The emergence of Action Bronson and subsequent comparisons between his elephant tusk ivory style and the “cold like Eskimo” flow of Ghostface Killah have got me thinking about another rapper who was once accused of biting the essentially inimitable Ghostdeini: Scaramanga aka Sir Menelik. While that second moniker might ring a bell to Dr. Octagon devotees (Chewbacca Uncircumcised, anyone?), the name Scaramanga Shallah has never really traveled that far beyond the circles of a relatively small but intensely loyal cult following — essentially, ‘90s NY underground hip-hop enthusiasts. The reason his records haven’t yet been embraced by a wider audience are too numerous to list, but for many of those who match the aforementioned description (myself included), Scaramanga’s magnum opus, Seven Eyes, Seven Horns, remains a bona fide classic.
There are two versions of the album: the 12-track double LP and the 16-track CD. I’m not going to take the purist stance and say don’t get the longer version. Of the four additional tracks, I dig three of them: “S.I.R.,” “Face It,” and “7XL” featuring Sadat X and Grand Puba. That being said, I prefer the LP simply because it’s much more cohesive, with each of its four sides labeled as a three-song act, and for my money, ACT 2 is easily one of the best sides of its era.
“Sugar 99” was the first Scaramanga song I ever heard. If I remember correctly, I was shown the song under a pretense like, “This guy is biting Ghostface.” The similarities are apparent from the jump, but when you add to Scara’s seemingly breathless delivery and seamlessly shifting cadences the fact that, like Ghostface, Camp Lo, or Aesop Rock, his weird word choice and obscure reference points are enough to constitute a distinct vernacular, the whole “this sounds like this” point is rendered moot. Combine those three qualities and what you have before you is an admittedly demanding listen, but one that most definitely pays dividends in replay value.
And when I say “demanding,” don’t get me wrong; from beatsmith Scholarwise’s precisely sliced samples and dusty drum patterns to Scara’s cipher-like rhyme schemes and free-flowing word association, there is plenty on the surface to appreciate. No matter how complex the songs get, they always remain raw and rooted in mid-school fundamentals. “Sugar 99” is the perfect example of this; even though many of the lines remain impenetrable after first, second, and third listens, the syllabic cascade and contagious head-nod appeal are immediately accessible. The song’s remix by Godfather Don (the other one of the four extra songs on the CD), while decent enough, simply cannot compare to Scholarwise’s treatment of The Heath Brothers’ oft-flipped Smilin’ Billy Suite Part II.
Scholarwise doesn’t only shine behind the boards, he also has a smooth but hype everyman-type voice, kind of like that of Kid Capri. This is put to good use in several places, including his (possibly freestyled) verses on “Sun Large Promo,” as well as the chorus on “Alphabetic Hammer.” Here, Scaramanaga completely blacks out, combining graf-writer lingo with God knows what else. At one point he spits something like “Omni duos flex on the metroplex/ text on oblivion worth a billion resilient/ fuck illyin’, third pavilion flirt cotillion.” Of course, that transcription cannot be confirmed without Scara’s input, but I’m willing to wager it’s a lot closer than what’s available via OHHLA and Rap Genius, which give the next song, “Seven Eyes, Seven Horns,” what can only be described as the “Louie Louie” treatment.
It’s on the title cut that Scholar and Scara are most synchronized, with Upsetter seventh chords and anvil-heavy kick drums providing an ideal backdrop to antediluvian tales of gaffling, gun-running, and government goonism. Shallah Magnetic flashes from one vivid scene to the next like a viewfinder disk of HD photographs: “Son crashed the incense-scented rented/ Entered five months at HDM for the ATM blast/ the public defender wasn’t defending shit, fucking Benedict/ In the pen it’s blood or crip, what a script/ The government never meant or intend on me growing up a gentleman/ White collar cake cinnamon Entenmann.”
A few bars later, infamous stickup kid exploits are juxtaposed with the rise of Trump Tower, offering an incendiary dichotomy made all the more potent by the speaker’s specificity. Furthermore, a plethora of proper nouns (Fila, Bally the loafer, Bally the gymnasium, Hardaways, Tina Turner, Judge Wapner, Benz – to name a few) and one oddly cogent sequence bridging “Polo Wimbledon Hilfiger” to Israelites and the NOI flag via “futuristic symbols in the front like halogen fluorescent,” suggest that this piece is as much a meditation on symbology, semiotics, and brand identity as it is an erudite MC’s spin on a passage from the Book of Revelation.