Think of Destroyed as Moby’s Running on Empty, an album about the stranger, more dislocated moments of a rock tour — except that Moby largely makes his point through sounds rather than lyrics. A sequel of sorts to 2009’s Wait for Me, this likewise finds the artist at his moodiest, least commercial, and at times most interesting. There’s real beauty in his bleary soundscapes, with lyrics that are never too clear and vocals that aren’t too far upfront, all designed to convey his impressions of insomnia. Couldn’t be further from the commercial-ready Play, and more power to it.
