Strumming my pain with her fingers, singing my life with her words

Lauryn Hill is the biggest superstar that never was. Armed with a fierce intellect and fiercer religious convictions, she blasted herself into immortality with her now ubiquitous intepretation of Roberta Flack's 'Killing Me Softly' in 1996, and, despite it officially being a Fugees song, it was Lauryn's deep, mellifluous voice, more resonant than a thousand Ashantis, that made it and the band cross over into the mainstream. Wyclef may have been the brains, but Lauryn was the face of one of hip hop's biggest, shortest, most frustrating successes.

The Fugees' and -by extension- Lauryn's success in the late '90s is perhaps one of the most satisfying phenomenons of the era. Here was hip-hop that didn't need to resort to lowest common denominator to achieve success. Lauryn wore dreads and had distinctly African facial features, but became a sex symbol- indeed, she's the only black sex symbol I've ever come across who wouldn't dream of wearing a weave or posing in a bikini. The success of 'The Score' and 'Miseducation' could have made Lauryn bigger than Jennifer Lopez (if not her a$$), bigger than Britney...but she didn't become that famous, simply because she didn't want to be. When Pepsi offered her a promotion deal- the mark of a true superstar- she snidely turned it down. She was Drew Barrymore's first choice for Lucy Lui's part in 'Charlie's Angels', the first choice for Julia Roberts' role in 'The Mexican', and first choice for Jada Pinkett's role in the Matrix sequels, but she turned them all down. Say what you will about Lauryn Hill, but she has never sold out.

'Miseducation' is perhaps a victim of it's own success. Garnered with five Grammy Awards when this could still be considered something of an achievement, it is one of the only albums in recent memory to be met by unanimous critical applause. No album can live up to such enthusiasm, and so the flaws of this album -elements of triteness; a devotion to religion that will instantly alienate the non-faithful; and a tendency to ruin the incredible power and conviction of her alto voice with overuse of warbling- will be evident to anyone listening having been blitzed with recommendations of how great this album will be beforehand. These flaws, coupled with a callous 'racist' rumour (amusingly referenced to on Emimen's debut- "Bought Lauryn Hill's tape so her kids could starve ('Lauryn's' voice- 'I can't stand white people!'" and "So dumb I asked Lauryn Hill out"), Lauryn being sued by four producers who worked on the album despite the claim on the box claiming full responsibility on Lauryn's part for production and arrangement, and -later- the embarrassing Unplugged album, have led to something of a Lauryn backlash in recent years.

But, ignore all this baggage, and what one is left with is simply a beautiful record. A common belief is that the entire album is an elaborate diss aimed at Lauryn's alleged on-off backstage lover and fellow Fugee, hip-hop's court jester Wyclef Jean. However, such a belief does 'Miseducation' absolutely no justice- less than half the songs ('Lost Ones';'Ex Factor';'Superstar'; and 'I Used To Love Him') could feasibly be said to be aimed at Jean. The subject matter ranges from maternal adoration ('To Zion') to gentle chastisement of contemporaries ('Doo Wop', 'Superstar'), apocalyptic musings ('Final Hour') to optimistic stoicism ('Everything Is Everything') and, of course, love and, for the most part, dysfunctional love.

The album begins with a teacher registering his pupils. He finishes calling out 'Lauryn Hill' to no answer, and this adds a clever dimension to the album title. For, as we hear in interludes throughout the album, the class is about to be taught about and discuss love. The message is Lauryn was never educated on the topic of love and thus has had to go through a lot of heartbreak- a theme certainly continued in the music itself. Despite this neat conceit, the classroom sequences can annoy, (and the fact that one kid references the film 'Titanic' is amusing, as this would suggest Lauryn is a member of a class of fourteen year olds in the year 1997, suggesting not so much miseducation as learning difficulties) though not as much as traditional hip hop skits.

The first song is "Lost Ones" (4.5/5), an almost totally rapped chastisement of Lauryn's adversaries that establishes Lauryn’s prodigious lyrical talent, particularly when it comes to rap. Here she is at her most Caribbean influenced, her flow often mutating into patois ("Ya kyant hold Gad's people back that lang" "If a ting test me, run me mi gyan, kyant tek a tret to me newborn san"). She also defines one of the reasons she is simply on a level of her own when compared with her contemporaries: a 'diss track' on any other mainstream hip hop album, with the notable exception of Nas, would rely on juvenile insults reliant on the opponent's physicality and half-hearted advice that can be summised as "Stop hatin', beyatch". Lauryn, however, uses philosophical and articulate insight to throw the target/s' entire outlook back in their faces. Whether this really is aimed at Wyclef (and the first verse in particular would indicate so- "My emancipation don't fit your equation/I was on a humble, you- on every station") is debatable, but ultimately it doesn’t matter, as Lauryn changes focus from pleasingly disdainful, slightly paranoid denunciations to an urgent, religion fuelled warning- change or suffer, in this life in this next.

