PJ Anderson
In The Guardian recently, Bill Drummond from the KLF derided his partner's enduring fascination with the likes of Zero 7 and Goldfrapp (dance music for thirtysomethings, he called it) The name missing from that list is Moby.
When not saving Turkeys or preventing the young from smoking, Moby makes music. The music he makes has changed, from his early years a thrash metal guitarist, to his 1990 rebirth as the face of American commercial house with a totemic re-visioning of the theme from Twin Peaks.
Described pointedly by some as music for newlyweds (they'll soon stop caring about music enough to buy CDs, and will spend their cash on curtains) it's undeniable that he's one of the biggest dance acts in the world; 1999's Play sampled '40s blues, sold millions and had people making babies to 'Crystal', allowing him to play arenas.
Endearingly shy and seemingly genuinely self-deprecating, his online journal is sweetly charged with his own thoughts, namely winsome ramblings about porn, touring life, and watching the planes crash on 9-11 from his roof.
Perhaps the self-avowed non-conformist, Christian vegan is arguably more famous for frequent pronouncements on ecology and war than his creative output (maybe a good job as his last album 18 didn't sell very well). Whatever you think of his views, Moby is genuinely successful at giving a face to dance music, and playing it live.
M.E.N Arena, November 23