by Joan Morgan
JM:
When we conceived “She Begat This,” we talked about the playlist as a way to connect the dots between Lauryn Hill’s musical contributions of the greats in black music that preceded her, those who she’s clearly cut a path for and that she’s inspired. Can you share why you thought this was important to do?
BB:
We live in a time that’s so dismissive of legacy. It’s an age where people are so quick [to dismiss] the greatness [of] those that came before them. There are new rappers now who say that Biggie and Tupac didn’t matter and that’s some dumb shit. That’s really dangerous—especially for black people. When we erase our origins, we risk losing our culture and we leave it vulnerable to other people who want to just pick it up and run away with it. So, I get it when some journalist writes an article about why we need to give up on Lauryn Hill, and someone like Talib Kweli responds with an article about why white people need to stop telling black people who we need to give up on. We can’t get caught up in other people’s dismissals because our circumstances aren’t the same. Lauryn Hill is a successful black woman, but she’s also one that’s lived a black girl’s experience. Given the things that all women go through and black women in particular, that means she’s had some trauma in her life. None of that erases her greatness—in the same way that Gil Scott Heron’s struggles [with addiction] didn’t erase his.
JM:
What would you say to the critics who’d argue that The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill was a singular success and that great musical legacies are created on a body of work and multiple successes?
BB:
I’d say she is great. And not only is she great, she gets better and better at it. I can’t say this enough: Lauryn Hill is an artist who does what she wants to do. She chooses whether or not to share her work with the world or keep it to herself. That kind of respect for her own genius is something we all need to appreciate. And she has more work than just Miseducation. The new stuff that’s coming is even iller than before. When she puts it out, it’s going to be amazing. I think people who say “Lauryn’s lost it” or wonder if she’s ever going to come back haven’t seen her perform. She’s been back.
JM:
Can you give an example?
BB:
Sure. In 2015, I curated a hip-hop festival at the Kennedy Center called Rock Like a Girl. I asked Lauryn to be the headliner, and she agreed. She killed it. Because of her the show sold out. There were lines around the corner, standing room only, and it was magnificent. Nas performed the same festival the night before, and he also sold out but believe me when I tell you that the crowd for Lauryn wasn’t just huge, it was so much bigger. There were people waiting around just in case people would come out. And I tell you, as soon as she got on the stage, there wasn’t a person in their seats. Maybe there was a time when she did have moments on stage that weren’t so stellar. So, she’s been late. She’s not the only artist that’s been late. Artists are always late. There’s this anti-Lauryn energy in the world that I don’t understand, but what I really don’t understand is when we as black people participate in it—especially black women. We have to hold our sister tight, hug her, and elevate her. We can’t be the ones on social media dissing her. People do less criticism of R. Kelly than they do of Lauryn Hill. Sometimes I feel like there’s an attack on Lauryn that’s basically because her truth—her power to the people and to blackness—is so deep.
Rock Like a Girl showed me something about Lauryn Hill. She came through for that festival because she’d been paying close attention to Black Girls Rock. I know this because I was told in no uncertain terms, “Bev, she’s doing this for you.” Now Lauryn doesn’t really know me, but she feels that the work that I’m doing for black women and girls is important. Her statement about being on the show was, “I am here for black girls.” She’s here for us.
JM:
And really always has been.
BB:
Always has been. Which is why we have to be there. Lauryn Hill was great, and she loved and worshipped black people. You have to appreciate when that happened in your lifetime and in your generation. You have to appreciate her the way you appreciated Stevie Wonder or the way you appreciated Nina Simone. Lauryn Hill nurtured a rare, beautiful genius until it became her superpower. That will always matter.
JM:
So, let’s talk about these songs.
BB:
The Lauryn Hill songs I chose for this playlist—“Everything is Everything,” “Ex-Factor,” “Just Like Water”—are some of my favorites. I chose “The Score” because I wanted some Fugee representation, since it’s her point of origin and because her work on that record is amazing. I chose “The Sweetest Thing” because it represents the sensual side of Lauryn. That was one of the things she brought to her music. It wasn’t all spirituality and community. It was sensuality as well and the combination reflects how well-rounded she was. I love that.
JM:
I love that you included Chaka Khan’s “Sweet Thing” and Ohio Players’ “Sweet Sticky Thing” in your collection of “sweets.” Phoebe Snow, Roberta Flack, Aretha Franklin. They all really speak to that sound, the archive of soul greats that she’s so clearly inspired by and whose DNA is all over Miseducation.
BB:
When I thought about Lauryn and Chaka, I thought [not only] about Chaka’s voice, but the energy and depth of her artistry as well. You know, a lot of people miss that because they just focus on her sensuality but there’s so much more to her. There’s also a link between Chaka’s faith and her art, that’s similar to Lauryn. Chaka is the complete package, so to speak. And Lauryn is very reminiscent of Chaka in that way.