“Don’t you understand man, universal law?/
What you throw out come back to you, star/
Never underestimate those who you scar/
‘Cause karma, karma, karma*, come back to you hard/
You can’t hold God’s people back that long/
The chain of Satan wasn’t made that strong/
Try to pretend like your word is your bond/
But until you do right, all you do will go wrong/
Now some might mistake this for just a simple song/
And some don't know what they have 'til it's gone/
Even when you're gone, you can still be reborn/
And from the night can arrive the sweet dawn/
Now some may listen and some may shun/
And some may think that they've reached perfection/
If you look closely you'll see what you've become/
Cuz you might win some but you just lost one."

(*That triplication of "karma" always struck me as clever, considering the belief in some faiths of deeds coming back to you times three.)

Essentially, it's Lauryn acting as religious preacher- this is enhanced by the chant following every line, repeating her last word back to her. It's uncomprimising but convincing, and the trippy (if dull) beat and the catchy, one line chorus enhance rather than soften the blow. It's a brave way to open the album, but the slightly disjointed, poorly structured feel stop it from being 5/5, despite it's eloquence.

And now for something completely different. ”Ex Factor” is possibly my favourite song on the album. The ultimate break up song and second single from 'Miseducation', it contains everything a love song should- elements of near-suicidal despair, addiction, devotion, a palpable sense of betrayal, and a vocal so potent you can taste it. The lyrics are so effective because they are so sparse and direct- "See no-one loves you more than me, and no-one ever will". Lauryn exposes herself completely, and it's so raw and wrenching that it carries you on it's wave of anguish so totally that you never want it to stop. As Lauryn says later on, when it hurts so bad, why does it feel so good? The hook is ridiculously catchy, and when Lauryn cries "Where were you when I needed you?" you want to hug her. The lyrics really do speak for themselves:

"It could all be so simple, but you'd rather make it hard/
Lovin' you is like a battle, and we both end up with scars/
Tell me who I have to be, to gain some reciprocity/
See no-one loves you more than me, and no-one ever will/
No matter how I think we grow you always seem to let me know it ain't workin'/
And when I try to walk away you hurt yourself to make me stay, this is crazy".

And from pain to joy. "To Zion" (5/5) relates Lauryn's overwhelming love for her son Zion through allusions to Mary giving birth to Christ, gospel backing vocals, and guitar work by none other than Carlos Santana (who Lauryn collaborated with again on "Supernatural", in the song "Do You Like The Way?"). Again, it works because it captures the extremity of an emotion without embarrassment or analysis. On this, as on "Ex Factor", Lauryn doesn't think, she feels. Just as you can hear the tears in the tremors of her voice on that song, you can hear the beam on her face as she sings

"How beautiful if nothing more/
Than to wait at Zion's door/
I've never been in love like this before"

Perhaps the most popular song on the album, particularly among Lauryn's cult following, this is breathtakingly effective stuff.

"Doo Wop (That Thing) (5/5) was the first -and most successful single from 'Miseducation' (it hit the Billboard No1 spot and the UK top 5), a summery confection of chiming pianos, blaring trumpets and trombones, and soaring vocals on the sweet chorus. The fact that this is still heavily rotated on radio stations in the summer months is testament to it's breezy charm. Though the echoing chant following each of Lauryn's rapped lines again gives the effect of her as wise preacher lecturing to an attentive and appreciative congregation, the advice dished out here is easier, more affectionate than that on "Lost Ones". She chastises ghetto girls for revealing too much flesh and thus not showing enough self respect (almost as hypocritical as Destiny's Child ordering poor girls to "put some clothes on" in "Nasty Girl", when said girls were most probably trying to emulate Beyonce in the first place), but comes across not so much stern as a wry grandmother with good intent at heart.

