Anniversaries: The Big Picture by Big L

Lamont “Big L” Coleman had been gunned down in February 1999 at just 24, right on the cusp of a mainstream breakthrough, and we’re left with fragments of an artistic vision that was sought to fulfill.

Courtesy of Rawkus Records/Flamboyant Entertainment.

Big L’s career to this point had been one of raw promise and restless hustle. Coming up in Harlem’s dangerous 139th & Lenox area, he first made noise as a teen in a crew called Children of the Corn alongside future stars Mase and Cam’ron. A chance street-corner freestyle for Lord Finesse earned him his moniker “Big L” and a spot among New York’s most respected MCs. His 1995 debut, Lifestylez Ov Da Poor & Dangerous, showcased his prodigious wordplay, but a lack of major label support meant the album flew under the commercial radar. Unfazed by industry politics, L struck out on his own by founding Flamboyant Entertainment, plotting his next move on his own terms. By 1998, he had honed his craft to deadly perfection: he was conquering freestyle battles, collaborating with the Diggin’ in the Crates (D.I.T.C.) collective, and turning heads with the independently released single “Ebonics (Street Slang).” That song, essentially a witty dictionary of Harlem street slang, became an anthem on mixtapes and college radio, signaling that Big L was poised for a major comeback. In fact, that very year, JAY-Z’s Roc-A-Fella Records courted Big L; he agreed to sign after negotiating spots for two of his Harlem partners on the label, which adds to his loyalty and long-term vision. But fate intervened cruelly: just days before the celebration announcing his Roc-A-Fella signing, Big L was murdered in a drive-by shooting on his own block. The hip-hop community was stunned, as the brilliant future had been snatched away in an instant.

When The Big Picture arrived on August 1, 2000, it bore the weight of those unfulfilled plans. Billed pointedly as “1997–1999”, the album gathers recordings Big L made in his final years. His manager, Rich King, spearheaded the project's completion, painstakingly assembling new and unreleased material into a cohesive whole. Rawkus Records, then the bastion of underground hip-hop, provided the platform for this labor of love. In many ways, The Big Picture plays like an epitaph in beats and rhyme, always setting up for the future as a rapper, now speaking from beyond the grave. Its very title is a nod to Big L’s forward-looking mentality; he “always saw the ‘big picture’ in this hip-hop industry” as his original press kit noted. Listening to the album, one can’t escape the bittersweet sense of an artist on the verge of greatness, his voice alternately triumphant and haunted. Despite the inherent challenges of a posthumous project, The Big Picture manages to feel like a genuine Big L experience more often than not. Unlike some clumsy cut-and-paste posthumous albums of the era (for instance, the heavily spliced remix approach of Notorious B.I.G.’s Born Again), Big L’s swan song retains a raw authenticity. Most tracks were substantially completed during his lifetime, and if any verses were patched together later, the seams are hardly noticeable. The album even opens with L’s voice in an Intro over a DJ Premier beat, as if he’s personally guiding us in. From there, it unleashes a parade of head-turning tracks that remind us why Big L was revered by his peers.

Nowhere is Big L’s verbal genius more evident than on “Ebonics (Criminal Slang).” Over a minimalist, boom-bap track produced by Ron Browz, Big L conducts a masterclass in street linguistics. The concept is straightforward but executed with incredible flair: he spits a glossary of Harlem slang, translating each term into plain English with witty rhythm and internal rhymes. The effect is both educative and wildly entertaining, where Big L “pretty much gave everyone game on the code to the street with this track,” clearly breaking down the terms used on his block and bringing listeners into his world. In one breath, he raps, “If you 730, that mean you crazy/‘Hit me on the hip’ means page me,” rolling off definitions as smoothly as punchlines. The song is a tour de force of creativity, turning gritty local argot into addictive poetry. Released as a 12″ single in late 1998, “Ebonics” was an immediate highlight of the album and became a signature song for Big L. It’s also laced with his signature humor – one can almost hear a sly grin as he warns, “If a chick gave you a disease, then you got burned.” Few rappers have managed to make a lexicon sound so lively. In retrospect, Ebonics stands as a testament to Big L’s ability to elevate wordplay into an art form, reinforcing why many hip-hop fans hailed him as “one of the most talented poets in hip-hop history.”

