A tribute to MF DOOM
A journal entry from 2017: My Month in the Doldrums: Madvillainy
MF Doom mural graffiti in Little Haiti, Miami, Florida.
Four years ago, I was writing journal entries at a rudimentary version of this magazine, aimed at a target audience of primarily myself. My love of hip-hop was at its peak, and of all the emcees in the hip-hop world, the one I was most eagerly studying was MF DOOM. I’ve written about MF DOOM here in the past, and have made no secret of my love for his rhymes, which is why I was admittedly affected when his family made the news of his passing public on New Year’s Eve (they had kept it under wraps since October 31st, 2020, so they’d have time to grieve). The internet has been buzzing with tributes since. Mine will be a particularly self-indulgent one. I want to give you a glimpse into my world four years ago, when, going through a particularly challenging existential crisis, I turned to Madvillainy for comfort. I’m fully aware of the rambling, stream-of-consciousness nature of this piece; in addition to showing me how much MF DOOM inspired my writing style, it shows me how far I’ve come in four years.
Do we need another dude on the internet talking about how ‘dope’ a rapper MF DOOM is? I’m going to say yes. In my view, Madvillainy holds a special place in DOOM’s discography for a couple of reasons. One, because it’s the first collaboration between DOOM as emcee and Madlib as producer, a hip-hop dream team if there ever was one. Two, because it’s just so good.
How DOOM going to hold heat and preach non-violence?
For years, MF DOOM’s discography, and Madvillainy and MM.. FOOD in particular, have been a great escape from thoughts about my self-important self. I think about myself so often that post- and self- are staple prefixes in my life. Post- because I keep inserting myself into stuff and equating my own views on everything that followed with those of everyone else. Self- is pretty self-explanatory.
I often hear unknown voices in my head saying things like ‘he’s grown into a fine young man’ and imagine myself smiling proudly. It’s embarrassing, this dialogue in my brain.
I’m afraid I’ll alienate my friends if I don’t get with the programme, insecurity and all. I’m twenty-six and self-obsessed. What’s the point of empathy if it isn’t directed to outwards? Am I not either too young or too old for this level of introspection?
What’s the difference?
Get on this ride with me. Trust me; it’ll be fun. It’ll be like a roller-coaster. Here’s one aspect of the roller-coaster cliché nobody explores. No matter how many ups and downs there are on a roller-coaster, it always ends where it began. In that way, it intersects heavily with another cliché — the cyclic nature of life.
Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.
Segue: I hold myself to high standards, which would be great if I actually met them. It’s safe to say it’s impossible for most to meet those standards. So I set lower, more achievable standards for myself to meet, while being constantly aware of the ‘true’ standards I don’t and can’t reach. Those around me see me flailing, at war with this imaginary adversary. They just look on, confused. Classic bi-standard effect.
Is he still a fly guy clapping if nobody ain’t hear it?
I wonder what a human is worth? This isn’t just some academic question. A lot of those old introspective questions come from a feeling of worthlessness. The d word? The not-feeling-so-great?
Does a human have objective worth? If the right to life is inalienable, does that not mean that a human’s life is invaluable. But if a human being is killed due in a preventable accident not of his/her own doing, does the government not owe the human being’s family a specific amount of money commensurate with the value of that human’s life (and the ability of the government to pay)?
I find it so much easier to obfuscate than to deal with the issue head on, which is I indulge in all this pseudophilosophical psychobabble. Before this segue, I was dealing with questions of self-worth, especially as it relates to societal checkpoints such as income, wealth, relationship status, etc.
The argument for moving to a new (read: Western) country is that the parameters on which the worth of an individual is measured might be more holistic. But as long as the poison of seeing myself through the eyes of others is within me, I can’t blame any society for my bad conclusions.
I bet she tried to say she gave me her all; she played ball.
The identity question has always been front-and-centre for me. If my life were an album, what genre would it be? Maybe experimental. Maybe post-punk of the art-punk variety. Probably adult alternative — the sort that plays in cafés at 5 pm. I’m just a middle-of-the-road kind of guy at heart, I guess, like the grape in Mr. Miyagi’s long-winded analogy on Karate Kid. Just like that grape, I’ll probably go ‘squish’ if I’m run over by a car.
I’m not done milking this analogy. Whenever I step onto either pavement, the other starts to entice. So I always find myself crossing the road, often just stuck in the middle between clowns to the left of me and jokers to the right. I go from clown to joker then back to clown again. And then repeat, just like a spinning record, just like a roller-coaster.
(That’s right. I don’t just have an alogy. I have two alogies.)
This brings me back to my original thought. If this cyclic life of mine were an album, I have no idea what genre it would be. That said, it would probably be like Madvillainy. I’ll spend the first few spins terribly confused, getting most of it wrong. After a few spins, things will start to make sense. After many, while most of it will make little sense, it will start to become increasingly rewarding and highly enjoyable.
If not, at least I’ll have this album.
That’s the one thing I hope to take from these doldrums to tide me over the next — there’s no hurry to get anywhere if you’re running around in circles. It then becomes more important to remain constantly engaged. As King Kendrick said in The Heart Part 4, there’s a difference between accomplishments and astonishments.
