If that all gets solved, the moral and ethical quandary here ultimately stems from trying to decide what the deceased would've wanted. Then there's the legal and financial aspects. Obviously to get started on an endeavor like this you have to have enough material, but generally you also need an established fanbase or at least some kind of demographic, a market to whom this product would cater. The thought of someone unearthing something previously unknown conjures up both the idealist who decides what a noble act this is to honor an artist's legacy, and the skeptic who thinks that there's a reason why these recordings stayed hidden and / or that the motivation is not truly fans of the culture wanting music to be heard but simply suits seeing dollar signs. When you continue to see new pictures, hear new stories, watch new video, and listen to new music from someone who died over twenty years ago, even though it's irrational, your brain questions on some level whether this person is actually gone. Not only can this change the intended feel of the work, it also helps perpetuate the numerous conspiracy theories about Illuminati sacrifice or artists faking their deaths. Especially if the sound or content of the record seems to comment on their demise or even as if they're somehow speaking to more current events.
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Plus it just can be a weird, almost eerie, feeling when first listening to a song you haven't before that features the voice or sounds of an artist you know to be deceased. By the same token, with each previously unreleased record, chances are growing greater and greater that it's dwindling down to the last one you'll ever hear by them. You're hoping that you're about to hear something you haven't before perhaps from one of your favorite artists, though you know it's likely this isn't going to be their best work, so you start to temper expectations accordingly. Regardless of the amount of unheard content being mined, the problem remains that posthumous projects tend to be fairly bittersweet, pretty much no matter what. With Scott La Rock you could scarcely cobble together a compilation to this day. Elvis has never stopped putting out records, making him one of the few whose posthumous career has outlasted potentially generations of his audience. Of course one of the biggest ways to keep departed artists' music in the ears of listeners is to release more of it. By contrast, invoking the name Scott La Rock still somehow feels oddly personal, as though you have specialist inside information, rather than mere common knowledge or social trivia. Elvis so permeated the zeitgeist, got such worldwide recognition, and was mythologized to such a degree, that to someone who was born into the pop culture spawned from that, his influence seems almost omnipresent. And though within the hip hop community there is a history of keeping names alive through shout-outs and tributes, murals and t-shirts, the impact is decidedly different between decades and genres. Elvis had almost a twenty five year run of the ultimate fame and celebrity Scott was just getting started with his career in music, he didn't live long enough to benefit from that. Whereas Elvis epitomized the start of a global rock and roll movement and died at arguably the peak of it, Scott La Rock has only been able to be deified by the hip hop world in hindsight. But I think there's a cultural aspect at play as well.
Maybe it's being born in the eighties and I'm sure that egocentric thinking plays a large part.
Even though there's merely a ten year difference between the passing of The King and the murder of Scott, Elvis' death might as well be prehistory to me in comparison. And it's been just over forty years since Elvis died, with the anniversary of his death not two weeks ago (August 16th, 1977). The rap genre just celebrated its 44th birthday earlier this month. Or rather pop has shifted focus slightly. Last month it was announced that rock is now officially America's second favorite, hip hop reigns supreme. Today it's been exactly thirty years since we lost Scott La Rock (August 27th, 1987). “Remix this shit, put it back out when I die.”
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