"You know I only say it cuz I'm truly genuine/
Don't be a hardrock when you truly are a gem/
Babygirl, respect is just a minimum/
N!ggas f!cked up but you still defending them/
Now Lauryn is only human/
Don't think I haven't been through the same predicament"

The same can't be said, however, of the second verse, in which she completely derides a certain archetype of young black men even more fiercly than she does enemies of Gyad in "Lost Ones".

"Lets not pretend, they wanna pack pistol by the waist men/
Cristal by the case men/
Still in their mother's basement/
The pretty faced men, claiming that they did a bid men/
Need to take care of their three-n-four kids men/
They facing a court case when the child support's late/
Money taking, heart breaking, now you wonder why women hate men?/
The sneaky silent men, the punk domestic violence men/
The quick-to-shoot-the-semen-stop-acting-like-boys-and-be-men".

It's refreshing in a hip hop album whose sales proclaim it as mainstream to hear such sentiments. You can just imagine Lauryn trying to cover Lil Kim up and telling her that she could be a lovely young lady, or greeting 50 Cent with narrowed eyes and the women he had sex, as opposed to made love, with.

Ironically, "Superstar"(3/5), another scorn-filled track -this time berating hip hop artists for being uninspired and uninspiring- is the least inspiring song on the album. The lyrics are as good as one would expect, but there is a general lack of direction, and the chorus and verses feel flaccid and at odds with the overly-busy soundtrack. A rap three quarters of the way through fails to inject any energy into a weak track benefited only by it's on-point lyrics.

"Final Hour" (5/5) is much better. Another favourite, the punchy but simplistic beat allows Lauryn's unparalled flow and lyrics to grab attention. Almost totally a rapped track, Lauryn issues apocalyptic warnings and self-aggrandisement to an unspecified congregation of sinners (the echoed chants are once again present). Anyone who doubts Lauryn's rapping talent need only listen to the smooth, controlled way she delivers the third verse to be reassured:

"Now I'ma get the Mozarella like a Rockerfella/
Still be in the church of Lalibella, singin' hymns acapella/
Whether posed in 'Maribella' in couture, or/
Collectin' residuals from off 'The Score'/
I'm making sure, I'm with the 144/
I been here before, this ain't a battle this is war/
And word to Boonie, I makes a lot like a tsunami/
Get diplomatic immunity in every ghetto community/
Had opportunity, went from hood-shock to hood-chic/
Cuz it ain't what you cop, it's about what you keep/
And even if they're leaks, you can't capsize this ship/
Cuz I baptise my lips every time that I take sips."

An "I'm great, me" track in the honoured hip hop tradition mixed with Lauryn's customary, slightly self-satisfied cautionary advice, "Final Hour"'s invocation of a warm, inner city night- due mainly to the backing track- makes it hugely listenable.

"When It Hurts So Bad" (4/5) also has something of the night about it. The eclectic backing track, which includes a gushing waterfall and a harp, complements Lauryn's vocals, which are flawless on this. However, at times it feels like a reprise of "Ex Factor"- not only is the subject matter near identical, but the bridge IS identical. Compare:

"What you want might might make you cry/
What you need might pass you by/
If you don't catch it/
And what need ironically/
Will turn out what you want to be/
If you just let it."

"No matter how I think we grow/
You always seem to let me know/
It ain't working/
And when I try to walk away/
You hurt yourself to make me stay/
This is crazy."

This recycled feel is enhanced by the use of a lyric from another Lauryn song- "Manifest" from 'The Score':

"You see I loved hard once, but the love wasn't returned/
Found out the man I die for, he wasn't even concerned."

It also feels directionless in tone- not as much as "Superstar", but enough so to push the song dangerously close to filler territory.

"I Used To Love Him" (5/5) is another example of Lauryn using to-the-point lyrics to articulate her point. You simply can't argue with the chorus:

"I used to love him.
But now I don't."

Genius. The first true duet on the album, with hip-hop soul's other monarch Mary J Blige, this is a duet that, for once, allows the two singers to interact, running into each other's lines and forming a tag team:

"(Lauryn)See torn and confused, wasted and used.../
(Mary)Reached a cross-roads, which path will I choose?/
(Lauryn)Stuck and frustrated, I waited, debated.../
(Mary)For something to happen that just wasn't fated"

The irresistably trippy beat, which sounds a little like an ultra-fast printer, this is one of the more addictive songs on the album.

