The superstar DJ’s account of his journey from poverty to wild parties in mansions is funny and often harrowing
For many people, evacuating your bowels in a squalid Times Square strip-club lavatory because you have drunkenly ingested a furious stripper’s entire bag of cocaine might qualify as “rock bottom”. Not for Moby, the superstar DJ and musician, an “alcohol enthusiast”. The second instalment of his memoirs bumps along so many of these notional rock bottoms, it’s like a dredger scraping an undersea mountain range. “I used to teach Bible study!” Moby laughs, hysterical at his own self-abasement, Versace trousers round his ankles, security pounding on the door.
We are all overly familiar with my-drug-hell stories touted by celebrities seeking redemption and a pay cheque, however reduced it may be. Moby’s memoirs are a little different: peopled by everyone you have ever heard of (Bono! Madonna! Hillary Clinton!), they are often squawk-out-loud funny and unexpectedly lyrical in places.
Continue reading...from The Guardian http://bit.ly/30ytERp
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