Lauryn Hill is this generation's Joe DiMaggio, because, well, where has she gone? I can't name another artist, female or otherwise, who can rap and sing with as much strength and clarity as she did on this album. She effectively represented her neighborhood, her family, and her values, all with this steely calm that felt by turns light-hearted and honest. Her vocal acrobatics differed from the Idol contestants that try to squeeze as many notes into every run as possible, because she seemed to improvise because she seemed moved to. She incorporated Motown and hip-hop side-by-side in ways that felt collaborative. Aside from the hits to which you've become accustomed - That Thing, Everything is Everything - you ought to give Every Ghetto, Every City a listen. Her disastrous follow-up album, the MTV Unplugged effort, was one of the saddest moments for American music - and I even kind of liked that one - because she came across as much less certain of things, including her own talents. She had messages, but they seemed chaotic, coltish - they seemed like Ani Difranco, a little - this nervous energy pervaded her newer lyrics.
Here, though, she's got it. She launched a thousand emulators, but no one yet who's been able to improve on the original.
A final note/caveat: like a lot of musicians of her ilk, Lauryn Hill includes these spoken-word interludes in between songs - sometimes, they're skits; other times, they're transitions from one mood to another. I do not understand their purpose. Her interludes, at least, had a coherent, comfortable feel to them: a series of teacher-led discussions with students about love.
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