The book - just like one of his songs also aptly named “Then It Fell Apart” - chronicles two important eras of the life of the in my opinion friendly and down-to-earth artist by whom I had found shelter since the death of that other musically eclectic idol of mine (Prince). Spoiler alert: after reading the book, you cannot help but finding Moby a first class dickhead. Which is quite strange, given it is an autobiography after all - written by himself. I admit I had to gasp for air a bit at first, but it is so well written that I have read it in one go.
Moby describes, among other things, how André 3000 did not want to hug him at the MTV Video Music Awards after he got into an open war with Eminem, how Lizzy Grant (now known as Lana Del Rey) turned him down after a date at a macrobiotic restaurant, and how he tutored Vladimir Putin's daughter, intoxicated and unwilling, Russian literature in a Holiday Inn hotel. In just about every anecdote, he portrays himself as the ultimate beta male: an insecure and sensitive nerd who clumsily navigates the unknown territory of stardom.
The strangest and most notorious part of the book is that in which Moby reveals that he has been dating Natalie Portman as a teenager back in 1999. Although he never understood what a young, successful and handsome actress saw in a 33-year-old balding man, he clearly has fond memories of their time together, culminating in a romantic kiss under an ancient oak tree. This revelation has caused quite a stir in the press, because Portman swears she has no memories of the whole thing. According to the actress, the two never dated, and Moby was just "a creepy older man" with an inappropriate interest in a teenage girl who had just graduated from high school. Strangely enough, Moby angrily responded by writing off Portman's denials as "gossip" and he shared "evidence" in the form of an old photo of him holding an uncomfortable-looking Portman while being bare-chested. In my opinion, if the only evidence you can find is a photo where your alleged date looks like she's being held hostage, you may need to draw conclusions. Sad. After being accused of beta male misogyny in the (social) media, Moby finally apologized.
The other anecdote that got some press coverage was that in 2001, according to Moby, he was challenged at a party to a game of knob touching with an unsuspecting Donald Trump. In short, that means that he had to rub his bare penis against the future president while making small talk with his victim. He accepted and succeeded the challenge, of course.
Most of the reviews I read limit themselves to those two excerpts, wondering if we should all need to know that? But I want to speak up in Moby’s defence: the other half of his book is about his earliest childhood, where he describes he already was an outsider and a nerd - and those chapters paint a very different picture, that of Moby as Little Idiot, his sad cartoon alter ego looking for a hug, that shows up in some of his best-known clips. The childhood chapters alternate with those from during (and after) his star status, and it kind of balances the weird stuff out.
Throughout the whole book, Moby describes how being rich and famous hasn't exactly made him happy: today he most appropriately describes himself as a bald and postmodern alcoholic. Having written this book seems like a cry for help, in my opinion. Hopefully he will get that help soon, because with this collection of anecdotes that are fun to the reader but must be very painful for him, Moby dug such a deep well for himself that I wonder if he will ever get out. The giant animal rights/vegan for life tattoos which he had his arms and neck covered with last year, and the music he released lately, don't make me very optimistic.