MY FATHER DIED in a car crash in his mid-twenties when I was two, so I know him only from photographs. When I was 35, my stepfather told me that it probably wasn’t an accident and that my father may have tried to kill himself. As I have grown older, he has remained a young, troubled man in my mind and I now feel paternal towards him. But I’ve always been grateful that I didn’t go through the trauma of losing him as an older child.

I also found out that I have a half-brother. Before she died, my mother told me that she had become pregnant at 18 and put the baby up for adoption. She said that she didn’t regret it as she really loved me. I share only half my genome with him, so, beyond an anthropological curiosity, I feel no inclination to find him.

These revelations made me feel like a character in a Chekhov play. My mother and I were thrown together. It was a close relationship but an odd one. We got along, but we fought and it was more like a fraternal relationship.

I was the only person I knew in our town in Connecticut who had a single parent and it contributed to my being an outsider. My relationships with friends were a substitute for a conventional family background, but I felt that all my relationships, romantic and non-romantic, were underpinned by a great sense of inadequacy. It came from growing up poor in a wealthy town and having a bohemian mother in conservative circles. I learnt to make a virtue of it when I realised that most of literature extolled the outsider.

I lost my virginity in a drunken one-night stand at 16. I’d envisioned it being with someone I was in love with. She was tall, white-haired, pale, Gothic-looking and laconic. At the time I thought it was disastrous, but now it seems interesting. My first proper relationship, a year later, was remarkable for its chastity, which was a source of great frustration to me. I was an ardent Christian for five years from 1988, and I didn’t know if monogamous sex was compatible with my faith. In 1996 I loosened up a bit. Promiscuity was interesting, but just a shallow pursuit. I was selfish, hedonistic and looking for gratification. I’ve experimented with men, but it appears that I am heterosexual, much to my chagrin when I hang out with my gay friends in New York.

I’ve not been terribly hurt in relationships, but I’ve hurt people by unintentionally leading them on. People will agree to a non-monogamous arrangement intellectually but not emotionally. I suffer from jealousy and it’s debilitating. It’s made me angry and I’ve said things to people that they didn’t deserve.

Fame is an aphrodisiac and my sex life hasn’t suffered for it, but I’m not like musician friends who routinely have casual sex with fans. I get more discerning groupies who want to talk to me about my music. I have a few friends who are public figures, but I view their fame as a liability as it fosters narcissism. I have been associated with the actresses Natalie Portman and Christina Ricci. Both have become dear friends and what I love is that they are both incredibly bright.

I have high expectations, which means there haven’t been too many long-lasting relationships. I look for compatibility, intellectually and sexually, but the most attractive quality is the ability to talk until my throat is sore. Even my one-night stands have been based on conversational rapport. Sex is just an extension of talking.

I’ve never been in love in the way other people have. I feel like I’m still waiting for my first love. I don’t know that it’s difficult to find; other friends have. I’m more stable now and looking for romantic love built up over time and based on a healthy respect, rather than trying to satisfy my needs in an instant. I’ve had lots of romantic relationships but I’ve never had that ultimate monogamous connection.

If my life had been perfect in the way I wanted it, I might not have been compelled to make music. Music has been a substitute for love and relationships. I realised I got more satisfaction from music than relationships and one of the things that drives me musically is a longing for love.

Domestic bliss, with children and marriage, might sap my creativity but I would just have to take it in another direction. Now I long to be understood. I’m looking for connection, completion, joy.

Moby’s new single is Sunday (The Day Before My Birthday), Mute Records