The year 2020 will always be remembered as the “Year of the Mask”—our humble response to the outbreak of a global pandemic and its attendant lockdowns, restrictions, and overall uncertainty that sent the world into a tailspin. But for serious rap fans, that designation hides a double meaning, recalling the year’s heartbreaking conclusion. On December 31, we discovered that one of the most creative, original, and beautiful minds that hip-hop had ever produced—in the person of Daniel Dumile, aka MF DOOM, or simply DOOM—had passed away at the age of forty-nine. The announcement came via a poignant Instagram post by his wife, who wrote:
Begin all things by giving thanks to THE ALL!
To Dumile:
The greatest husband, father, teacher, student, business partner, lover and friend I could ever ask for. Thank you for all the things you have shown, taught and given to me, our children and our family. Thank you for teaching me how to forgive beings and give another chance, not to be so quick to judge and write off. Thank you for showing how not to be afraid to love and be the best person I could ever be. My world will never be the same without you. Words will never express what you and Malachi mean to me, I love both and adore you always. May THE ALL continue to bless you, our family, and the planet.
All my Love
Jasmine.1
Readers of this unforeseen obituary were further confounded by the revelation that DOOM had passed away two months earlier, on October 31. For grieving fans, it seemed weirdly apropos since everyone had an excuse to wear a mask on Halloween, and DOOM never appeared in public without one. Honoring the privacy he so fiercely protected in life, his wife offered no further details of his death.
Reaction to the MC’s untimely passing came swiftly on social media—especially among his contemporaries. A roll call of rappers, from Denzel Curry to Playboi Carti, tweeted their respects to the artist popularly regarded as “your favorite rapper’s favorite rapper,” a term coined by Q-Tip from A Tribe Called Quest. Former collaborators, like Radiohead’s Thom Yorke, also chimed in, crediting him as a “massive inspiration.” From the New York Times to everyone’s favorite podcasts and blogs, the tragic news was tempered with massive tributes. DOOM was even lionized in places one wouldn’t normally expect. The entertainment industry bible, Variety, for example, called him, “One of the most celebrated, unpredictable and enigmatic figures in independent hip-hop.”2
But a real measure of his influence and impact came from the legions of fans worldwide, who bombed social media with DOOM-inspired artwork and graffiti homages to the man, who himself wielded a wicked can of Krylon. Some, like Ryan O’Connor, were even moved to pen poignant tributes online, writing, “He may have been rap’s comic book villain but he was the most beloved character rap ever birthed.”3 Adam Davidson, meanwhile, managed to distill the feelings of countless others who enjoyed a deep and personal relationship with the artist through his music, concluding, “Here’s to one of the best friends I never met.”4 The overwhelming sense of shock and sorrow among DOOM’s boosters and supporters was accompanied by the realization that a unique and irreplaceable talent had been forever lost.
Though regarded as a hero to most, DOOM was more comfortable claiming the title of “Supervillain,” a persona he inhabited with verve and gusto. But while examples of his villainous behavior abound—including sending imposters to perform in his stead—this pose was largely obfuscation on his part. In reality, he exemplified the antithesis of the fame-obsessed, money-hungry, attention-seeking, and self-absorbed artist. He fancied himself a man of the people and came across as both humble and down-to-earth in interviews, revealing a unique worldview. “I always tend to root for the villain. That’s just me,” he told BBC Radio 1 in 2012. “You know he’s probably going to lose in the end or whatever, but he always comes back. The villain tends to be the more hard worker, yunno? He speaks for the working-class man.”5 In another interview, he said, “I look at DOOM as representing the average Joe. The outlaw can sympathize with DOOM, or the cat who doesn’t have too many friends, or the cat who doesn’t have the best sneakers on. If you’re not as cool as Jay-Z, you don’t have enough money to buy his records or buy a gold chain—I don’t wear no chain—I’m your man, yo! I’m the one you can relate to. I got a pot belly. Come holler at me!”6 Leaving no mystery about where his allegiances lay, his idiosyncratic nature set him apart from the crowded and competitive field of braggers and boasters who battled for mic supremacy.
