Like many other younger millennial, older generation-Z hybrids, I grew up on The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. The memory is almost tangible: the smell of my mom’s old minivan, the thump of the backseat bass as I press my hand against it, the plucky guitar riff (thank you Santana) at the beginning of “To Zion,” which my mother labeled as probably her favorite song from the album. It has a memorable and specific way of weaving itself into every stage of my life, executed through the power of nostalgia, but also done by the lessons it continues to teach me. The album is transcendent in its vulnerability and accountability while also being transformative in its delivery— a rightfully earned landmark in the cultural lexicon, as well in music history.
Launched after the successful high of The Fugees and becoming pregnant with her son, Lauryn Hill dominated the musical atmosphere of the late 90s with her initial solo project. She was nominated ten times for the 1998 Grammy Awards, solidifying her as the first woman ever to be nominated that many times in one year – she would then go on to make further history with the first hip-hop album to win Album of the Year and as the first woman to win five Grammy Awards in one night. Lauryn Hill was a bonafide trailblazer, a Black woman spearheading hip-hop and neo-soul genres in the prestigious music space with clairvoyant and biting lyricism. Hill was no stranger to handling socio-political and cultural content, but doubled down in the song “Everything is Everything,” writing about the struggles of Black people, specifically about injustice in inner-city communities.
While most of her lyrics are in English, songs like “Forgive Them Father” and “Lost Ones” feature her singing in Patois, a common Jamaican dialect. The majority of the album also has a vast propensity for soul and expression, with several interludes of a teacher speaking to a classroom about contemporary concepts. Furthermore, it never shies away from truth and love; and how powerful those things can be. “Doo Wop (That Thing)” is unmissable in its place in pop culture but also on the charts, with a scathing examination of gender roles and performance in the Black community. In addition, “Nothing Even Matters (feat. D’Angelo)” and “To Zion” are humanistic, vulnerable ballads about love – that nothing matters, even if the sky falls, or doing what you feel is right, even if it’s not the most logical choice at the time. Of course, in addition to the soulfulness of the album, biblical and religious references are riddled throughout, calling on her faith to help guide her, especially with her choosing to keep her son over the prioritization of her career.
The album’s sound is perfectly niche and uniquely hers, with booming baselines, elevated interpolations of rock songs, and threads of reggae; Hill would impact the sound and artistry of many musicians to come. Despite the strength of the producing or lyrical meat of the album, her vocals are definitely not the weak link. Her voice is euphonious, cascading over the ear with seamless riffs, supported crystalline belts, and a melodic falsetto. I find myself forever moved by the passion interwoven into each note, feeling the love for her son Zion as she serenades the listener of her spiritual journey. I can taste her heartbreak – her struggle – her humanity – her growth; as I am wrapped up in my own. I think this quote from Pitchfork wholly articulates a driving force of the album:
“Being a woman meant that she had to, for a time at least, talk about the truth of herself. When your body is the very weapon of your oppression, it sometimes must be through the art of self, soul, and spirit that you create your freedom.” (Wallace, Carvell)
The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill remains and lives on as a culture-defining artistic juggernaut; it cannot help but be profound in its impactful, beautiful, and unembellished presence.
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