The weird thing about Moby's popularity is that no one, not even the confused rock critics who claim to adore him, seems to give a shit about his music. No one can tell you exactly why he's so important, why he's made the cover of Spin and Wired, why he has his own show on MTV, and why he's still the only electronic act to garner live-show reviews in the daily papers. While critics will tell you about how quirky and self-deprecating he is during interviews and onstage – and that, yes, he is the Undisputed Reigning Cock of Electronica (a repugnant word that proves these critics don't know what the fuck they're talking about in the first place) – they noticeably steer clear of involved discussions about his music. Is this because his oeuvre is intimidatingly complex – like Schoenberg on massive amounts of speed or something? Well, let me ask you this: are Pamela's tits for real?

I'm convinced Moby puts out albums just to update his résumé. After all, he's got to make sure that kiddies continue to recognize his mug in the who's-who pages of Paper and Vogue; he'd do anything it takes to remain in the spotlight. And 18, the follow-up to his extremely unremarkable Play, is proof that Moby's fame will continue to be one of the world's greatest unsolved mysteries. Here he recycles his Play tactics – loads of uncredited gospel samples, plodding, dull beats that go nowhere except to the next track, and a few perky bonus songs that feature tired guests, like the famous Pope-hating Sinéad O'Connor and the cute but usually unemployed MC Lyte. Two words: big deal.

We may not want to waste much time talking about his tunes, but we do know many fascinating things about him. We know, for example, that he's a Jesus freak (bless his heart), a vegan (good news for bunnies), sober (I'll drink to that), and totally, utterly unfuckable (just look at him). We know from his excessive use of drama-queen string sections that he's the Alan Alda of dance music – but wait, let's not go there. (Amanda Nowinski)

Smith and Mighty
Life Is ... (!K7)

Big World Small World (2000) was a triumph for Smith and Mighty: not only was it an outstanding effort, but it also received the widespread distribution their debut had been denied. With soaring, soulful vocals riding ominously on chugging sub-bass lines, it was a perfect soundtrack to the start of a new century. When I heard late last year that another album was on its way, my expectations were high. After all, Smith and Mighty were making the Bristol sound before there was such a label to affix to Massive Attack et al, and their early-'90s singles on 3 Stripe Records were some of my most prized record-store finds.

Unfortunately, Life Is ... not very good. Predictable, plodding, and full of astoundingly inane lyrics (even for dance music), this album is the one that should have languished in distribution purgatory, not 1995's brilliant Bass Is Maternal. The disc is a depressing reminder that past performance is no guarantee of future returns, and it's hard to pin down what exactly went wrong with this one. The crisp drum programming, deep-sea bass, and soulful singing are still the same, but something essential is missing. The snares are stilted, the bass merely muddy, and the vocals grating. While Big World Small World's "No Justice" was able to pull off the cliché refrain "no justice, no peace" by letting it settle over a perfect pairing of rolling bass and ricocheting snare, the similar stylings of Life Is ...'s "Run Come" fall flat beneath the painfully hackneyed "leave your troubles at the door, tonight we're gonna dance on the dancefloor."

There are bright spots: the haunting float of vocals, guitar, and dub echoes on "Flash of Joy"; the wonderful, swirling menace of "I Saw You"; a general attention to sonic detail that is best appreciated via headphones while walking down a dark street. But it is this obvious facility that makes doubly painful the album's banal flirtations with trite 2-step and Top 40 R&B. Let's hope they take a full five years for the next album, and get it right. (Peter Nicholson)

Various artists
Fields and Streams (Kill Rock Stars)

Contrary to all the hoo-ha from RIAA reps who believe everyone can afford the computer and high-speed Internet connection necessary to freely download tracks for handpicked mix discs, MP3s and CD burners aren't threatening to make label-released compilations (much less the entire profit-driven music industry) obsolete. Too bad, too, 'cause like soundtracks, those comps tend to be hit 'n' mostly miss collections of random miscellanea foisted on the public for a quick buck. Exceptions exist, of course, like recent years' offerings from indies such as Ghostly International, Mr. Lady, and Bloodshot – albums not carelessly collecting songs but documenting specific scenes, eras, and aesthetics – but they are, unfortunately, few and far between.

It's that much more exciting, then, to come across Fields and Streams, Kill Rock Stars' most ambitious compilation since its top-notch trilogy of Kill Rock Stars, Rock Stars Kill, and Stars Kill Rock in the early '90s. Packing 45 predominantly female-fronted acts onto two CDs, Streams is the best indie-punk rock collection of previously unreleased material released in years, trucking in everything from established names (Neko Case, Quasi) and up 'n' comers (Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Erase Errata) to pure pop (Stereo Total, Aislers Set) and maddeningly quirky rock (Deerhoof, Dada Swing). Sound chaotic? Sure is, and that's why it works.