DOOM Returns

With its apocalyptic overtures and hints of 3 A.M., dead-drunk dread, “Dinosauria, We” (the spoken-word bit that opens up MF DOOM’s “Cellz”) is prototypical Charles Bukowski. “Radiated robot men” roam the streets where the “sun is masked.” “Mrs. Death laughs” and “the chosen watch from space platforms.” Rivers vanish. Bodies rot. The rain stops. And, somewhere, the poet’s lines dissolve into spurts of syllables: “Castrated/ Debauched/ Disinherited/ Because of this/ Fooled by this/ Used by this/ Pissed on by this/ Made crazy and sick by this/ Made violent/ Made inhuman.”

It’s prophecy mired in hallucinogenic pop-culture references -- dime-store, sci-fi nihilism doubled over by bare-knuckle linguistic stunts. It’s pure Bukowski, but it's also pure DOOM. “Revelations in Braille” reveal realms of “smelly gel fume.” Nations fail, and blazing swords praise the lord as our masked supervillain can be found “Sittin' in the kitchen/ Pissin'/ Twitchin'/ Kissin' steel lead.” DOOM has always positioned his low-cult kitsch as dramatic divination, despite his hemorrhage of stray images that warps meaning for sound. But somehow, a message emerges: DOOM is back. Hide the women and children. 

Play "Cellz"