The hip-hop artist MF Doom ... or is it?
Who was that masked man? Not necessarily who you think, it seems. The world of underground hip-hop has recently been set ablaze by allegations about cult rapper and Danger Mouse collaborator MF Doom who, in tribute to the disfigured Marvel Comics supervillain from whom he takes his name, is never photographed or seen in public without an elaborate metal cowl.
Doom recently played two shows in California which, at a total running length of 20 minutes each, disappointed fans so much that suspicions were immediately raised as to whether he had played them at all. What was to stop a member of Doom's entourage from simply donning the customary disguise, and lip-synching to a CD?
While allegations of this type were made after the show, they have never been proven. But neither has Doom responded to them, on his MySpace blog or elsewhere. Thus the number of theories have continued to spread, including the one that has the performance as a publicity stunt for an album called Imposter that Doom may or may not be releasing, and another sees merely an imitation of his namesake's habit of sending Doombots into situations with a high risk of Hulk smash.
If the rumours are true, I wonder if this GMTV-style crisis of public trust will have other disguised performers giving up the masquerade. Bands like Clinic and The Knife both make their gigs even more unheimliche by covering their features, with surgical wear and bird masks respectively. But the most famous -and most scrutinised - masked performers are, of course, Daft Punk.
In a review of the band's recent New York gig, the Village Voice's Tom Breihan wrote: "In the Daft Punk road-movie Electroma, which I haven't seen, the duo hired two actors to play their robot alter-egos, and sometimes those same actors pose in photo-shoots when the actual Daft Punk people are too busy. So we have no way of knowing whether that was actually Daft Punk onstage tonight. They could've been sitting in giant recliners under the stage, hi-fiving each other and shoveling Doritos into their mouths. They could be dead. We just don't know."
All of which begs the question: how much does it matter if the performer isn't actually on stage? If you can't tell the difference and have a good time, where's the problem? Philosophers of art like Denis Dutton have spent years arguing over whether an excellent forgery should really be worth less to us than an authentic painting. Especially with hip-hop and dance, where so much of the music has to be pre-programmed anyway, where is the line?
It seems to me the truth is that however convincing an imitation, it is no substitute for staring into a rock star's eyes at the moment of electrically-amplified climax. You want to make something real out of the tenuous connection you feel to a musician when you listen to their recordings at home. To realise that the man in the mask pumping his fist in the air to Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger, was not Thomas Bangalter but AN Autre would sully any bond.
Power-pop pianist Ben Folds had the last word on this with a prank last year. Improv comedian Charlie Todd, who bears a passing resemblance to Folds (no mask required), came on stage at the beginning of a gig in New York and mimed his way through a song. When the backing CD started to skip as planned, the real Folds ran on stage and wrestled the "imposter" from the piano stool to delirious applause.
