A Personal Miseducation: Unlearning & Moving
A promotional poster of Lauryn Hill’s The Miseducation Tour 1999 for Oakland and San Francisco sits in my room, facing my bed. It’s the first thing I see every morning. During the 1999 tour, I was only 10 years old, and not yet introduced to Hip Hop and R&B. When I finally got a hold of my own mini boombox radio later on as a preteen, I remember hearing “EX FACTOR” and “DOO WOP” for the first time, hooking me right in the gut. Could it all be so simple? Lauryn Hill’s raspy voice and soul and commentary and audacity and realness was so moving. The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill was already a classic album— something to learn from, cry to, seek understanding within, again and again.
“Hip-hop was born through people who didn’t necessarily have traditional musical training, the best tools, and in some cases even instruments, but found a way to express themselves despite that. My art exists because it has a will to exist, like hip hop. —Lauryn Hill”
When Rock the Bells 2010 came to Shoreline Amphitheater with Lauryn Hill as a headliner, I unfortunately I couldn’t stay for the entirety of her set. However, from then on— up until now— I only heard negative feedback from fellow hip hop heads and fans, and we couldn’t get on board with her live performances for a slew of reasons. Although we love Lauryn Hill, and the Miseducation album, we wanted 1999 Lauryn, and we wanted to experience the studio cut. I realized later on that holding onto the classic in this rigid manner wasn’t love for Lauryn, and that there were things I didn’t understand about the industry, about Lauryn Hill, and about live music.
“Where I am in one chapter of my life isn’t necessarily where I’ll be in the next chapter. I reserve the right to be an honest artist in those moments and not a fabrication, fake or phony version of myself, because that’s what someone else likes.”
Recently, Robert Glasper made some comments about Lauryn Hill and some folks I know sided with him, mostly coming from the perspective of a disappointed fan who caught a bad Lauryn performance, or were left waiting for her when she arrived late. As I began to question whether or not Glasper was right, the legendary Kuttin Kandi dropped the mic on all of us, reminding us that while everyone in the industry must play the game to survive, the public shaming of Lauryn Hill was a terrible double standard placed on womxn of color artists, who work twice as hard to make it and sustain it, but rarely would a critique this loud come for male artists calling the same plays. So the question becomes, if we’re all shady, are we critiquing an issue or targeting Lauryn Hill?
This was everywhere and it got tiring— fast. Was Lauryn truly mistreating artists? Is she ungrateful? Do we support that? I realized, firstly, no matter how it’s said, the tone of these conversations already vilified Lauryn Hill. How you gonna win when you ain’t right within? Secondly, we all know and prop up LBoogie as a larger-than-life iconic figure, and perhaps that makes it easier to speculate when we don’t humanize artists. Shortly after Glasper’s comments, Ms. Lauryn Hill hit us with a self penned point-by-point clapback. I hungrily pored over her words, soaking in all of its unapologetic glory. As a fan, I turned inwards, checking my own relationship with Lauryn Hill: regardless of Glasper’s claims, did the Miseducation impact me? Yes, continuously and irrevocably. Do I still listen to the Miseducation? Yes. Am I moved? Yes. Will I celebrate the 20th and attend the concert anyway? YES. The industry is complicated, yes. Do I pretend to understand all of it? No. She is an accomplished artist who unapologetically seeks growth on her own terms. I am here to bear witness to her greatness. Period.
“I don’t owe anyone self-repression. Some fans will grow with me, some won’t and that’s ok.”
—Lauryn Hill, “Addressing Robert Glasper and other common misconceptions about me (in no particular order)“
On my 26th birthday in 2015, I received this mint condition 1999 tour poster as a birthday gift from my best friend, at a time when I buried my hip hop research and writing away from the world. I remember standing the heavy wooden frame against my living room wall, thinking how amazing it is to hold a physical piece of this timeless, classic, cultural phenomenon in my hands. How inspirational and powerful this album was, and continues to be. How powerful I feel when I listen to Lauryn Hill’s music. How incredible it would have been to see her live in 1999, with Outkast on her line up— and as a friend revealed, with a special appearance by Carlos Santana as well. I thought of how attached I became to the album as a young womxn, and how naive I was when I last saw her perform live at Shoreline in 2010.
Between then and now, I renewed my relationship with hip hop and live music. By this time, I fangirled wholeheartedly at multiple concerts of different genres and languages. By this time, I’ve grown into to my own voice as a hip hop writer and my role as an avid listener. By this time, I started paying attention to the conversations between artists and their audiences. By this time, I learned to appreciate how a live band could transform a recorded track into a musical experience that is rich and full and layered and deep. By this time, I learned to unpack my role as a fan and consumer of Black art, Black activism, and Black music. By September 20, 2018, I returned to her at the Shoreline Amphitheater, at the 20th Anniversary concert of the Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, standing between two of my dearest sisters, and I was finally ready to fully appreciate the artist Lauryn Hill, the impact of the Miseducation of Lauryn Hill album, and her live band.
Letting go of all the negative feedback about her past performances, I made a decision to be open, to receive what Ms. Lauryn Hill prepared, in any and every form. That determined my experience. And then she spoke.
She sang and rapped, all the while directing her band. She gave us a powerful staging of “FORGIVE THEM FATHER,” where images and videos from Ferguson protests to the arrest of Sandra Bland to the killing of Mike Brown to excessive militarized force to unjust murders to #handsup #icantbreathe #blacklivesmatter movement to so many more, flooded the stage behind her band, filling the amphitheater with a painful deep-seated hurt, anger, and grief. During “FINAL HOUR,” she drove her message home:
“Look at where we at… as opposed to where we COULD be. We have to leave this world better than we got it, for the people who came before us, and for those who will come after us.”
I spend a great deal of time trying to find the words to encapsulate the feeling of great music, particularly when it washes over you and sends chills through your body, but the Miseducation concert was close to a spiritual experience, overcoming with an uncontrollable bursting feeling of awe and joy for something we’ve all known and loved for so long. And her performance of incredible arrangements doing as great literature does— taking you through the whole story. Dramatically. Intentionally. Softly. Confessing. Teaching. Aching. Healing. Moving.
Needless to say, I wept through her entire set. I was overwhelmed with joy. With grief. With excitement. With nostalgia. With hope.
In her finale, she took her time, thanked her fans, and jumped into the timeless “DOO WOP:”
“As a young womxn, all I wanted to do was just to make music.. like the music that I was inspired by, for my generation.”
Thank you, Ms. Lauryn Hill, for making music that has become as familiar as family. For being that shoulder. For being a comfort. For being a messenger for something greater. For keeping true to your form. And like you, we’ve got a generation of strong womxn making amazing music inspired by you.
Here’s to 20 more years.
I got the very LAST Miseducation hat at the merch booth!