JM:
I feel she influenced their later work too. There’s that great moment when she writes and produces Aretha Franklin’s “A Rose Is Still a Rose” and it goes up against “Doo Wop (That Thing)” for Best R&B Song of the Year which means Lauryn was essentially competing against herself. No way, you know I’m going to go look for you now. Let’s talk about Tupac. I think that there are some people who might be surprised to see him on here, but if you think about it, they’re artists who shared some of the same trajectory. They’ve both had incredible highs in terms of artistic achievement and they’ve both known the lows of a prison sentence. In some respects, both Tupac and Lauryn were trapped by the limits of public personas that masked their complexities.
BB:
I feel like Tupac and Lauryn are kindred spirits. He and Lauryn are cut from the same cloth in a lot of ways. Both of them utilized their art as a kind of activism and healing for black people. Their love for community was real and with Tupac, you can really see that in a song like “Dear Mama.”
JM:
Kanye?
BB:
I love Kanye! You know when we think of male rappers we tend to think that their only musical influences are other men and I just don’t think that’s true—whether they admit to it or not. I think they were also influenced by some of the women and Lauryn is certainly one of them. When Kanye does that introspective lesson/sermon thing on “Heard ’Em Say,” I can hear Lauryn’s influence on him because that’s something that she mastered. So, if he’s going to go down that lane, I’m gonna have to give Lauryn Hill some credit for it. Kanye also produced Talib’s “Get By.” Talib and Lauryn are very close and when you listen to the composition of that song, you can hear the ways they were influencing each other. Same goes for Mos Def. Lauryn was an artist he could turn to for inspiration, depth, and truth. Childish Gambino, J. Cole, and Kendrick Lamar are on here for similar reasons. And both Drake’s “Nice for What?” and Cardi B’s “Be Careful” sample tracks from Miseducation. Sometimes when we talk about great people in hip hop, Lauryn doesn’t get the credit she deserves because people feel that she doesn’t have enough work. Yet the work she does have showcased these levels of depth and complexity. Kendrick is an artist who exhibits the same kind of depth and layered complexity that Lauryn Hill absolutely represent
s. So, when I think about Kendrick’s influences, I definitely have to add Lauryn Hill to that list. When I look at these young artists like J. Cole and I think of their influences, I’m going to consider Lauryn. Because when you hear “Be Free” you can’t really point to Biggie or Jay. You’d have to point to a Nas, a Mos Def, or a Lauryn. Same for Rapsody. I love that she’s new and different. She’s trying to go deeper and trying to take us back to the hip hop that was lyrical, stylized, had cadence and flow and content that mattered. She’s definitely walking in that Lauryn Hill space. I don’t think they give her enough credit and she still managed to get nominated for that Grammy with all them dudes.
JM:
D’Angelo being on here feels so right to me and not just because he and Lauryn collaborated on “Nothing Even Matters” for Miseducation. They’re both artists who resisted market demands and public pressure to put out albums before they were ready to do it. And they got a lot of criticism for it. But they both took time also, lived their lives, and went through their challenges. Ultimately, I think the work is better for it. Same goes for Maxwell.
BB:
When it comes to their artistry and the way they approach it, I think those three are all kindred spirits. They’re all influenced by the fullness of the musical legacies that came before them and it gives their work layers and dimension. First and foremost, they do their art for themselves and they do it when they want to. We forget that we can’t command great artists to create for us on demand, and when they do we usually get something that’s different [from] what we love that artist for. Maybe some people can do it, and it’s okay if they can. If you make pop music especially, then that ability is great. But when I know that if [we] wait on an artist’s authentic process that we’re going to get some level of greatness, I’m not going to put a rush on him. I’m going to wait. And if Stevie Wonder wants to make one album every ten years, I’m gonna go buy that album because Stevie made it.
JM:
There’s such a parallel between Stevie’s “Have a Talk with God” and Lauryn’s “Tell Him.”
BB:
It’s that beautiful moment that you turn to when life is hard, and you decide to just go have a talk with God. It’s not about the religion that he chose to sing it through. It’s really about him telling you that in order to get through it you’re going to have to go within and speak to the Spirit. Speak to the light force. Speak to the universe, meditate, and then take those moments to determine your truth. Lauryn also does that for us on “Tell Him.” I definitely think she’s been influenced by Stevie Wonder.
JM:
The playlist includes so many of the genres that Lauryn references in her work—soul, hip hop, reggae, R&B—but it also takes a diasporic approach to black music. I mean Fela Kuti is on here.
BB:
Lauryn’s rhythms are definitely influenced by reggae, Bob Marley being the most obvious, and not just because she’s now a member of the Marley family. I chose Black Uhuru because they have that soulful reggae sound with a strong beat and bass that always felt like just the right amount of sexiness. It feels like that moment when you first walk into the room and you know the mood and the vibe is right. That cool that’s just part of the black experience. It felt like the kind of party Lauryn would have been at. As far as Fela Kuti, Lauryn uses a lot of African music. She did a remix of “Lost Ones” with “Zombie” at Rock Like a Girl and when I tell you she murdered it, it was so beautiful, Joan. She started with “Lost Ones,” mixed in “Zombie,” then she brought out the African dancers. It was so dope. Fela’s art was so grounded in resistance and his truth—that raw truth that people are scared of, you know? Again, very similar to Lauryn. She also performed this song called the “The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth” that she’s never released. When we were editing the show every single one of the editors—all of them young white guys—played that back over and over. Everybody listened to that song, young and old, black and white, and people were really rooting for her. It was like she touched everybody’s spirit all over again, just like 1998 or 1999.
