Moby: New York, New York

Mention the name Moby to a friend and you'll probably be met with more squirms of embarrassment than nods of acknowledgement, and yet a lot of his music can be used to identify certain periods in one's life, whether it be revising for exams, battling through the final year at uni or soundtracking those early morning drives into work. Memories good and bad, then, which pretty much sums up the artist's work over the years, too.

Written off by many as being well past his sell-by date, 'New York, New York', while not being as derivative or samey as the majority of his output post-Play, won't exactly win him a new army of fans either.

The production sounds dated, the beats pilfered, and lyrically it somehow manages to ape the awful Tin Tin Out and Rogue Traders for dance-orientated banality.

The one saving grace comes courtesy of Debbie Harry's vocals: "Keep on living in the past", then, as someone once sang many years ago. Or maybe not.