It seems like everybody kind of stopped paying attention to Moby after he hit peak saturation with 18 in 2002. Maybe it’s because he allowed to many of his songs to be licensed for too many commercials. Maybe we got tired of hearing about his self-righteous-white-guy vegan lifestyle. Maybe his particular brand of dreamy electronic soundscapes became passe as the console-music scene embraced the convulsive sounds of dubstep and other, more aggressive forms of EDM. Whatever it was, Moby enjoyed his allotted however-many-minutes as a major pop culture figure, and then went back to noodling on his console in relative obscurity. Which is to say, he’s been consistently making music in much the same vein, and it’s been consistently high-quality and rewarding, if not exactly ‘trending’. He’s still delivering those dreamy soundscapes, for those of us who still want them – and with increasing finesse. None of his post-18 albums have been mainstream phenomenons, but they’ve been beautiful and affecting. Moby was never well suited for major stardom, not in personality, lifestyle, looks or musical aesthetic. He’s just a dweeb who wants to compose beautiful melodies, who happened to hit it big through some alchemy of zeitgeist and luck.