JM:
The playlist made me remember how many collaborations Lauryn’s done with other artists—female and male: Jill Scott, Mary J. Blige, Nas, The Roots.
BB:
Yeah. Lauryn is an artist that is able to cocreate. It’s given us some beautiful stuff. I have Nas and The Roots on here because I like that combination of energy between men and women singing together and creating together. It reminded me of Lauryn’s days in the Fugees. Or Roberta Flack and Donny Hathaway. The blackness and the realness, the duets.
JM:
I think Mary J. Blige’s My Life has got to be one of my favorite ’90s black-girl moments ever. That album and Miseducation didn’t just provide us with soundtracks for our lives, they give us the catharsis we needed.
BB:
They were both so raw and vulnerable. Their gift to us was that they were able to remain so unguarded in their art. They let their pain out for us to see and that gave us permission to release our own. Mary literally sang our pain, you know. So did Lauryn.
JM:
There’ve been a lot of comparisons made between Solange’s album A Seat at the Table and Miseducation. Why did you include her on the playlist?
BB:
Solange has been making some really good music for a long time, but A Seat at the Table is one that’s very reminiscent of Lauryn Hill. It’s an album about that inward journey and it’s delivered to us in sermons that make us also turn inward. Great music does that. You can just tell that Lauryn is one of Solange’s influences. Both Solange’s “Weary” and Erykah Badu’s “Didn’t Cha Know” offer up layers of their hearts. They’re both very introspective songs that offer lessons through these musical sermons. Lauryn was one of the rare artists [who] was able to do that without finger-pointing. Erykah and Solange do that here too.
JM:
Yeah. I definitely feel that Lauryn offered Solange a template for what a black woman’s vulnerability and exploration could look like. Lauryn didn’t have a template from her generation. She had to find that in the previous generations’ soul singers. But as for how a woman could do that with hip hop and R&B, she had to create that model for herself. People sometimes forget how hard it is to be the first.
BB:
And I absolutely see that as a problem. It also speaks to how great Lauryn really is because she had to pioneer the territory, and that’s no easy road. That’s how you get something like Jazmine Sullivan’s “Masterpiece” [in] that she talks about being comfortable with who you are because you’re already born a masterpiece. The power in Jazmine’s voice, its rawness and its soulfulness remind me of Lauryn. That’s why Rihanna’s on here. She’s certainly pop, but she has a rawness, [an] edginess that comes from walking your own path. I feel Rihanna can do that because that ground has already been broken. Lauryn paved the way for that freedom and Rihanna inherited it. And I think that’s beautiful.
JM:
And that freedom to just be herself was hard-earned. We owe her for that.
BB:
Because what happens if we don’t have that music to inspire us? I had to call somebody out on it one time because she was arguing that Lauryn didn’t matter because she hasn’t done anything lately. Why do you think that’s okay to publicly slam somebody for no real reason? Or make them a joke, especially someone who’s given us such greatness. Because where would we be without her? Jay-Z’s “Moonlight” is on here because he reminds [us] of what they did to Lauryn Hill. They sent this woman to jail. We can’t be the ones to critique this woman [without] acknowledging what happened to her. This black woman has represented us in such a huge way. So stop. Please stop.
JM:
I think people also forget what the climate was like when Miseducation came out. While writing this book I had to go back and look at how we were being represented in the late ’90s. It was a really hard time to be a woman in hip hop, or one who loved hip hop. We needed Lauryn so b
adly. We needed the win.
BB:
We did. Yeah, we did. We absolutely did.
JM:
She gave it to us and then people turned right back around and burdened her with saving the genre. For years it was like, “Come back and save hip hop.” With five kids. I have a hard enough time working with one. I was like, “Hasn’t she done enough?”
BB:
Exactly. Why are we demanding that of this woman?
JM:
Especially black women. Because it’s not like we don’t know that we’re always being asked to save the world.
So, let’s finish this out with Nina Simone.
BB:
Why Nina Simone? I mean, that’s just obvious. Lauryn Hill is our generation’s Nina Simone. She’s our Nina. That’s who she is.
Acknowledgments
Maferefun gbogbo Egun, especially Miss Ann, Celia, Victor, Merriam, Grandma Rachel, Tall Walking Joe, Organza, Bird, and The Koramantee. To answer your question, Bird: “Yes. I have met me. Finally.” Maferefun Elegba, for the doors you opened and the ones you closed and for the words of guiding wisdom from your son Esu Adewa. Maferefun to my mother Yemoja and my “Auntie” Oshun for taking the wheel. Maferefun Olokun for teaching me to pay less attention to how much farther there is to swim and more to the fact that I have never drowned.
To my agent Sarah Lazin and my editor Rakesh Satyal, thank you for the opportunity to tell this story and the unerring faith that I could, even in the face of harrowing deadlines. To the ATRIA crew: Yona Deshomme, Loan Le, and Stephanie Mendoza, how many thanks? Many, many. Mi seh many many many.