Chairman Mao spills the beans on rapping on the couch with DOOM, as well as Tom Zé's thong. 

Life on the RBMA lecture couch isn’t all glamour and glitz, people. There’s major blood, sweat and tears that go into this lecture hosting shit. Especially the sweat. No, seriously. Due to some perfect storm of bright lights, limited ventilation, and increased spectator attendance, this year’s RBMA Madrid lectures have felt extra balmy for those of us up there doing all the yapping. Inspiration perspiration in the building.

DOOM lecture

Zé is asked to play his most recent material, and he literally begins to sing the phone book...

The couch is already mad caliente as I await an appearance by the day’s first guest lecturer – that masked man of mystery, MF Doom. Call me crazy, but sitting in front of a room full of people in relative silence waiting for something to start makes me a tad uncomfortable. The faintly audible strains of ASAP Rocky’s freshly leaked debut LP emanating from someone’s tinny laptop speakers is the only distraction. I don’t want my first impression of the most hyped rap release to hit the interwebz since Tha Carter IXVII-and-a-Half.0 to be tainted by such subpar sonic presentation, so, I make the executive decision to break the deafening near-quiet by dropping a bit of a vintage WHBI Zulu Beats broadcast over the lecture hall system. And as a sampled voice from one of Afrika Islam’s audio collages declares: “… and now brothers and sister, ladies and gentlemen, the man you’ve been waiting for…”

… who should show up at the hall’s back entrance right on cue, but the Super Villain himself. As unassumingly chill as a famous rapper-dude rocking a mask can be, Doom waves a greeting to the now-applauding assembled hordes, takes his place on the couch, and just like that we’re off and running our mouths. For an hour and a half our discussion covers such topics as the influence of said WHBI audio collages on Doom’s own similarly dense film and TV inspired album skits, the characters/personas of MF Doom vs. Viktor Vaughn vs. King Ghidra vs. Zev Love X, a certain Spanish instructional record and its role in KMD’s Mr. Hood, hangman games and Black Bastards album art controversy, his brother Sub Roc’s death, extended hiatuses and re-emergences, and the processes of making a slew of classic recordings (Madlib making beats in a bomb shelter amongst them). Arms shoot up rapid-fire when it’s Q&A time, and when all’s said and done this Super Villain sounds simply super-thankful that an audience is still here to appreciate him after all these years. A modest “Thanks for listening,” and familiar, concluding, “Follow your heart,” and he’s off to wherever masked men go to chill when it’s lunchtime.

Tom Zé and his impromtu phone book masterpiece during lecture

After a mid-day meal break it’s back to a jam-packed lecture hall to check out Brazilian tropicalia pioneer Tom Zé, who – if I hadn’t already gathered from a glimpse of his performance Halloween night at Circulo de Bellas Artes, when he donned a pair of panties over his jeans whilst engaged in some rowdy crowd call and response – is slightly “7:30,” as those in NYC used to say. An initial dissertation (dispensed via interpreter) on why the tropicalia movement emerged in late 60s Sao Paolo via “logical garbage” gives way to a way more noble attempt than I could ever muster by my content team comrade Egon to chronologically review Zé’s grooviest tunes. Some of which Zé likes, some of which he dismisses with a simple, “I don’t like this song” and a “what me worry” en Portuguese shrug. (Everything, of course, sounds great to these ears.) By a certain point conventional lecture format goes out the window, and honestly, it’s still all good. Zé is asked to play his most recent material, and he literally begins to sing the phone book; as in he picks up the Madrid white pages, cues his gathered band members to play, and begins reciting names and numbers. He’s then asked if he does any visual art. The band kicks in, Zé picks up a guitar and starts strumming. After a minute, the instrument is in pieces, Zé’s strapped an apron around what remains of its torso and he’s dancing around hugging it like it’s Dancing With the Stars. Crazy from the heat, indeed.

DOOM live

A fierce rain nearly dampens plans to go off Academy campus for some grub, yet a fearless foursome that includes yours truly presses on. I won’t bore you with the details of our meal, other than to say important Academy business was being discussed, thus wholly justifying the receipt’s possible future appearance in someone’s expense report (thankfully, not mine). Heading back over to the Matadero, and its neighboring performance space, Nave 16, it’s time for operation Doomsday, part deux. After a soulful opening set of originals from Academy participant Sander Molder of Estonia, the big screens that surround the stage display close ups of Doom’s MF visage. Doom himself and his hype-man/manager Big Ben appear, mics in hand, and run through the likes of “All Caps,” “One Beer,” “Gazzillion Ear,” and “Rhymes Like Dimes” – the masked marvel’s rhyme articulation is impressive even as the harsh din of the hall threatens to upend the attention of those less invested. I stand on the periphery, searching for a moment of audio-visual clarity. Fellow Academy-ian Benny Blanco rolls by, and with a “screw this”-wave ushers me past the security barricades so we have a better than bird’s eye view of the show. The kids up front scream Doom’s rhymes. They wave their arms. Damn, some of these dudes in the audience really love rap, I think to myself, as Doom suddenly sprays/dumps bottled agua all over them (and, in the process, us – uh, thanks for getting us up close, Ben). But as Mr. Metal Face returns for an encore rendition of the haunting “Rhinestone Cowboy,” and I catch myself involuntarily smiling at the scene, I realize that I still sorta do too. Crap. Oh well.