Moby is an open book — literally. Few electronic producers across the last several decades have been the focus of such a sustained level of public and press attention the way the 58-year-old mononymous superstar (known in government documents as Richard Melville Hall) has. There’s a lot out there to know about Moby, and much of it he’s made available by his own design: His twin memoirs, 2016’s Porcelain: A Memoir and Then It Fell Apart from 2019, are at turns revelatory, highly entertaining, and straight-up deeply unpleasant to consume. Even as his own ability to be wholly truthful about the past has come under scrutiny (more on that later), his warts-and-all approach to laying out his own personal travails would leave one to believe that, when it comes to reflecting on his recent and distant past, Moby is simply out of stories to tell.