…which has a tranquil roof garden five stories up. (Eilon Paz)
“I’m feeling a little bit like a sad townie,” Moby, 45, says wistfully while sipping tea from an oversized mug.
For the better part of the past two decades, the musician and DJ has lived in a 1,200-square-foot loft, formerly part of a Civil War prison hospital and later a meat-processing factory. The latter explains the sloping floor and shifting ceiling height. But otherwise, the building’s past remains hidden due in large part to Moby’s architect friend, Nick Durrie, who transformed the raw space by adding skylights and using old-growth timber beams to build out the space.
The apartment includes a light-filled meditation area, a small bedroom and a soundproofed studio. “When I moved into the building, it was mainly artists and a bunch of record companies,” Moby says. “I would walk out my front door every morning, and there’s the Beastie Boys or Iggy Pop sitting on the front stoop.”
Moby bought the condo for a mere $150,000 before the area became known as Nolita, noting, “The irony is that originally I moved here because it was so cheap, and now it’s arguably the most rapidly gentrified part of New York City.”
Some of his favorite places, though, are nearby mainstays that represent a counterculture past, including the Bowery Poetry Club, where Beat poet Taylor Mead still performs. Until Moby stopped drinking a few years back, he was also a regular at Mars Bar, a tiny, graffiti-covered East Village hole-in-the-wall known for cheap, strong drinks.
He recalls frequently inviting the entire bar back to his place and admits that, “Back when I drank, I didn’t have the best judgment in the world.”
This resulted in walking in on complete strangers smoking crack in his bathroom, and, “One time, I went to make pancakes after a crazy night, and I realized that people had been using my pancake skillet to make Special K.” He’s not referring to cereal. He adds: “There are all sorts of reasons why I don’t drink anymore.”
He’s since learned transcendental meditation while at David Lynch’s compound in LA, and does it frequently. The idea behind it is that the brain is lulled by a nonsensical sound, allowing the body to relax. “The first five minutes, everything else on the planet seems more interesting and compelling,” he says. “Cleaning my shoelaces seems more interesting than meditating sometimes, but once you get through those first five minutes, it gets a lot easier.”
Moby’s meditation area is perched on top of the cave-like room where he sleeps, accessed by a winding staircase and flooded by light from the skylights, as well as a window that peers out onto the tranquil rooftop garden.
“Basically, I live up here from May until the end of October,” he says about the plant-filled deck, which is surprisingly quiet atop a five-story building in the middle of downtown. Besides a couple of lounge chairs, the outdoor space (like most of the indoor dwelling) remains bare.
Inside, the main area prominently features Moby’s collection of analog drum machines, along with a piano and a few well-placed chairs. The largely empty space highlights the impressive collection that he started in 1981 with the purchase of Mattel Synsonics Drums. “I have nothing against digital technology, but there’s no circuitry,” Moby says of his affinity for the physical sound that analog produces.
He likens it to the unique sound of vinyl. Beyond the sound, there’s a challenge Moby enjoys in working within the limitations of older machines. Those restrictions have served him well over the years, helping him create numerous albums in his studio, including 1999’s “Play,” still the best-selling electronic album to date (more than 10 million copies worldwide).
“I just finished recording and mixing my next album, and it’s all made with old drum machines and old synthesizers, so it has kind of a broken-down quality to it,” he says.
In addition, his music is featured prominently in Lucy Walker’s “Waste Land” (opening Friday at the Angelika Film Center), an exhilarating documentary about artist Vik Muniz’s project to create portraits of garbage pickers from one of the poorest areas of Rio de Janeiro — and transform their lives in the process. “Of all the movies I’ve done music for, it’s the one I’m most proud of,” Moby says.
He’s also been busy with other, cheekier projects. “My job is music, but my hobby is also music,” he says, explaining his involvement in Diamondsnake, a side project that he calls “mid-’80s New Jersey, parking-lot heavy metal.”
The group played CMJ and will play next month’s campy Lebowski Fest at Brooklyn Bowl. “I love playing loud rock music with friends,” Moby says. “I’m a weird electronic-music guy, so suffice it to say our heavy-metal pedigree is a little bit compromised.”
MOBY’S favorite things
* His drum machine collection
* The roof garden
* His piano
* His studio
* The skylights