A child stares out from the lower half of the frame, his face filling the space with a direct, unsmiling gaze that carries a gravity unusual for a portrait of someone so young. This is Nasir Jones at roughly seven or eight years old, and the cover of his 1994 debut sets that childhood photograph over an image of the Queensbridge Houses, the public housing complex in Long Island City, Queens, where he grew up.

The two pictures do not simply sit side by side. Through a double exposure, the boy's features and the rows of brick towers occupy the same visual space, neither fully opaque, each visible through the other. The child is literally made of the projects, and the projects live within him.

The photograph has the warm, slightly faded quality of an early-1980s family snapshot, an amateur document rather than a professional portrait. That ordinariness is the point: it collapses the distance between the boy who witnessed the crack epidemic and the twenty-year-old who turned those experiences into song. How that composite was built, and why so many later covers would chase its restraint, comes next.