READING BETWEEN THE RHYMES: THE SKITS OF MF DOOM (AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS…)

In 2005 Entertainment Weekly claimed that with the rise of the iPod shuffle the days of the skit in rap music were over, the “on-demand shuffle era will see them coldly programmed out of existence”. In many ways they were right; where once the skit was a staple of 90s hip hop, now it is largely a relic of a bygone era, only held onto by a select few artists. Yet, the skit is such a prominent part of hip-hop history that to so meekly defend it, to rattle it off as simply a comic interlude for hip hop nerds is to do it a disservice. After all these aren’t simply random choices, they often play a crucial role in the structure and creation of an album, helping to define the style of the group [see the fantastic kung-fu movie skits of the Wu Tang] and at other times they help to tell the story of an album [see the skits on Deltron 3030’s 3030].

MF DOOM is one such artist where skits are much more than a buffoonish extra, but have instead played a vital part in understanding DOOM’s work, where they help to flesh out his universe of characters, tease his politics, define the sound of his albums, alongside making the listener laugh. The skits on an MF DOOM album are an essential part of the listening experience, but it’s so easy to blow them off as throwaway extras, as little more than a distraction that should be shuffled straight through, or even worse, deleted entirely. This is not to suggest that they are more important than the music itself, or that we can find any great deep hidden meaning in their existence, but rather to reevaluate why an artist such as DOOM even bothers with skits, and to perhaps give them a stronger defense than many think they deserve.

Before we dive into the works of Dumile’s MF DOOM persona, it’s worth going back to 1993; the year Dumile’s sophomore KMD album would be recorded, but controversially not released. Black Bastards was the second album by New York based group KMD, a trio consisting of Zev Love X (Dumile), Subroc (Dumile’s brother) and Onyx the Birthstone Kid. The now famous cover of a Sambo character being lynched, alongside unapologetically political lyrics, led to the label cancelling the release of the album. In the intro skit collage to the album, KMD layout a scattered blueprint of what’s in store for the listener; for those offended already, the content will not get any lighter. There is some conjecture as to whether or not this skit was also a factor in Elektra shelving the album, but we can assume that it would be unsurprising to find out it was. As for the opening skit itself, an intense drum-loop is layered beneath the snippets of dialogue, reminiscent of the brilliant ratcheting tension and frustration Ice Cube builds in the introduction to ‘We Had To Tear This Motherfucker Up’. The dialogue talks of “sick bastards”, “cop killers” and “niggers”; it’s interspersed with sounds of women screaming, gunshots, fighting, and people crying for help; racist police chatter throughout. It becomes near impossible to search for a clear sense of narrative; instead the intro skit acts as a chaotic stream of consciousness enveloping all associated with KMD. The last lines of dialogue in the intro skit whisper to “hold it, listen”, before a beep and the sound of Zev Love X enters. KMD put a silence to all of the conflicting voices and force you to listen to their voice. The skit acts as the final transition from the chaos of the outside world into the singular vision of KMD. In his earlier works the meaning of Dumile’s work is laid clear in the lyrics, and the skits play a slightly different function. They act as framing devices for the music, setting the scene before the actors take the stage. The song ‘What A Niggy Know?’ starts with a short, but equally bombastic skit, booming out the words “He was a nigga yesterday, he’s a nigga today, and he gonna be a nigga tomorrow!” The song then follows the narrative of the skit and delves into issues of black male identity. Yet, the skits of Dumile’s work would follow the same trajectory as his music, increasingly obfuscated in their message, though near endless in their ability to be interpreted. It is difficult to imagine that the Dumile of KMD is the same man who models the MF DOOM persona, yet in spite of the polar opposite musical spheres they now exist in, the use of skits continues to play a defining role in his work.

Of course, this defining role is no longer as a deliberately framed teaser of the politics about to be explored, but begins to take on a more encompassing role for the MF DOOM persona, and the other characters in his created universe, as a whole. Six years after the death of his brother and the shelving of Black Bastards, Dumile returned to the rap game with a new persona, the now beloved MF DOOM. Beneath the mask lay a man determined to fight back against the industry he believed had so cruelly wronged him. This fight back would begin with the release of his 1999 classic, Operation Doomsday, and once again the seeds of intention of Dumile’s work would be laid out in the intro skit. ‘The Time We Faced Doom’ talks of DOOM’s “warped mind”, threats of “destruction of every major city on Earth” and the revenge that he will now have, settling a “personal score”. The skit drifts out on an elevator music jingle, before the declaration of “Operation Doomsday”, the super-villain’s plan. What then follows is one of the great hip-hop tracks of all time, with intricate rhymes and emotional refrains laced over a gorgeous soulful beat. If the skit left the listener in any doubts as to the validity of DOOM’s intentions then ‘Doomsday’ doesn’t just crush all these doubts, it vaporizes them into a million tiny pieces – the super-villain announced his return to the rap game in the greatest possible fashion.

           

The creation of DOOM is then outlined in the rest of the skits on the album; ‘Back In The Days’ tells of a “brilliant young student named Doom”, working on an experiment that is secretly tampered with; ‘The Hands Of Doom’ charts the ill fated experiment, with people then postulating on the meaning of DOOM; ‘Doom, Are You Awake?’ reveals the horrible damage the experiment did to DOOM’s face, causing him to don the mask and promising to take revenge; ‘The Mystery of Doom’ sees DOOM explain his version of the transition from man to mask; finally, ‘Hero vs. Villain’ explains how the narrator of these skits thwarted DOOM. In this mythical tale of DOOM’s creation, it’s possible to find metaphorical parallels to Dumile’s own life. The promising young rap artist betrayed by those close to him and left disfigured to wander the streets alone, vowing to take revenge against those who did him wrong. This vengeance comes in the literal form of Operation Doomsday, DOOM’s rejection of the rap status quo and the spineless industry execs who refused to take a chance on him. It’s a beautiful success too, a super-villain’s master plan that actually worked, and the first step on DOOM’s path to rap domination.

