Book review: Exploring the mythology of MF Doom

It's hard to quantify MF Doom aka Zen Love X, born Dumile Daniel Thompson in England in 1971 but associated with New York and Atlanta, Georgia. His mother had just been visiting her sister in London when she unexpectedly went into labour — it would cause trouble decades later when Doom was refused entry into the US after a tour. 

With his brother Dingilizwe aka DJ Subroc, they formed a nascent rap group dubbed KMD — whose moniker, like its maker, changed regularly — at the turn of the 1980s/90s. They were practising Muslims, appearing onstage and in their music videos wearing the Ansaar uniform of white robes and kufis.

They didn’t drink until they started touring, soon discovering drugs and alcohol. In the last decade of his life, Doom was basically seen as a barely functioning alcoholic. He died in October 2020, from angioedema — a rare reaction to his blood pressure medication — though it was only communicated to the world on New Year’s Eve.

He left behind an unbelievable collection of music under various guises; KMD’s second album, Black Bastards, was originally recorded in the early 1990s but was shelved because of what was seen as its provocative artwork — a racist golliwog/sambo figure being hanged. His brother was killed as the record neared completion. “Some people said they saw him running into traffic, others say he was chased into traffic. And [the cops] never investigated it,” one friend says in The Chronicles of Doom: Unravelling Rap’s Masked Iconoclast. Black Bastards only saw the light of day in 2000.

As for the then Zen Love X, he seemed to turn more inside himself and became more focused on his work. MF Doom’s debut album arrived at the end of the ’90s, beginning a rich run of albums. He released under different monikers, so much so that it can be hard to keep up: Take Me to Your Leader as King Geedorah; Vaudeville Villain as Viktor Vaughn; his magnum opus Madvillainy with the producer Madlib — they called themselves Madvillain.

The music was a collage, comprising skits made up of soundbites from obscure movies and superhero shows, and samples of the likes of Sade’s ‘Kiss of Life’ on ‘Doomsday’. He would spend hours doing research — watching shows and TV. By the 2010s, he was hooked on YouTube, falling into the inevitable conspiracy rabbit holes.

SH Fernando Jr’s book, as the title suggests, details each release. Chapters begin with a bio of what was going on in Doom’s life at the time before examining the songs that comprise the records. Chapters open with quotes from the likes of Nikola Tesla, Bill Hicks, Albert Camus, William Blake, and Mike Tyson — they add little other than to affirm that Fernando sees Doom as one of the greatest ever.

Fernando repeatedly acclaims Doom, so much so that it begins to grate. Talking about 2004’s Mm… Food: “While the mainstream offered plenty of distractions for the masses… no one could keep up with the prolific Doom.” That it’s Kanye West’s The College Dropout and Lil Wayne’s Tha Carter he dismisses as ‘distractions’ seems misguided. He indulges in cliche and hyperbole, writing in the epilogue: Superlatives like ‘legend and ‘genius’ get tossed around very loosely these days… none displayed consistency, creativity, or pure dedication to the craft as Doom.”

With Doom, the mythology seems as important as the music. We get full chapters on his mask and the name itself; it’s taken from Dr Doom, the villain in the Fantastic Four comics. Fernando discusses Doom’s affection for comics throughout and how it came full circle when he provided his voice as a giraffe for the Adult Swim cartoon Perfect Hair Forever.

MF Doom is difficult to get your head around. Fernando and the Chronicles of Doom are in thrall to him, though perhaps he deserves a more critical investigation.