Why we still care about a Lauryn Hill comeback

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At this point, the shows and the stories that are born of them are the stuff of legend. She’s two, three, sometimes four hours late. When she does finally hit the stage, she appears despondent, disinterested, bitter, and her wardrobe is less than chic. The songs are recognizable only because the lyrics are the same, as they are backed by unfamiliar rapid-fire, death-metal style drums and equally harsh vocals. Fans and critics alike have been disappointed over and over again (except that one time) because there was just something off about her. But we always knew Lauryn Hill was different.

She made that abundantly clear from the outset of her career, spitting lines like “While you imitating Al Capone, I’ll be Nina Simone and defecating on your microphone” and separating herself from the mafioso ethos of her peers and placing herself in the company of music legends. It’s what we loved about her; Lauryn Hill was here to save us from the gangstas and teach us to love ourselves fiercely. It started with The Fugees and their seminal sophomore album The Score, where Lauryn didn’t just establish herself as the illest emcee in her crew, or one of the best women rappers around, but as one of the most talented and versatile emcees in all of hip-hop, gender be damned.

But it was nothing compared to the magnum opus that was to come only two years later in the form of The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, a critical and commercial smash now heralded in some circles as one of the greatest albums of all-time.

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Since then, however, Lauryn has been largely silent. In 2000, she embarked on a self-imposed exile from the music industry, choosing to focus on her raising her children. She released the ill-received MTV Unplugged No. 2.0 live album in 2002, but otherwise has not recorded much in the way of new music. When she reunited with The Fugees for a performance at Dave Chappelle’s Block Party in 2004 (which was later turned into a film featuring performances from Mos Def, The Roots, Common, Talib Kweli, Erykah Badu, and others) and put together a brief European Tour in 2005, there was hope among fans of a proper comeback, but it never materialized.

A show here, a show there, and quiet rumblings of “Lauryn is in the studio” have been the scraps we have held on to for years as we have awaited sustenance. So when last year it was announced that Hill was added to the roster of artists performing at the Rock the Bells concert series, and she started doing interviews, and rumors surfaced that she was planning to release a new record, excitement hit an all-time high.

Then came the lateness, and the unrecognizable versions of the songs we fell in love with, and the dismissive attitude, and…that look. Lauryn didn’t look well, but she performed in spite of it all, and to sold out crowds nonetheless, even after the horror stories hit Twitter and the blogosphere. This wasn’t the Lauryn we knew from before, and even in knowing that, we had to show up.

With this new tour, I’m sure that we will continue to show up. We will continue to patronize her shows, read articles that bear her name, watch interviews that give her voice, and breathe life into any rumor that allows us to hold out hope for new music. We do this because we need to believe in her.

Lauryn represented the absolute best in all of us and our ideas. Here was a young, talented, black woman selling an insane amount of records without sacrificing her artistic or personal integrity. She was empowering in her appearance: a brown-skin goddess with dreadlocks and full-lips in a society that covets none of those attributes. Lauryn was beauty, and strength, and self-love, and intelligence. Her rhymes were infused with spirituality and sociopolitical commentary, weaved around literary references.

She said things like “More powerful than two Cleopatras, bomb graffiti on the tomb of Nefertiti, emcees ain’t ready to take it to the Serengeti, my rhymes is heavy, like the mind of Sister Betty” connecting hip-hop and street art to ancient Egypt and Dr. Betty Shabazz. Her music was a gateway to black musical traditions across time and space, venturing into doo-wop, reggae, soul, funk, and of course Hip-Hop, yet had the ability to attract crossover/pop audiences. Lauryn was the real thing.

When she left us, we tried to fill the void. India.Arie, Jill Scott, Estelle, and others have all come along and we have rested our hopes for finding that “thing” again on their shoulders. No slight to those other artists, as they all have something to offer in their own right, but none of them are Lauryn. There is only one, and only she is capable of filling that space she singlehandedly created and expeditiously vacated. So long as it’s empty, we will always give Lauryn a chance to come back and remind us why she deserved our love.

It’s naive, as all evidence points toward the sign that, regrettably, it’s time for us to let Lauryn go. As she said, she sacrificed her 20s for us, and even though she did it on her own accord, we subsequently drained her and placed much of our burdens on her young shoulders that we saw as broader than they were. We asked her to heal us when she was struggling to become unbroken herself. Now, years later, we all are hurting again, with new wounds that need mending, but we have to know that the solution can’t be found in one another. It’s best if we go our separate.

Of course, we won’t, because we need to believe in Lauryn, maybe now more than ever.