As an emcee DOOM would largely go back under the radar after Operation Doomsday, before returning with a monstrous catalogue of phenomenal releases between 2003-2005. In just three years DOOM released Take Me To Your Leader as King Geedorah, Vaudeville Villain and Venomous Villain as Viktor Vaughn, MM…FOOD as MF DOOM, Madvillainy as one half of the Madvillain duo, and DANGER DOOM with producer Danger Mouse. Upon reflection it’s quite an astonishing period of releases for an artist in any genre, releasing six highly acclaimed albums in three years, including Madvillainy is regarded as one of the greatest albums of the early 21^st century.

           

These albums are wonderfully creative pieces of work, offering a plethora of sounds and concepts demonstrating the range and depth of DOOM’s rapping and producing capabilities. In turn the universe that DOOM creates and inhabits rapidly expanded, and often in the skits of these albums can we piece together snippets of information and story. On the Take Me To Your Leader album Dumile takes on the role of King Geedorah, a three-headed space monster that will cause “the entire human race to perish from the Earth… and only flaming ruins will be left”. With Vaudeville Villain Dumile introduced us to Viktor Vaughn, another alias in his list of characters, and another villain in his expanding universe. Intrigue and violence surround the character, with hints at his past, one person describing the “uneasy feeling that it wasn’t young Viktor Vaughn who needed my protection”; alternately his villainous ways are exposed in his maniacal laughter whilst declaring, “fool, did you really think Viktor Vaughn could be captured so easily?” Take Me To Your Leader and MM…FOOD introduce Mr. Fantastik into the equation, a mysterious figure that we know literally nothing about, other than his excellent appearances on tracks and his role as accomplice of MF DOOM. Madvillainy is the pinnacle of everything DOOM had been working up to at this point, and on the track ‘Bistro’ the super-villain takes time to introduce the various players at work, with Madlib and King Geedorah producing, Viktor Vaughn and Quasimoto helping out with vocals, and the super-villain himself hosting the entire session. If it’s unclear at this point, this roster of five characters is made up of two men, and DOOM’s mythical villainous universe has truly come to life. The intro track-cum-skit, ‘Illest Villains’ tells of “two of America’s most powerful villains” responsible for “much of the popularity; audiences loved to hate”, “two historical figures, outlaws and desperados” who “allowed audiences to relate to their dastardly doings”. Madvillain is born, and they declare their importance before even one word or note is played.

As DOOM’s aural universe expanded this came with greater artistic license on how he wished to create his albums, and this is reflected in his artistic use of skits. Where on Black Bastards and Operation Doomsday skits played a political and storytelling role, it isn’t until MM…FOOD where we can see DOOM’s experimentation with the skit as an artistic device really starting to take a more central role. In a daring and oft-criticized move, MM…FOOD features a six minute long section dedicated entirely to a skit collage, starting with track six ‘Poo Putt Platter’ and ending with track nine ‘Fig Leaf Bi Carbonate’. It’s a difficult move to defend, as six uninterrupted minutes in the middle of an album is a long time to devote to just listening to skits, and its no surprise that people skip straight over these moments after a first listen, regarding it as overly indulgent. The purpose seems to be to fully hone in on the concept of a rap album dedicated to food imagery, where beats become beets, rappers become wrappers, and beefs becomes beef. These skits are often incredibly funny, at one moment the voice of a child nonchalantly says, “I’ve lost an arm”; the deadpan reply is just “good.” Music is compared to food; satiating good company with a good meal is equivalent to playing them music, perhaps some “black eyed peas” or “substantial beets”? DOOM uses the skit to take a swipe at rappers also, with “edible wrappers” being necessary to reduce the amount of “garbage they produce” – although we cannot point to anyone specific, its clear that even in the skits DOOM has something to say, all the while keeping conceptually on brand.

With time and repeated listening the importance of skits to DOOM’s work becomes clearer and clearer, essential in the creation of the artist he is today, skits round out DOOM’s work, giving a fuller sense of the universe he is creating and the concepts that he wants to explore in the album. Not all of DOOM’s uses of skits are perfect of course, the homophobic track ‘Batty Boyz’ can be argued as DOOM fulfilling his super-villain mantra, but it feels needless and the skit only adds to the uncomfortable listening experience. Mostly, however, skits are a vital part of the listening experience with DOOM, helping to structure his albums or frame songs in fictional and political contexts, for instance, consider ‘Cellz’ off of the Born Like This Album. The first 1:50 of the song is an ominous, building skit, a reading of Dinosauria, We by Charles Bukowski, with Bukowski speaking of “hospitals that are so expensive it’s cheaper to die”, being “castrated, debauched, disinherited” – this impending sense of death and destruction is broken by the beat change and DOOM’s entry onto the track, the epic build up making way for DOOM’s opening lines to sound more imposing than ever. This is one example of countless DOOM tracks where the skit helps to define the song; of course, the music ultimately always trumps the skit, but within the work of Daniel Dumile they are not so easily discarded, not so easily programmed out of existence; instead they are reinvigorated and become a fitting reminder of why skits continue to exist in such a prominent role in hip-hop.