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The Hills of HillThe Hills of Hill: Lauryn Hill’s Struggle for Reality in Her Music
Between the frenzied crowd’s chanting for an encore of Jurassic 5’s dynamic deejaying and their excited anticipation of Outkast’s rhythmic rapping, a lone woman walks onto the stage, carrying only her bag. Wearing a simple shirt and pants as if she came to the concert after picking up her children from school, she sits on a chair and exchanges her bag for a guitar. Murmurs travel through the crowd: “Is that really Lauryn Hill?” Perhaps instead of asking whether that is “really Lauryn Hill”, we might more aptly say “that is the real Lauryn Hill.” While that summer night on July 18, 2002 at Shoreline Amphitheatre in Mountain View might have been the first time I met the real Lauryn Hill, this concert was not the first time she introduced her real self to her listeners. In her Unplugged performance at the MTV studios in New York City, Hill tells her audience that they are finally meeting Lauryn Hill, the person, not the performer. Even though she waits until after her first song to declare “[f]antasy is what people want, but reality is what people need” (Hill), these words are so intertwined with the fabric of her concert that by the time she actually asserts them, the reader has already comprehended her meaning. Although the process involves continual struggle, Lauryn Hill strives for a sense of reality as opposed to fantasy by sharing rather than performing her music.
At no point in her concert does Hill suggest that this pursuit of reality comes easily. Her metamorphosis seems to threaten those segments of society who still prefer Hill in a cocoon, or a “box” as she describes. Indeed, in a recent article in Rolling Stone, Hill’s spontaneous crying in the middle of a song is construed as an “emotional breakdown.” Recognizing media’s perception of her newfound desire to break convention, she admits that they deem her “emotionally unstable” (Hill). Considering that the Rolling Stone article still critiques Hill for her new style even more than a year after her Unplugged concert, we could easily envision Hill’s continuous struggle with shedding her commercial image for her more authentic self. Not only will she receive censure for her new “image” (what Hill might consider not an image at all), but she will have little latitude to figure out who she really is. Her avowal that “[she] doesn’t know who [she is]” yet makes people uncomfortable (Hill). The media seems to want a completed and finished image of Hill rather than a growing, evolving identity. Furthermore, that image seems to be the mini-skirt clad, hip-hop diva so prominently marketed in one of her previous videos “Doo Wop (That Thing).”
Not only does Hill admit to feeling this pressure to be image conscious, but we as viewers can understand this conflict through her actions. After playing her first song “Mr. Intentional,” she takes off one of her bracelets, admitting that she was “trying to be cute” (Hill). In effect, she is disrobing herself of the bling-bling that other hip-hop and rap artists clamber to wear. Still, we see that even such an authentic artist as Hill did wear a sign of fashion despite its possible interference with her guitar playing. Moreover, she continues to wear another tennis bracelet, which appears to be studded with diamonds. Rather than trying to judge Hill because she still wears a bracelet, I am trying to show that many of these desires are so embedded within our psyche that even those of us who try to rebel against these conventions still struggle with doing so. I speak personally as I take a moment to take off the bracelet that I, myself, am wearing despite its impeding my ability to type. Why? Because I have yielded to the notion that it gives me a better image, a more attractive and successful one.
Too often we don these signs of success or beauty in order to impress those around us. In two separate moments of her concert, Hill pauses to recount the ways in which we succumb to this pressure. She describes how she decided to change into more fashionable clothing immediately before the concert. In a humorous narration of her rushing about trying to find the right outfit, she reveals that she still felt the obligation to “dress up” for her audience (Hill). Much like the need we experience to present a false image of ourselves while dating (to which Hill alludes) Hill herself felt that she had to portray a more stylish image to the audience. However, she eventually resists conforming to the commercial image that is expected of so many celebrities as she appears in relaxed, comfortable clothing.
In a sense she struggles to “get out” of the box that she has been placed in. Interestingly, this self-proclaimed “hip-hop folk singer” does not use the past tense of the word, “I got out,” in her lyrics, nor does she use the future tense “I’ll get out.” Instead, through the use of the present tense “get” she suggests that she is still in the process of breaking free from these restrictions. Again, she emphasizes the sense that, like her yet untitled songs, she has not yet completed her journey; indeed, her words might imply that one never completes the journey. Rather, life itself is a process. After all, “anything that’s not growing is dead” (Hill).
“Dead” is certainly what Lauryn Hill is not. As we see her becoming increasingly emotional while singing “I Gotta Find Peace of Mind”, we have no doubt that Hill is a living, breathing, real person rather than a computer-generated, lip-synching disembodied voice much like most of the pop artists we witness today. As she cries, repeating “[w]hat a merciful God” again and again, she sounds much like someone chanting or praying, a moment of intense personal surrender. At this moment, we grasp the authenticity of Hill’s music. Stripped of her previous 40-person entourage, stripped of her computer-aided instruments, stripped of her mask, she lays bare herself as she shows us her most personal thoughts and emotions. We have experienced the reality of Lauryn Hill, the person.