A true workhorse, DOOM proved himself incredibly prolific and dedicated to his craft as both an MC and a producer during a career spanning more than three decades. From his first incarnation as Zev Love X, who alongside his brother Subroc (Dingilizwe Dumile) formed the core of the group KMD, he promptly distinguished himself with a star-making guest spot on the gold single “The Gas Face” from 3rd Bass’s The Cactus Album (Def Jam/Columbia, 1989). After KMD parlayed that opportunity into a record deal of their own, their promising debut Mr. Hood (Elektra, 1991) spawned the memorable hit “Peachfuzz.” On the back of that modest success, they returned to the studio to make a follow-up, Black Bastards, an album that was unfortunately shelved due to music industry politics and what was then considered controversial cover art.
After suffering the twin tragedies of his brother’s untimely death and the termination of his record deal, DOOM spent several years in the existential wilderness, on the brink of homelessness, as he often admitted in interviews. But out of the darkness, inspiration struck like a lightning bolt as he reinvented himself as his comic-book alter ego, based on the Marvel villain Doctor Doom. Reemerging on the rap scene via the fight club of open-mic nights, he cobbled together tracks produced at various friends’ home studios and released Operation: Doomsday (Fondle ’Em, 1999), the first full-length under his new persona. Arriving at an opportune moment, it provided the precious antidote for rebel rap kids disenchanted by the “jiggy” era personified by the likes of Puff Daddy and Jay-Z. While these platinum-selling artists repackaged the art form for commercial consumption, staging million-dollar video shoots aboard borrowed yachts, DOOM, like an experimental submersible, took us into uncharted depths.
Indeed, his glorious second act came at a time when rap cleaved into rival factions, creating two distinct camps. Indie rap, like its much-hyped cousin, “alternative rock,” may have been a convenient marketing term, but, in hindsight, it also proved the existence of a healthy market for non-major-label music that pushed boundaries both lyrically and sonically. A grizzled veteran of hip-hop’s golden era, DOOM found himself at the nexus of this independent movement, enjoying his most prolific phase between 2001 and 2005, while working on several albums simultaneously. After Operation: Doomsday was rebooted in 2001, with wider distribution and a national press campaign, he followed up with the first in a series of instrumental albums known as Special Herbs, of which he eventually released ten volumes under the moniker of the Metal Fingered Villain.
In 2003, not content with one alter ego, DOOM expanded his brand with several other alternative personas. King Geedorah, based on the three-headed flying dragon from the Godzilla movie franchise—popularly known as Ghidorah—released Take Me to Your Leader on British indie label Big Dada in June. Only a few months later, in September, the Vaudeville Villain LP, credited to Viktor Vaughn, appeared on the start-up Sound-Ink Records, out of New York. Slowly building up steam, DOOM’s pièce de résistance came as a collaborative effort with LA producer Madlib, his partner in the duo called Madvillain. Released by Stones Throw Records in March 2004, the resulting Madvillainy was widely hailed as the White Album of indie rap. DOOM had finally arrived as a real contender in his own right, surpassing even the relic of his former self, Zev Love X. Continuing his assault, he returned with Viktor Vaughn’s VV:2 (Insomniac) in September and a follow-up DOOM album, Mm . . Food? (Rhymesayers), in November. The following year his collaboration with producer Danger Mouse, The Mouse and the Mask (Epitaph, 2005), sold a staggering 350,000 copies, vaulting him onto the Billboard charts. Releasing eight albums on eight different labels in a six-year span marked an unprecedented achievement in rap, establishing the consistency and high standards on which DOOM earned his reputation.
But the early aughts proved only a warm-up for the inventive rapper who told journalist David Ma, “Hip-hop is so saturated with the same old same old that people always expect the guy to actually be the guy. They want you to be real and straight from the streets and all that. I make hip-hop but use DOOM as a character to convey stories that a normal dude can’t.”7 By eschewing the usual street verité of rap, along with its accompanying tropes and clichés, he, instead, distinguished himself as a writer of fiction.
“You have writers that write about crazy characters but that doesn’t mean the writer himself is crazy,” he explained. “DOOM is evil—let’s not forget that—but that doesn’t mean I’m evil.”8 Never before in the “keep it real” realms of rap had an MC sought refuge in fiction, writing and rapping from the third person perspective. For Daniel Dumile, DOOM represented a character comparable to the outrageous right-wing pundit persona styled by Stephen Colbert on Comedy Central. Using a similar approach, the rapper created his own unique niche, distinguishing himself from all other MCs in the process.
