That Moby — what a kooky, wee little pixie he is. He’s the sweetest, littlest pop star on earth until he starts playing and singing, at which point he becomes this hyperactive, screaming animal with veins popping out of his head. It makes for a good show, but I still don’t think I have any need to buy one of his albums. Check your local listings once the new seasion of Sessions begins: my pals Mark, Tom, Steven, Alex, and I got seats in the front row, so we’ll be on your TV.
One warning if you ever go to a taping for Sessions: Don’t be intimidated by the blonde bitch who seats the audience. she’s a pain in the butt, and you have to pay attention to you or you’ll get a crummy seat, but you just have to remember that she’s got a sucky, high-stress job. And someone’s probably screaming at her through her headset the whole time.