Continuing the religious theme coarsing through the album, "Forgive Them Father" (4/5) features an irritatingly pointless guest appearance from reggae rapstress Shelley Thunder, matching the reggae-tinged beat. This is simply what we've come to expect: immaculate singing; a persuasive, academic, slightly Afrocentric rap; great lyrics.

"Every Ghetto, Every City (4/5) competes with "To Zion" and "Doo Wop" for the title of most joyous song on the album. It's unabashedly nostalgic, making more pop culture references than a Tarantino flick and an episode of "Buffy The Vampire Slayer" combined. However, this is the biggest flaw of the song- as a child of the 1990s, I am completely clueless as to what Lauryn is talking about. If you grew up in urban America during the 1980s, this song will no doubt raise a smile at fond memories, and indeed it raises a smile anyway, but it will slightly isolate anyone not Lauryn's age.

The second and last duet on the album, with key neo-soul figure D'Angelo, "Nothing Even Matters" (5/5) is a love song about devotion and how material things become irrelevant in the face of obsessional besottal. The two sound very pretty together, but the song is slightly let down by a clicky sound effect that sound disjointed at first. However, this is a big grower, and another warped sound effect evocative somehow of Arabian deserts is used to great effect. But the vocals are the star- D'Angelo is husky and soft, Lauryn tender.

"Everything Is Everything" (5/5), the third and last single from the album, is as summery as Doo Wop. It has a great message which essentially boils down to "Chill". Catchy as Hell, it sounds like something Lauryn would hum to herself whilst walking down the street on a warm, happy summer's day- "la"s included.

"The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill" (5/5) is the perfect way to end the album. Featuring hands down her best vocal performance on the album (accompanied by a piano), it feels like her mission statement and summises the sentiment of the whole album- a sadness at the state of modern life, an unflinching, mountain-solid faith in God, and a desperation on Lauryn's part to express herself before she suffocates on her own feelings.

"My world it moves so fast today/
The past it seems so far away/
And life squeezes so tight that I can't breathe/
And everytime I try to be/
What someone else thought of me/
So caught up, I was unable to achieve."

I'm genuinely surprised that it hasn't become a 'standard', in the way Mariah Carey's 'Hero' or Whitney Houston's 'I Will Always Love You' have- there is even a deliberately retro crackling reminiscent of a vinyl record becoming accustomed to the needle, reflecting the retro preoccupations that tinge the production and lyrical content of the album.

Oh, but wait! The album isn't over yet! I have a sneaking suspicion that Lauryn's cover of "Can't Take My Eye's Off You" (4/5) was kept off the credits simply so the impressive "Produced, Written, Arranged and Performed by Lauryn Hill" claim could be maintained on the sleeve, as obviously, Lauryn did not write this song. Nonetheless, it's a wonderful interpretation, shimmering and satisfying. Also, Lauryn, interestingly, claims allegiance to the Fugees at the beginning of the song, suggesting she recorded it before the rest of the album. Despite it's lovliness, the feeling that it sounds like the sort of song to be played over the end credits of an unmemorable film is unshakeable. This is also true of "Tell Him" (4/5)- it's nice but a little forgettable, and a slightly dissapointing way to end the album, particuarly in comparison to "The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill". However, it's definitely a grower, and it'll cheer you up.

Ultimately, 'Miseducation' is an inspired album, flushed with the captivating power of Lauryn Hill's prescence. There are flaws- self-satisfaction; a tendency to preach; a stark earnesty (though I personally consider this an asset); and a potentially offputting suggestion that Lauryn feels she is simply a better person than most in some songs. However, even the flaws aren't flaws, as they are part of who Lauryn is. More than anything else, 'Miseducation' is a person on a disc. After listening, you feel as if you really know Lauryn Hill, despite her protestations to the contrary on live follow-up 'Unplugged' four years later.

And indeed, it's interesting to compare this with the 2002 album, as universally critically panned as Miseducation was lauded. Certainly, the beginnings of the broken woman who sings on that album can be seen on this one, particularly in the last song not including the bonus tracks.

"And everytime I try to be/
What someone else thought of me/
So caught up, I was unable to achieve."

This basically summises Lauryn's emotional turmoil on Unplugged with an almost spooky accuracy. Whilst Unplugged was arguably a step backwards, it will be Lauryn's sophomore studio effort, currently being recorded and due in the next six months, that will act as the litmus test proclaiming whether or not she can deliver on her shining talent. If her new music is even half this good, Lauryn Hill may yet fill the superstar role she has so far evaded despite herself. Here's hoping.