DOOM’s rhyme style, too, elevated lyricism to a whole ’nother level. Not only did he perfect the use of internal rhyming and alliteration, in which consecutive words within a single line all rhymed, but he regularly employed techniques like onomatopoeia, double entendre, puns, and punchlines to staggering effect. While the smartest rappers may have consulted a thesaurus, DOOM’s secret weapons were Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary of Allusions, The Dictionary of Clichés, and Depraved and Insulting English. Employing a vocabulary worthy of a wordsmith like Shakespeare, he displayed a command of language rarely seen in rap. His stream-of-consciousness writing style that obsessives could really sink their teeth into—allowing for multiple interpretations of his work—defied an era of mumble rap, where not really saying anything dominated the mainstream.
But if there was one unifying spirit or theme to his work, it was laugh-out-loud humor. “When I’m doing a DOOM record, I’m arranging it, I’m finding voices,” he told writer Ta-Nehisi Coates. “All I have to do is listen to it and think, oh shit, that will be funny. I write down whatever would be funny and get as many ‘whatever would’ funnies in a row and find a way to make them all fit. There’s a certain science to it. In a relatively small period of time, you want it to be, that’s funny, that’s funny, that’s funny, that’s funny. I liken it to comedy standup.”9
On the production tip, DOOM, who considered himself a producer first and foremost, was no slouch either. “I try to find beats that’ll have you buggin’,” he once said. “You know, like questioning what you could possibly say on that beat, but stuff that’s still funky, you know what I’m sayin’? Beats that push the envelope.”10 To this end, he went to great lengths to find singular source material, often turning to cartoons and other children’s programming or obscure YouTube videos. Other times he flaunted conventions, sampling quiet storm R&B hits, or even earlier rap songs. Whether rapping over other producers’ beats or his own, he always sought to engage and challenge the listener with something different.
Amid the colorful cast of characters and personas who have distinguished themselves in rap—from Rammellzee to Kool Keith, Ol’ Dirty Bastard to Busta Rhymes—DOOM shines as another true original. When asked about the best advice he had ever received, he replied, “A wise man once said, ‘Do you.’ I know what he meant, but I didn’t really grasp what he said until maybe a year later. And that was like the wisest statement I heard out of any book or anything I ever read: ‘Do You.’ Be yourself and that’s the best thing you could be. Anytime you try to copy someone you’re not being genuine to yourself.”11 In the same interview he added, “I’m constantly striving for perfection, so what I’m doin’ is constantly elevatin’ and educatin’ myself in a way that, all right, I’m better than I was the previous day. Yunno, so, that could go on forever, there’s really not ever going to be a top, you know? I don’t think I’ll do it in this lifetime.”12
True to his words, DOOM may not have ascended to the top of the charts or become a Fortune 500 rapper like Jay-Z. But in carving out his own space within hip-hop, he became an icon nonetheless, ultimately transcending the art form. At the same time, he was regarded as a maverick and an iconoclast, who rigorously challenged rap’s status quo during its most overtly pop phase. Though his creative output may have been cut short, he remains revered to this day, and still very much shrouded in mystery. Yet the crater-sized impression he left begs greater examination and analysis.
The Chronicles of DOOM: Unraveling Rap’s Masked Iconoclast delivers a long-awaited and unprecedented look at a most enigmatic and reluctant public figure. As a complex character who cherished his privacy, DOOM’s very nature precludes any efforts to get behind the mask and into his head. Instead, his story unravels like a ball of yarn as told through the people who worked with him and knew him best. While laying out his tangled but compelling narrative, this book offers unparalleled insights into the making of a true hip-hop legend. It also demonstrates that we all have something to learn from this self-professed Black nerd, who went against the grain and broke from convention, turned tribulation into triumph, and, ultimately, like Sinatra, did it his way.
DOOM, like most of us, led a messy and complicated life that doesn’t conveniently adhere to a conventional narrative arc, so the book, necessarily, takes a nonlinear approach. While maintaining a basic chronology, it skips backward and forward in time to explore DOOM’s work on several projects simultaneously. The book also takes pause to drill down and offer deeper insights into the influences that shaped him—comic books, monster movies, and the esoteric ideas that contributed to his unique worldview. Such a detour is essential to even begin understanding his prodigious catalog, which we delve into in detail. In summation, we discuss his important legacy and the savvy approach he took to maintaining it, the cherished place he now inhabits in the hearts of those touched by his work, and his exalted perch in the pantheon of hip-hop.