Lauryn Hill

Though the press made much of her balancing the demands of being in one of the most popular hip-hop groups of the mid-'90s and still trying to complete her undergraduate studies at Columbia University, to anyone with eyes and ears, it was clear that Lauryn Hill wasn't long for the Fugees or, for that matter, for school. Instead, she poured her energies into her solo debut, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, as earnest, unpretentious, and pleasantly sloppy an album as any woman of the hip-hop generation has ever made. Hill was always an outstanding rapper, but Miseducation showed her to be a more-than-competent singer as well on songs like "Doo Wop (That Thing)" and "Everything Is Everything." By turns socially engaged, personally revelatory, and, in the hip-hop tradition, a bit arrogant, Miseducation managed to filter hip-hop through a womanist lens, resulting in an album that appealed to an improbably wide spectrum of listeners.

Miseducation made Hill a superstar of epic proportions: She earned five Grammys and found herself at the focal point of hip-hop's crossover into the mainstream. But by all accounts, the pressure on her was overwhelming, and she quickly slipped out of the public eye. In her downtime, Hill renounced her old image, radically altering her wardrobe and her hairstyle; rediscovered a profound spirituality; and grappled with problems with both her manager, whom she fired, and her husband, Rohan Marley, one of Bob and Rita's sons. When Hill finally reemerged on MTV Unplugged, she was a woman transformed. The two-disc recorded version of the concert captures the performance in all its eccentricity. In between songs, Hill meanders through a set of spoken interludes, in which she discusses spirituality, personal responsibility, and her own struggles with fame. The songs themselves, though they hew to the same subject matter, aren't any more focused. "Adam Lives in Theory" and "Mystery of Iniquity" are just plain confusing, a bizarre set of statements from an artist whose shtick was once self-assuredness. The sentiment of the set, both explicit and implied, can be summed up in one song title: "I Gotta Find Peace of Mind." True enough. (JON CARAMANICA)

From 2004's The New Rolling Stone Album Guide