirs that capture not just a scene but an age, and something timeless about the human condition. Push play. (synopsis by Moby via Laughing Squid)
Life, as we’ve all noticed by now if we’re paying even a modicum of attention, is not one endless trip to nirvana.
It is rather a series of highs and lows, success and failure, joy and despair, a constant push-and-pull of the good and the bad that rarely turns out anything like we imagined it.
The truism of that observation is starkly illustrated in Porcelain, Moby’s new memoir covers the years 1989-1990 during which he moved to his city of dreams, new York, DJ’d all kinds of hip music in cool dance clubs and less-than-salubrious sex clubs, prayed and studied the Bible a lot, drank nothing but ate lots (of vegan food) and lived out all his professional and personal fantasies …
Until life said that’s enough of that and he found himself drinking again, questioning everything but his veganism, and without a record deal.
But then a “little” record called Play came out and … the rest, as they say, is history.
It sounds like a fascinating story that doesn’t stint on the harsh realities of the lows while celebrating the highs and I’m highly looking forward to read the partial life story of an artist I have long admired.
Porcelain released 17 May.