Lauryn Hill
The Miseducation Of Lauryn Hill
»
|
NATN Recommended
Lauryn Hill
The Miseducation Of Lauryn Hill
Sony, 1998
RiYL: Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye, Aretha Franklin, Bob Marley |
Lauryn Hill first gained recognition as the frontwoman for the Fugees, whose second album The Score -- itself a landmark fusion of hip-hop, reggae, rhythm and blues -- hijacked pop radio with its covers of "Killing Me Softly" and "No Woman, No Cry" and went on to sell 17 million copies. But it was 1998's Miseducation, a nearly unclassifiable masterpiece of hip-hop, reggae ... well, you get the idea ... that unleashed on Hill an avalanche of worldwide accolade. In the span of one whole album, the 23-year-old was being mentioned in the same articles as Aretha, Marvin and Stevie.
These are brutal standards to live up to, but Miseducation succeeds almost across the board. Hill pulls this off by obliterating almost all existing boundaries in hip-hop (especially those set up to women), bouncing from smooth soul to defiant rap in the same song. The best example of this is the album's flagship single, "Doo Wop (That Thing)", which finds her harmonizing on 1950s "woo-hoo" choruses while spitting distinctly '90s verses that admonish both easy women ("It's silly when girls sell their soul because it's in") and wannabe players ("Cristal by the case men, still in they mother's basement") with equal street knowledge.
More tellingly, Hill fires a few salvos at Fugees' bandmate Wyclef Jean, who has publicly claimed responsibility for the group's success. Both the album's opener "Lost Ones," which rolls nicely over a hip-hop/reggae jump beat, and "Superstar" appear to document Lauryn's well-publicized struggles with Clef (although not by name): "Everything you did has already been done / I know all the tricks from Bricks to Kingston."
It's that kind of independence that drives the listener through the record, especially coming in a period when R&B and hip-hop is populated almost entirely by boring dollar-bill-y'all lyricism and assertions of female power that are questionable at best (please see Carey, Mariah).
Perhaps the album's defining moment is "To Zion," a gospel missive to Hill's first son. Chronicling her decision to have a child against the advice of friends (and, more likely, business associates), Hill's lyrics and voice remain defiantly proud throughout: "How beautiful if nothing more / Than to wait at Zion's door / I've never been in love like this before." If that song doesn't have soul, someone needs to modify the definition.
Similarly, Miseducation, even after the gushing critical accolades, the wall of comparisons and a year of consideration, still remains true, ultimately, to Lauryn herself. More than re-introducing a talent of such wide-ranging ability, it is a record that helped redefine soul for the 1990s, a period in bad need of it.
JEFF VRABEL | Jeff Vrabel may look like your average, strapping Midwestern-type, but lurking inside him is a passion for all things Springsteen, "Weird" Al, and regrettably, the Chicago Cubs. He's touched Britney Spears. He knows Slash's phone number. Obey him at all costs.