Whether a classic archetype like Superman or a self-fashioned alter ego like Bobby Digital, embodying a comic-book figure holds a large appeal in hip-hop, an art form driven by mythology and boasting of superhuman capability. But Daniel Dumile might be the only rapper who based his persona on a supervillain whose origin story sounds uncannily like his own. To recap: While a promising student at Empire State University, Fantastic Four nemesis Victor Von Doom conducted experiments attempting to communicate with the dead, and a resulting explosion completely deformed his face. After roaming the world and studying under monks in Tibet, he built a suit of armor with a matching mask to protect him as he sought the destruction of those at fault for his disfigurement.

Meanwhile, Dumile, then known as Zev Love X in early-90s rap group K.M.D., suffered the loss of his brother and musical partner DJ Subroc, who was hit by a car. That same week, K.M.D. were dropped from their label when the cover art of their Black Bastards LP proved controversial. Retreating from hip-hop completely, Dumile plotted his revenge on an industry that had broken him spiritually. This meant performing in lyricist lounges with his face completely obscured; all the while, his legend grew as bootleg copies of Black Bastards make the rounds. Then, in 1999, after the release of a couple of singles on Bobbito's Fondle 'Em Records, came Operation: Doomsday, an instant cult classic that now gets a well-curated and altogether fun reissue courtesy of MF Doom's own Metal Face label.

Doomsday was birthed at a pivotal point in rap's trajectory-- at the height of the record industry's boom years. Bad Boy's commercial reign was giving purists plenty to carp over, but it still had crate-digging production and New York rappers in its midst. But soon after, rawer collectives like Ruff Ryders and Ca$h Money subsequently took hip-hop to a more hedonistic, nihilistic, and violent place, with Swizz Beatz, Mannie Fresh, the Neptunes, and Timbaland commandeering a clean break from traditionalist, sample-based production. This opened a lane for underground crews who often defined themselves in opposition of these artists: Anticon and Def Jux sought to completely dismantle hip-hop with abrasive sonics and intimidatingly dense lyrics, while Rawkus and Okayplayer had the magnetic personalities and smooth musicianship to be inside operatives potentially bringing mainstream rap to a more positive place.

On the title track, Doom announces his intent instead to "destroy rap." Operation: Doomsday doesn't sound like much of a manifesto, though: You may have come for the street cred, but you didn't stay for any hang-ups about authenticity or the state of the genre. That's mostly due to the sonic template established here, chunky and proudly un-quantized drums meeting samples you might hear at your dentist's office or on hold with your cable company: saxes, flutes, and smooth, vintage synths. While the autumnal, twinkling backdrops of "Doomsday" or the Coral Sitar-laced "Red and Gold" wouldn't upset tables at your local coffee shop, they provide a truly symbiotic relationship with the paradoxically gruff and calm persona Doom manifests here, where the villainy is more implied than anything.

In fact, for an album that introduced the Metal Face alter ego, it's his warmest and most benevolent work, almost entirely bled of the angrier material that would mark future releases. If anything, Doom is still in mourning here, and there's a palpable sense of loss that rears itself sporadically: Doom imagines rejoining his brother in a tomb "either unmarked or engraved" and holds a seance with Subroc on "?". For an MC not associated with emotional bloodletting, this record has some astounding moments.

If you're familiar only with Doom's post-Madvillainy work, it might be a jolt to hear just how lighthearted this sounds otherwise: Doom sounds surprisingly young, with a sprightly bounce to his muddy rush of words, and the song structures are among his most traditional. Whether it's the entire-verse hook of "Rhymes Like Dimes", Doom and Tommy Gunn flowing like blood brothers on "The Finest", or the Monsta Island Czars posse cut "Who You Think I Am?", Doomsday is above all else an extremely accessible album. In most ways, Doomsday doesn't work on a heady plane: Topically, the majority of it centers around mic skills, women, stick-ups, and alcohol. Though you're never too far removed from a dazzling run of internal rhymes or an "oh shit!" pop-culture namedrop, there's no rhymin' for the sake of riddlin'. Doom's technique, vocabulary, and knack for trivia never asks that you come away impressed. He approaches lyrics the same way he does beats, unearthing gems hidden in plain sight, completely legible without a quick check of Google or Roget's.

Doomsday is often held up as Doom's masterpiece, in part because it's a beachhead upon which he'd begin an astonishing five-year run: as King Gheedorah, 2003's Take Me to Your Leader was a more prominent display of his production prowess, while in terms of sheer lyrical mastery, Vaudeville Villain has few peers. And of course, there's Madvillainy, his crowning achievement. Doomsday does have its imperfections and perhaps more than the LPs to follow. Some of its minor flaws can be read as lo-fi charm, the droning wheezes of Scooby-Doo flip "Hey" bleeding into the red, and the "slow it up, speed it up" gimmick of "Tick, Tick..." outstaying its welcome. And of course, there are the skits and the guest appearances from his Monsta Island Czar crew, which are charming but have little replay value.

The album goes a long way toward demonstrating Doom's incalculable influence on some of the leading lights of current underground hip-hop: Lil B has dedicated an entire album to Doom, the lurching production style of Odd Future owes him a heavy debt (most obviously shown in "Odd Toddlers" flipping the same sample as 2004's "One Beer"), and K.M.D.'s referential raps and playful yet incisive deconstructions of racial politics are a clear influence on Das Racist.

And while Doomsday is a must-hear in just about any format, I can't give enough credit to Metal Face for the actual packaging of the Deluxe Edition. If there's any feeling of sticker shock, you are definitely not simply rebuying a record. The collection of bonus tracks and beats might get a one-time tryout by non-obsessives, but the lunchbox and commemorative playing cards included here are beautifully designed collectors items that justify the purchase price. The coolest inclusion, though, is what brought us here in the first place: the lyrics, fully transcribed and collected with comic sketches and new artwork. Appropriately, the thing is so thick it barely fits into the CD case.