Unrehearsed and unpolished, Hill seems at ease with sharing her emotions and imperfections. While many critics might deem her musicianship as inferior because her voice is not “immaculate” (Hill) and because she occasionally fails to reach the higher notes of a song, Hill admits that having a raspy voice, needing to drink tea in the middle of a performance, and sucking on a lozenge are all part of her reality. If the message of her music seeks to end the fantasy that imprisons us, then she offers herself as an example of an authentic self. She courageously shares her music despite her inability to present a polished image and voice.
Even if Hill’s voice itself had been flawless, her performance (for lack of a better word) would still have manifested her imperfections. Despite having a tablet of lyrics in front of her while singing, Hill still forgets the words to “I Get Out.” Rather than try to cover up her mistake by stumbling through with alternate words or humming the tune, she completely stops in the middle of the song until she remembers them. While she does offer a short laugh out of slight embarrassment, she recovers quickly, showing that the error was minor compared to the message of the entire song. Judging from the audience’s reaction, the mistake had little effect on their appreciation of the song. Indeed, the error seems to have made them appreciate the authenticity of her music even more as they offer her applause upon her continuing.
Even in the compact disc version of the concert, editing does not serve to eliminate these real errors in Hill’s music. With the advantage of computer technology and a recording studio, Hill could have easily presented a polished version of the very unpolished concert. However, the compact disc exactly replicates the actual Unplugged concert. Seemingly unconcerned with the image she is presenting, or desiring to present an image of authenticity, Hill allows the error-filled compact disc to be released. This decision remains consistent with her choice to continue playing at the concert even though they were no longer recording her. (Although they obviously did continue recording, Hill thought that they were not.) Through these choices, Lauryn Hill demonstrates that she does not care about commercial profit but about genuinely sharing her music.
Oddly enough, throughout the concert, in the background the viewer can look outside the studio windows at the commercial flashing neon signs of McDonalds, Virgin Records, Planet Hollywood, and Diet Coke. While Hill obviously could have had no role in positioning these marquees outside the MTV studio, they serendipitously serve as a contrast to the simple, relaxed font used for the “titles” of Hill’s songs. Not only do the signs themselves reflect this commercial industry from which Hill hopes to escape, but the actual products that they represent accentuate the values of that industry. In McDonalds we have the ultimate fast-food chain, one which has had the most success in advertising as Jack Solomon claims in his essay “Masters of Desire: The Culture of American Advertising.” Virgin Records displays a variety of musical performers, all representing the fashionable and polished world that Hill might consider a “box.” Even with the Coca Cola advertisement we see the added pressure that we should be drinking Diet Coke in an attempt to continue the image of thinness that media so expertly conveys to its viewers. And Planet Hollywood—what better symbol to show the life of fantasy? While we are in New York City, we are reminded of Hollywood, the land of glitz and glamour. Indeed, are we living on a planet called "Hollywood”?
Safe inside the intimate concert setting, however, Hill’s listeners can find shelter. If the world is “Planet Hollywood,” inside the walls of the MTV studio is a space where, at that moment, authenticity is sought after and attained. As a student, Heather Duran, so poignantly observed, most Unplugged concerts seldom extend the camera’s lens beyond the immediate audience and musical performer. Yet, in this concert, the camera travels throughout the room and beyond the windows of the building to contrast the cozy setting inside. The setting serves as a symbol of Hill’s approach to her music. Although she needs to sit on a stool to play her guitar, she seems to require very few physical boundaries between herself and her listeners. Complete with pillows, the room resembles a comfortable family room or den. Hill does not offer herself as an entertainer on stage; rather, she resists the distinction between performer and audience, sharing rather than performing her music.
In order for her to share her music, she solicits an interactive rather than a passive audience. Several times she asks them to raise their hands if they cannot hear the words to the song, if they object, or even if they want to offer a suggestion for a title to her songs. At one point in the concert, after sharing an emotional moment, Hill asks the audience “Are you alright?” In response, the audience offers applause. Typically, audiences have few options to communicate with the musician: clapping or yelling inarticulate “woo-woos” often comprise the extent of their choices. Yet in this case, Hill asks them to respond verbally to her. Thus, she does not want the sharing to be unidirectional; instead, she wants her listeners to share with her as well. In effect, her concert becomes a dialogue rather than a performance.
In fact, this desire for interaction explains why Hill talks as much if not more than she actually sings in her concert. To her, music is not just strumming chords on a guitar or singing a melody; rather, her music embodies truths and challenges that she hopes to convey to her listeners. Whether this communication occurs through literal music or the poetry of her spoken words, Hill serves as a storyteller more than a musician. She is “no longer a performer” (Hill).
Lauryn Hill makes people uncomfortable, whether it is the media, her listeners, or even those of us who merely have viewed a video of her concert. But she also makes herself uncomfortable. She challenges all of us including herself to improve ourselves, which allows us “to be free” (Hill). While she may receive criticism for seeming to preach the idea that we need reality rather than the fantasy that we blindly desire, she never swerves from her own introspection. Perhaps it is time for us to emulate her example of a rigorous self-examination. After all, we have “to understand what [we are] talking about before [we can] tell somebody else what [we are] talking about” (Hill).
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