For the first 21 years of my life, you probably could have convinced me that Moby didn't actually exist. It might have made sense, too -- he's everywhere. He's essentially just the soundtrack of our lives, in a sense. He could have been a fictional and manufactured product given to us by corporate America. I wouldn't have blinked twice if someone told me that he was really just some program like Garageband, producing impersonal hits to be slipped into movie soundtracks. But two months into my 21st year of existence, I was proven sorely wrong; I saw Moby perform live at the Theatre of the Living Arts in Philadelphia on September 20, and I couldn't be happier about my luck. Yes, that's right: I'm a bona fide Moby fan, for better or worse.

I stumbled into the tickets when my dad got called to Copenhagen on business. For whatever reason, he'd bought tickets to the show because he thought he might have a good time. I laughed it off at first, but then -- well, I'm never one to let a concert ticket go to wast. It had been over a month since my last show, and this was free. So, after a lot of mocking from my friends directed both toward me and toward Moby (who is clearly an innocent victim in the story up until this point) I headed out for South Street, where I met up with a friend and headed to the theatre. Honestly, the entire experience was a little bit surreal. Going ito the show, I was convinced that I only knew two songs by Moby -- "We Are All Made Of Stars" and "Southside." Good thing I was wrong again.

Up first was a woman named Kelli Scarr. When she performed by herself, I have to say, it was a little bit DIY for my taste. She layered all of her harmonies by herself while she was on stage, had a pre-recorded drum beat that must have been coming out of a Casio keyboard, and she tried to hold too many instruments in her hand at once. Her voice was lovely and Feist-like, but she was often too haphazard for me to notice. Scarr had eery vocals and her folktronica music was a very interesting start to the night. Overall, it just added to my complete incredulity. Despite her few downfalls, I was entirely charmed. Scarr made a good impression.

When she left stage, I started getting kind of antsy. I wanted Moby to perform already -- probably so that I could drop my jaw a little wider and mock myself a bit more. Little did I know that I was entirely unprepared for what I was about to see. I say this unironically: from the moment he stepped on stage, Moby rocked my world. He came out amidst a lot of fanfare and a huge light show. Since he was a former rave kid, it made a lot of sense and was wildly entertaining. There were colorful, flashing lights, a lot of glittery surfaces, and close to 6 people on stage before I ever saw the man himself. And when he came on stage, I was just pleased as punch. He's small, endearing, and endlessly humble.

Though Moby is, in his own right, a superstar, he made it a point of the evening to feature the other musicians on stage with him. Scarr came back out and made her debut as a sultry, soulful, vocally powerful performer. His "backup" singers were often the only vocals on a song, and Moby took backseat on the stage to play the piano more than once as opposed to standing center stage with his guitar. After every upbeat and electric performance (which was all of them) he stood at the mic and said "thank you" three times. During one particularly grandiose song, with Scarr on vocals, Moby was off to the side just strumming on his guitar. He hung his head and played along, and when he raised his eyes, he seemed so happily startled by the huge number of fans in the front row singing along. When he started up the club beats, the audiences' hands immediately shot in the air and people started jumping, coming only vaguely close to the rave scene Moby so fondly gave a shout-out to. He yelled, "this is to my boys from the rave scene, King Britt, and to anyone who's ever been in an abandoned warehouse in the middle of the night with all the other club kids just like them." He seemed aware of his roots and yet like he wanted to move in a forward direction.

He played his hits: "Southside," "We Are All Made of Stars," etc. He played a lot of songs with no vocals at all. He played through a crazy energetic light show, an energetic crowd, and I found myself dancing with everybody else and recognising more songs than I originally thought. My favourite moment of the night, though, happened toward the end of the show. Imagine this -- Moby, who is small and bald, standing in front of a crowd of people with an acoustic guitar, calling Kelli Scarr "June" and covering a Johnny Cash song on a Sunday night in Philadelphia. That's the memory I want to take away from this show. Not only does Moby exist, but he's not the kind of artist you think he is. He is, in fact, rather excellent and awesome.