One womans take on Lauryn Hill

The Misrepresentation of Lauryn Hill By: Shanel Odum POSTED: 10:42 EST, August 9, 2007

I found this article written by a Vibe Columnist. Read it and let me know what you think...

Lau ryn! Lau ryn! Lau ryn! The uproar at Brooklyn, New York's Wingate Field on August 7th was bananas - not quite the frenzied fandom that Michael Jackson used to inspire in Japan, but dangerously close to it. Senator Charles Schumer took the throng's not-so-subtle hint and quickly made his escape offstage after introducing Lauryn Hill.

Thousands of fans had formed a complete ring around the outskirts of the park, waiting to get into the free concert - from the 30-something, Egyptian musk-scented former backpackers who've loved Lauren since Sister Act, to the recently Miseducated myspace generation who couldn't recite a Fugees track if 10 G's were up for grabs on Don't Forget The Lyrics.

When she finally took the stage after a 15-minute interlude from her brilliant 11-piece band, the crowd was clearly amped. But as she launched into her first song - a new gospel-possessed selection that no one recognized - the crowd grew uncomfortably mute. Outstretched hands were slowly slipped back into pockets. Heads shook side to side - not in time to the music, but rather in disappointment. People began looking around, scanning their neighbors' faces to make sure they weren't alone in their bewilderment. This wasn't the same fresh-faced Lauryn who could barely carry the seven Grammies she won 10 years ago.

It's not like we haven't seen her rock a 'fro before, but she looked like she had been made up by Amy Winehouse's makeup artist. Her stage paint was unnecessarily harsh - scary almost - and camouflaged the organic beauty we remember fondly. She wore an oversized, fringed leather vest; a long-sleeved, patterned silk blouse (complete with a full collar and ascot); a low-hanging strand of pearls that grazed the fly of her wool, plaid slacks; the chunkiest of chunky bangles; and metallic, triangle earrings the size of wire hangers.

No one's knocking thrift-store chic, especially in this age of eclectic rebellion, but it was an uncomfortably humid and sticky 85 degrees. While the rest of us gulped down Poland Spring and swiped our damp foreheads, Lauryn looked perfectly content sweltering in her layered get-up. On the real, she looked like somebody's crazy auntie.

She's barely a ghost of her youthful pre-scorned self but there's something disturbingly familiar about the new Lauryn. The strained, raspy voice - her lightening-fast words cascade over one-another like a rushing waterfall. The erratic behavior - she's been blasted all over the blogosphere for skipping appearances and showing up hours late. The hardened look of her face, the possessed glare in her eyes, the hiccupping movements during her performance - picture Sister Patterson feeling the Holy Ghost during Sunday Service. Something smells like Whitney "crack is wack" Houston.

She continued to delve into her set of unreleased material as the audience went from confused to visibly disturbed by her performance. She apologized for her strained vocal chords but still screamed most of her lyrics, and inaudibly at that. No wonder her voice was hoarse. It was as if she lost her range - she hovered safely in the same tone for most of the evening without taking any romantic dips or leaps around the scale.

While we yearned to hear a song we could all sing backup to, she seemed to purposefully tease us with not-so-cleverly disguised renditions of her classics. A random ska beat here, a rock riff there and a raspy Marley Medley was all she was giving. The lyrics were the only thing recognizable about her past hits and even those were spit, not sang. It's hard to tell if she isn't allowed to sing her songs the original way because of record label copyrights and ownership, or if she just refuses to in an attempt to distance herself from the drama that still surrounds the production and publishing rights of Miseducation.

An hour and a half into the show, as the audience continued to slowly but deliberately leak from the venue in bulk, Lauryn finally gave us a hit of what we'd been fiending for. As soon as the first familiar notes of "Ex-Factor" erupted from the speakers, the remaining fans (the crowd had dwindled to a quarter of its initial swell) went bonkers. For the first time that night, we were able to follow along in our own grateful voices. The VIP barricades were lifted and the orchestra seating was flooded. Although they were far from stellar, we were all thrilled to reminisce to "How Many Mics," "Fugee-La," "Ready or Not," and "Killing Me Softly" and anticipate the safe return of our lost idol.

The two-and-a-half-hour set was unforgettable, but for all the wrong reasons. If she'd simply reversed the order of the lineup from old to new, Lauryn could have held on to the other half of her audience. It was agonizing to watch her crash and burn at the start - but at least it ended on a hopeful note.

Believe it or not, I still can't wait for her album to drop - whether it happens next year or in 2010. She's still a genius in my eyes - remember Janice Joplin, Miles Davis, and Hector Lavoe?