
On July 20, 2017 rapper Prodigy of the seminal East Coast hardcore group Mobb Deep suddenly passed away at the age of 42. A much respected and beloved artist, his death sent shockwaves through the hip hop community garnering a variety of tributes from his fans and rap peers. In what’s become a common move, NY street artists Eli Lazare and Jeff Enriquez painted a memorial mural for Prodigy directly across the street from the Queensbridge Houses, a public housing project that was closely associated with the rapper. The mural had only been up for a short time when pics surfaced showing that white paint had been splattered all over it. The artists along with community members responded quickly and were able to restore the painting in 15 hours. The relief was short lived, however, as the mural was vandalized for a second time with red paint replacing the white. Facing further vandalism, the artists ultimately decided to remove the mural.
Let me first say that there is no justification for defacing a memorial. It’s an act that should draw our collective outrage. But, at least in this instance, the vandalism is not a random, unmotivated act. Rather, it is a communicative one. As such, I want to take a moment to explore the function of memorial murals in urban spaces and discuss what the vandalism of Prodigy’s mural reveals about the complex relationship between hip hop, street culture, and urban space in America.
In order to better understand the larger implications of the defacement of Prodigy’s mural, we must first situate it within the context of memorial murals in poor Black and Latino communities. Such memorials are common in areas plagued by unchecked violence and early death. Family, friends, and community members commission street artists to paint these murals to commemorate their fallen loved ones and to ensure that their life and death do not get lost in time.

The meaning of memorial murals goes beyond sheer remembrance, however. As urban folklorist Joseph Sciorra notes in the introduction to his RIP: Memorial Wall Art, “the memorial wall transforms personal grief into shared public sentiment by serving as a vehicle for community affiliation and potential empowerment” (Sciorra 2002: 14). In other words, urban memorial murals are communicative mediums that transform the deceased into symbols of neighborhood identity and turn their lives into cultural standards.
Note that one must not be an angel to receive a memorial, however. Prominent street legends-turned-outlaw heroes often get immortalized on walls. A good example of this is the memorial for notorious street legend Killer Ben, who ruled Brooklyn with an iron fist in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Also note that, in recent years, memorials for deceased rappers have sprang up in their respective home communities and elsewhere.
Prodigy, born Albert Johnson, was among hip hop’s elite lyricists. His gritty voice and vivid lyrics took listeners deep inside the heart of Queens, New York street life. His music occupied a particular, and important space as it was the middle ground between Jay Z’s grandiose hustler narratives and the eccentric nihilism of an Onyx or M.O.P. Prodigy repped for the common street dude. His music told of hustling to make ends meet, both avoiding and enduring prison, and surviving the violence that governed his social world.
Pain is a central theme in his music. Prodigy’s pain was a byproduct of this ghetto vulnerability, but also a product of sickle-cell anemia, the disease that plagued him throughout his life and possibly returned him to the essence. Certainly an endearing figure, us fans stayed loyal through his ups and downs which included musical challenges, several beefs, and a three year stint in prison. His life and career appeared to be on a recent upswing, which made his death all the more untimely and tragic.
Hip hoppers recognized Prodigy as one of the chief spokespersons and symbols of Queensbridge, the 96-building, 3000 unit project situated in Long Island City, Queens. The complex opened in 1939 and had a multi-racial and multi-income make up for almost a decade. In the 1950s, local government ordinances initiated a period of white flight which led to a concentration of low-income Black and Latino residents by the 1970s. The crack epidemic of the 1980s turned Queensbridge into an urban wasteland. Despite these troubles, Queensbridge has also been a hotbed of talent. Numerous hip hop luminaries including Nas, Cormega, Tragedy, Havoc, Roxanne Shante, and Marley Marl once called the area home.
Prodigy’s relationship with the ‘Bridge was at least complex and at times contemptuous. Although he “put on” for the ‘Bridge, Prodigy was not “from” the ‘Bridge. He was born and raised in Hempstead, Long Island and later moved to Lefrak City, Queens. He affiliated himself with the ‘Bridge after connecting with Mobb Deep partner Havoc in high school. In the economically desolate urban ghetto, the ‘hood holds significant value. Attachment to neighborhoods are high and its common for such places to become part of residents’ identity. This is even more true in the social world of the streets where neighborhoods are often in conflict with each other, namely over space-determined drug markets. Community members determine the parameters of affiliation and they are constantly negotiated. Prodigy’s right to claim Queensbridge was frequently questioned by his rap and street peers. Nas famously told Prodigy that they “welcomed him to the hood,” and he better “rep it right.” Prodigy’s shaky standing in Queensbridge certainly challenges fellow hip hop heavyweight Rakim’s assertion that “it ain’t where ya from, it’s where ya at.”
For rappers like Prodigy, inconspicuous and intricate street politics govern their cultural standing in their respective communities. Prodigy often found himself in verbal and sometimes violent conflicts with Queensbridge rap and street peers. I won’t outline them all here, but hip hop fans are likely aware of his verbal beefs with Nas and Cormega. I will also say that Prodigy’s 2011 memoir My Infamous Life was a major source of tension. Many criticized Prodigy for including critical comments about particular street figures and revealing compromising information in the book. In a recent video, Queensbridge-based rapper and former Mobb Deep affiliate Mike Delorean revealed that the defacing of Prodigy’s mural was rooted in his conflict with other Queensbridge street figures. As hip hop has long shown us, street beefs sometimes transcend rap superstardom.
Prodigy’s memorial mural is a form of creative communication through which the rapper’s cultural meaning is negotiated. As hip hop fans, we view the memorial as a fitting dedication to an all time great in his place of origin. Many in Queensbridge likely cosign this and may also feel that it is good way to crystalize the experiences and ideologies that Prodigy conveyed through his music. However, if we are to believe the rumors and innuendo, whomever defaced it not only had personal issues with Prodigy, but was also attempting to challenge popular understandings of the rapper’s life and his standing within Queensbridge street culture. In this sense, the memorial mural communicates several layers of meaning for multiple social groups.
Let me again say that I in no way endorse the defacement of Prodigy’s mural. He was truly one of my favorite artists and I would hope that most people are choosing to cherish his legacy. Nevertheless, the composition and vandalism of his mural reflects the complicated relationship between rap artists, street life, and space in urban America.
RIP Prodigy. Check out this incredible dedication by Kris Ex at Complex.


