The Notorious B.I.G.  
Words by Jamiyl Samuels

It's hard not to remember where you were when the news hit that Christopher “The Notorious B.I.G.” Wallace had been killed in a cowardly drive by shooting in Los Angeles. I was in Norfolk, Virginia for the Mid Eastern Atlantic Conference (MEAC) Tournament. I couldn't believe the words my friend screamed that Sunday morning. After rubbing my eyes and getting confirmation on MTV's ticker at the bottom of the screen, a stunned silence overtook me. All I thought about was wishing I was back in New York. What was the scene like there? What were they saying on the radio?

Even as he was described as a “former crack dealer” by the mainstream media, Hip Hop fans knew what B.I.G. meant to the Hip Hop world. They knew B.I.G. used the beautiful music he made to escape that drug dealer lifestyle. So while reporters chose to conveniently remember the negative aspects of his life, they couldn't kill the gift of gab B.I.G. displayed on wax.

Arguably the greatest rapper of all time, B.I.G. had a knack for story telling, drawing you into to his cerebral narratives of sex, drugs, and crime. When he wasn't weaving an intricate narrative right out of a movie, he took time to show why he was the illest MC. B.I.G. blessed us with dozens of Hip Hop quotables, ingeniously self-deprecating at times (“heartthrob never, fat and ugly as ever” – “One More Chance remix”), witty (“ain't no other kings in this rap thing they siblings / nothing but my children one shot they disappearing / it's ill when mc's used to be on cruddy sh** / took home Ready To Die listen study sh**” - “Kick In The Door”), and hardcore (“don‘t f**k wit B-I that's that / oh I thought he was wack / oh come come now…” - “Unbelievable”). B.I.G. spoke to the street corner hustler, the backpacker, the players, and the underdog with equal aplomb. Bumrushing the scene in 1992 with “Party and Bulls**t” off the Who's The Man soundtrack, the former Biggie Smalls officially invited us into his world, breathing life back into East Coast rap by proclaiming he was Ready To Die.

Yes, Ready To Die. B.I.G's seminal 17-track debut that successfully straddled the line between hardcore and commercial rap. For every “Juicy” there was a “Warning”. For every “Big Poppa”, there was “Gimme The Loot”. Though credit for B.I.G.'s commercial makeover into the unlikely heartthrob goes to Diddy (formerly Puff Daddy), the lyricism was all B.I.G. I remember copping my cassette of Ready To Die that Tuesday in September of 1994 and immediately being drawn to his vocal tone on the various songs. The raw emotion can be felt in every vivid recollection of the street life he grew up in. Unlike Buckshot Shorty the year before him (on “Enta Da Stage” ), B.I.G found his voice as he progressed and his album didn't suffer commercially for it.

B.I.G.'s confidence grew and it showed in his work. Known for his great sense of humor and devout loyalty to his friends, B.I.G. put on childhood friends Junior M.A.F.I.A. and Lil' Kim blessing their respective first albums with classic guest verses. Sixteen bar masterpieces such as “Flava In Ya Ear remix”, Total's “Can't You See”, Tracy Lee's “Keep Ya Hands High” and 112's “Only You” were set ups to the impending event. The double album Life After Death served as a tutorial in how to construct a double album. Released posthumously, the album sold well over 10 million copies and, in graf artist speak, is an end to end burner full of music that still resonates. A knack for the macabre tales of his demise as witnessed on “Suicidal Thoughts”, it was clear he was speaking on his reality, but he did not want to die. He was celebrating the life of his new born son, by estranged wife Faith Evans, his new life adjusting to mainstream accoutrements, and his new music of which he was very proud. He knew he was the best doing it, and every one that came in with him and after him from Jay-Z to Nas, 50 Cent, every subsequent rapper out of Brooklyn, and aspiring artists (this writer included) was influenced by B.I.G. From the vocal similarities (Shyne, Guerilla Black), ad-libs (run ad nauseam into the ground by Lil' Kim calling herself Miss White), to the constant re-issues of his music, the latest being his greatest hits collection, B.I.G. left a lasting impression on Hip Hop.

Unlike Tupac, B.I.G. did not have an extensive catalog of material to choose from. We wouldn't be able to hear the signature “uhhh” at the beginning of a newly unreleased song years later. Maybe B.I.G. should've took his prophetic paranoia of being targeted by assassins, showcased brilliantly on my favorite Biggie record “My Downfall” ("Unbelievable" finishes a close second), as a sign to record as much as possible. Even then you could hear Puffy's unabashed swagger pour out of the speakers. The brazen maniacal rants on the aforementioned “Downfall” show Diddy at his arrogant best: (“we gonna be here from now til the year 3000 bitches…”). Who wouldn't brag knowing you had someone like B.I.G. in your corner? Bad Boy Entertainment was on top for a reason.

Some can argue about the continuous string of posthumous B.I.G. compilations (myself included), but however watered down they may be, it proves that B.I.G.'s was a voice silenced too soon. A new generation is aware of who B.I.G. was and what he meant to Hip Hop. DJ Mister Cee, credited with bringing B.I.G. to Diddy, made a scary point, when he said that years down the line, kids may not know who B.I.G. was or recognize his music. However, by that time the same can be said about other artists of the era. It would be up to those who were privileged enough to experience B.I.G. in all his glory to educate the uninformed. We must never forget the impact B.I.G. has had on Hip Hop.