A Decade Later: The Legacy of Big L

The ten year anniversary of Big L's death, was brought to my attention by HipHopDX at Imeem.com.

Hip Hop has become very unsure of itself. Every rapper that is, or attempts to be, relevant, frantically switches formats, trying to stay ahead of the ever-moving line between old and new, between cool and not cool, between pertinent and outdated. Verses over beats just don't cut it anymore. These days, hip hop is a producers game. Swagger is more important than lyrics. Voice is more important than content. Punchlines are an increasingly rare accessory, and are generally tired in their utilization.

Obviously, there is a large handful of exceptions, and don't get me wrong, I still love hip hop. Yet, for better or worse, the rap game which we all grew up on is long gone. So what happened? Why doesn't lyrical prowess dictate popularity, or at least critical acclaim?

If I had to answer such a charged (and truly, very close to home) question simply, I would cite a general regression of skill. Most of the truly legendary lyricists have either fallen off or died. I am having a hard time identifying undeniable lyrical legends, but the three who stand out are Biggie, Big Pun, and Lamont Coleman bka Big L. The Notorious BIG was a king among men and an all around great emcee, with an on-track presence that is unparalleled in intensity. But there is a very select group of rhyme-sayers that displayed a more impressive witticism. Pun's flow was far and away his strongest asset. It was so strong in fact, that it is easy to overlook Pun's cleverness, and versatile and thoughtful content. Big L only released one album in his lifetime, Lifestyles of the Poor and Dangerous (The Big Picture and Real Legends Never Die were posthumous). He never made a radio hit. His production was generally mediocre. Whereas Pun and Big are household names, I would be willing to bet that some of my friends have never even heard of Big L (Cool your jets, I am thinking non-native New Yorkers that don't listen to Hip Hop).

But pound for pound, verse for verse, and bar for bar, Big L is quite likely the greatest rapper in history. He was a rapper's rapper, with a flawless, rapid-fire flow, and the most impressive repertoire of punchlines ever compiled. Do you remember the first time you heard 98 freestyle? How your jaw dropped? How a cold shiver moved up your arms? Virtually every Big L verse is the same in that respect, a display of the most ugly, viscous, and horrifying construction of perfection in the history of hip hop, or even, in the history of lyric driven music.

And so, a little more than ten years after Big Lamont was murdered in Harlem, I am reminded of his line, "I'm so ahead of my time, my parents haven't met yet." It is a claim that unfortunately seems untrue, considering how emcees have largely moved away from Big L's lyric driven style in the last decade: maybe because there is no one who can touch his skills, and so we all just stopped trying. Big L rest in peace, we love you.