Big L Is ‘Rap Royalty.’ Why Is His Legacy in Disarray?
The rapper’s recordings have been sold off — seemingly for less than their worth — since his 1999 death. The discord over his estate highlights a bigger question: Who should benefit from an artist’s work?
IN 1995, A young rapper named Jay-Z appeared on The Stretch Armstrong and Bobbito Show, a radio program that served as an essential proving ground for any fledgling New York MC. The gifts that would transform Jay-Z into a million-selling megastar were already evident as he freestyled, shifting deftly between swaggering and agitated rhyme patterns. But the rapper was still unproven, hunting for a record deal on the strength of his solo debut single, “In My Lifetime.” “It’s in some stores,” he told his hosts. “Once we lock this distribution thing down, it’s gonna be in all [of them].”
Jay-Z’s suave boasts and expert bursts of speed weren’t enough to carry the night, though, as he was upstaged by the man who brought him on the show. Big L, the Harlem MC whose real name was Lamont Coleman, was tenacious and unwavering, toggling between hilarious (“I’m so ahead of my time, my parents haven’t met yet”) and horrifying (“I beat kids with lead pipes/I leave trails of dead mics”).
This electrifying on-air exchange seemed to presage long, accolade-packed careers for both men. But Big L was shot and killed in Harlem just four years later with only one album to his name. Despite his lack of output and popular success — he never earned a Hot 100 hit — the MC has achieved “your favorite rapper’s favorite rapper” status in the years since his death. To Nineties hip-hop fans who love memorizing potent couplets, it’s not uncommon to hear Big L mentioned as one of the best rappers to ever touch a microphone.
Paradoxically, as Big L’s legend has grown, his commercial footprint has eroded. Since his death, his recordings and belongings have been sold off, seemingly for less than their worth. As a result, little income has come to the rapper’s estate recently, placing it in the middle of contentious debates about what constitutes ethical business in the music industry and who has the right to benefit from an artist’s work.
Mike Herard, who now oversees Big L’s estate, points out that the rapper “has nieces, nephews [and] a brother.” But out of “all the earnings” Big L has generated, until recently, “not a dime of it is going to his family.”
Big L wasn’t old enough to vote when he sought out rapper-producer Lord Finesse, who had just released his debut album, at a Harlem record store in 1990. Finesse was signing autographs, and Big L wanted to audition for him on the spot. “I gave him a hard time at first,” Finesse remembers. “But he finally got to rap for me.”
Even then, the rookie rapper was making heads swivel with his nasal, flinty delivery and steady drip of punchlines. “I was so impressed when he was done [auditioning for me], I was asking him for all his numbers,” Finesse says. Finesse also introduced Big L to the D.I.T.C. crew, a group of New York rappers and producers that included Fat Joe and Diamond D. (Showbiz, another D.I.T.C. member, later signed Big L.)
Big L left an indelible impression on many of the people he met in the hip-hop community in the 1990s. “We had a chance to hear him really early on,” says Bobbito, who first had Big L on his show in 1992. “He was a teenager without a contract, and he’s already rhyming as fiercely and hungrily as anyone else we could think of.” At a time when the five boroughs were teeming with future hip-hop stars, Bobbito adds, “that’s saying a lot.”
Rich King, who worked in hip-hop distribution and later helped Big L start Flamboyant Entertainment, met the D.I.T.C. crew when he put out their “Day One” single in 1997. “They were getting older [and] more into production,” King remembers. “L ripped it [and] clearly distinguished himself as the rising star.”
In 1998, that rising star released the popular 12-inch single “Ebonics,” enveloping him in a new wave of hype; he seemed on the cusp of earning the mainstream recognition that had eluded him previously. Then in February 1999, Big L was murdered in Harlem on the corner of 139th Street and Lenox Avenue. Though the police arrested a suspect, the case was later thrown out and it remains unsolved.
Following his death, Big L’s wildly successful peers have not been shy about paying tribute to his work, leaving fans to wonder what might have been. Jay-Z complimented him, calling him “a very talented writer” with a knack for “big choruses”; after hearing him, Nas remembered thinking, “He scared me to death.” Eminem, one of the most commercially successful rappers of all time, also holds him in high regard: “Take some Big and some Pac and you mix them up in a pot/Sprinkle a little Big L on top, and what the fuck do you got?” he asked in 50 Cent’s “Patiently Waiting.” “You got the realest and illest killers tied up in a knot.”
In 2000, Mike “Heron” Herard was hired for his first job in the music industry, working at Rawkus Records, a prominent name in the independent hip-hop scene thanks to releases like Mos Def and Talib Kweli Are Black Star. Rawkus had licensed Big L’s tapes in the hopes of putting together a posthumous collection, and the then-25-year-old was soon talking with Tupac Shakur‘s mom to clear the verse that would appear on the track “Deadly Combination” and working alongside King to assemble a Big L album.
That release, The Big Picture, became the rapper’s most successful commercial work, eventually selling more than 500,000 units. While Herard has held down multiple industry jobs in subsequent years, he stayed in touch with many of the people from the Rawkus days and eventually became friendly with Big L’s brother, Donald Phinazee. Herard, who describes the rapper as hip-hop “royalty,” “didn’t think his legacy was being handled properly.” Spurred by a sense of duty — “I really do believe that Big L deserves to be mentioned in history amongst the greatest whoever did it” — Herard officially agreed to start working on behalf of the rapper’s brother, trying to organize and revive an estate at low ebb.
