from his celebratory rave roots and pummels us with a sonic depiction of our apocalyptic society. He opens the album with a pure, celestial ballad ("Dead Sun") but immediately, perversely counters this gracefulness with the grating guitar and tortured screams of "Someone to Love." Moby does arise from the self-imposed blight and ruin to deliver some groovy fuzz-box guitar tunes and yummy, ultrasexed vocals, but by that point, they sound more like rock & roll overkill than an eccentric studio guy smashing barriers.

The best moments here are the intentionally stone-cold cover of Mission of Burma's "That's When I Reach for My Revolver" and the graceful yet pulsing instrumental "Alone," which is so touching, it's near transcendental.

Moby's work still reigns supreme in the realm between pop and dance; it's just that this time around, he has decided to push an agenda instead of boundaries. With Animal Rights, he denies what he does best: squeezing inspirational, spiritual and painful feelings out of lifeless electronic gadgetry. It's as if he feels that his music must self-destruct alongside humanity and is daring you to dance while everything's dying – but then, wasn't it the gloomy threat of reality that got us dancing in the first place? (RS 754)

L.A.