Propelled by an infectious Mike Heron beat (a jaunty piano-and-horn loop that practically struts), “Flamboyant” was the album’s lead single and a statement of intent. The title references L’s own Flamboyant Entertainment imprint, and indeed the song feels like his personal theme music. Over the “#1 single” Heron crafted, Big L delivers boast after boast with effortless cool, declaring “Flamboyant for life” as a credo. His flow here is crisp and confident, riding the upbeat tempo with the ease of a veteran. A standout posse cut is “Holdin’ It Down,” produced by the legendary Pete Rock. Over a bouncy, up-tempo soul-sampling beat, Big L trades verses with D.I.T.C. crewmate A.G. and up-and-comer Stan Spit, while R&B singer Miss Jones croons a silky hook. The chemistry on this track is evident, as they swap hefty bars, asserting their authenticity and essentially holding down the legacy of true New York hip-hop. Pete Rock’s contribution, all warm basslines and swing, might seem sunnier than the dark, menacing beats Big L often favored, but L adapts beautifully, injecting swagger into every line.

On “The Enemy,” Big L’s intensity reaches new heights. This track, a DJ Premier-produced gem featuring Fat Joe, actually originated from a D.I.T.C. project in 1998, but it’s right at home on The Big Picture. Premier lays down a quintessential East Coast beat: hard drums, eerie loop, and razor-sharp scratches, the perfect canvas for two hungry MCs. L and Fat Joe come with gritty, defiant verses aimed at a common target: the NYPD’s notorious misconduct. Perhaps the most symbolic collaboration on The Big Picture comes on “Platinum Plus.” Here, Big L shares the mic with one of his rap idols, the great Big Daddy Kane. The pairing is poetic because you have Kane, a master of punchline bravado from the late ‘80s, passing the torch to Big L, the ‘90s torchbearer of that same clever tradition. DJ Premier crafts another blistering beat for this summit, featuring hard snares and dizzying samples that lend the track a nostalgic boom-bap feel. Big L attacks his verse with ferocity, unleashing a flurry of metaphors and jaw-dropping internal rhymes, determined to prove he deserves to stand next to a legend. Kane, for his part, sounds revitalized by the youthful competition, delivering a rapid-fire verse that harks back to his own glory days.

Beyond the bravado and battle raps, The Big Picture offers glimpses of Big L’s storytelling talent and deeper creativity. The most striking example is “Casualties of a Dice Game,” a solo track that stands as one of the finest narrative rap songs in Big L’s catalog. Over a tense, haunting loop (courtesy of Ron Browz), L paints a cinematic tale of a gambling venture gone wrong, from the adrenaline of winning big to the paranoia of being followed and the inevitable violent climax. Across three verses, he builds suspense masterfully, voice shifting from confident to anxious to resigned as the story unfolds. His attention to detail and first-person perspective put the listener in the passenger seat of a doomed ride through Harlem’s underbelly. The album’s finale, fittingly, brings together Big L’s extended musical family. “The Triboro” features Fat Joe, O.C., and Remy Ma, uniting Harlem, the Bronx, and Brooklyn on one posse cut. Over a triumphant Showbiz production, they each spit fiery verses representing their boroughs, while Big L’s posthumous verse ties it all together.

Does The Big Picture do justice to Big L’s legacy? In many ways, yes. It cements his status as an elite MC—a rapper’s rapper with vivid punchlines and signature wit in abundance. It allowed the world one last chance to appreciate his storytelling and the musical alliances he was fostering. The album’s very existence is a celebration: every beat and bar seems to say this is what we loved about Big L. But in other ways, the album inevitably highlights the tragedy of unfulfilled potential. It is a collage of what he left behind, not the fully realized magnum opus he surely had in him. One can’t help imagining how Big L’s planned Roc-A-Fella debut might have sounded, or how his style would have evolved in the 2000s. Would he have become a household name in hip-hop, a platinum-selling star? Or would he have remained an underground king, revered by lyricism connoisseurs while eschewing mainstream gloss? The album leaves that question tantalizingly open. In that dichotomy lies the bittersweet power of The Big Picture: it’s both a triumph and a requiem, a showcase of a legendary talent and an echo of an immortal question—what if?