It's been nearly 10 years since Dooom killed off Dr Octagon ...or did he? As the story has it one morning the team at OCD International were greeted with package on their doorstep upon arriving for work. In the box was a solitary MP3 player with an inscription on the back From The Labs Of Dr Octagon. With no paper work, no note and no contact info to follow up and find the reason they were bestowed this gift, it was up to the folks at OCD to decipher the 13 tracks left on the player. To help in the cause OCD enlisted A crack team of turntablists, producers, and musicologists have been assembled to decipher a mysterious series of transmissions from someone identifying himself as Dr. Octagon. Can these mere mortals decipher the work and verify that it is indeed the mad Dr. that was presumed dead 7 years ago?
The eight chapters in this series are the written and audio interpretations of each of the artists who received tracks to decipher. The first week will feature a special 20+ minute Dr Octagon mixtape. This promises to be an experience unlike anything done before. And who better to try something a little out there than DR OCTAGON.
Cassettes Won't Listen
Her Space Holiday
The Gray Kid
The Return of Dr. Octagon - The Story So Far...
It's been 10 years since Dr. Octagon's groundbreaking first address to the world, 'Dr. Octagonecologyst", a musical recording which used a powerful combination of lyrical alchemy and beat science to teleport the human listener to rap in the year 3000.
It's been 7 years since Dr. Dooom murdered Dr. Octagon on the opening track to Dooom's 'First Come First Served"... That would probably explain why no one has heard from the sexually deviant medicine man, Dr. Octagon, in a while. Dr. Octagon's office in the Bronx was boarded up, the toll-free hotline 1-800-PP5-1-DOODOO was disconnected, the nurses obliged to seek alternate means of employment. Thousands of patients in need of rectal rebuilding or removing turtles from their uteruses had to fulfill their medical needs elsewhere,
Meanwhile, the Commercial Rap epidemic proliferates, poisoning millions. Evil forces at work, those who "water down the sound that comes from the ghetto", continue plugging this poison directly into Earth society's mainstream, in greater and greater doses. Unscrupulous quacks and greedy bootleggers passed around a placebo, 'Dr. Octagon Part 11": This product never underwent thorough clinical trials and was never approved by Octagon's Church of the Operating Room as appropriate for human consumption. Many fell victim to this cruel curse - some were incapacitated, some diseased, some deceased. The National Guard United States Enterprise is helpless. The CIA and FBI, as usual, dumbfounded by an insidious, invisible enemy to the populace. The game, overloaded with super villains, now more than ever before, the world needs a rap superhero...
Pondering these problems, and others (bills, grills, & pills), the team at OCD Int'l trudged into work on Monday morning, to find a small indiscriminate box had arrived in the mail. The mailing label read, "Attention: Earth People. From, Dr. Octagon, Planet Jupiter". How curious.
Opening the box, its sole content is discovered -what seems to be a nano-size mp3 player, in gleaming purple-green sleeve casing with blue flowers splashed all over it. An innocent intern reaches into the box to pull out the mp3 player. As soon as it's touched, it starts vibrating furiously, and hovers up out of the box. Floating, suspended in mid-air, it's tiny screen begins shimmering an unnatural, unearthly glow.
Fourteen mp3 files were listed on the screen - 14 clues to decoding this mystery? Is this really THE one & only Dr. Octagon? If so, where has he been all these years? What really transpired between the good doctor and the so-called Dr. Dooom? Does this music contain the answer - perhaps, an audio journal of Dr. Octagon's fantastic journey over the last few years? Or is it more bizarre, undecipherable audio tomfoolery that splits the atoms in your brain cells? What about the timing of this message, amidst the formidable deluge of blah-worthy Commercial Rap? Will the evil genius prove to be underground hip hop's savior, or is this just another of Dr. Octagon's screwed & shrewd pick-up lines to get deep into our minds, via our ears, before he reaches for that ass?
As if projecting its digital files into every stereo speaker on the block, we hear - "You have reached the matrix services of Chemical Bank & Insurance Policies. Our operators are masturbating right now..."