It’s almost an overwrought subject to mention the power of names; the idea whether they choose us or we choose them and if, in reality there is any difference. Religious converts, celebrities, super heroes–they all take on names that fit their attributes, their ideas of self. Malcolm X. Marilyn Monroe. Superman. Mudfoot. Doesn’t sound right. Not for someone who envisioned himself, in his mid-teens, as being an acclaimed and respected underground hip-hop producer. Well, okay. Maybe Mudfoot does work for that. But it doesn’t stand as totally representative for someone who transforms old soul, classical soundtracks and hard rock into gritty, dirty, pounding hip-hop numbers.