Lauryn Hill Kills Them Softly on Stage - Rolling Stone
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Lauryn Hill Kills Them Softly on Stage

Grammy Winner Mixes Up the Hits During Live Show

Universal Amphitheater, Los Angeles, March 5, 1999

Lauryn Hill brought the improvisational quality of
her solo debut to the stage of L.A.’s Universal Amphitheater Friday
night as she chatted to the packed house, incited a good-natured
band-vs.-DJ feud and sang along to freestyle, jamming versions of
her own hits and Fugees‘ “classics.”

It was the first of three sold-out shows at the 6,251-seat venue,
and one of the first performances following Hill’s sweep of the
Grammys for her solo debut, The Miseducation of Lauryn
. The audience — a wide mix of ages, ethnicities and
styles — was pumped up and more than ready to throw their hands in
the air and sing the “Doo Wop (That Thing).” But Hill challenged
them by delivering reworked versions of her own songs, and plenty
of unexpected sonic diversions — from her drummer banging out a
furious solo on upside-down, plastic buckets to some a cappella
harmonizing by her backup singers.

Hill hit the stage wearing a long, orange and white wrap/skirt,
a white T-shirt and a Levi’s jacket (the show was sponsored by the
clothing company.) The petite singer’s infamous dreads were covered
by a large, white knit cap, and her thin wrists adorned with a
multitude of bangles. She was surrounded by fifteen performers (who
also wore a plethora of Levi’s jeans, jackets and skirts), a group
that included two DJs, three horn players, a percussionist and
organ player, as well as a core set-up of drums, bass, guitars and
backup singers.

With a stained-glass window effect projected on a backdrop, she
started with a highly spiritual rendition of “Ex-Factor,” an
otherwise sad song about a relationship gone sour. It was a mellow
set starter, especially after opening act Outkast
had riled the audience with a hard-hitting and tight set. She
infused following songs like “Hurts So Bad” and “Forgive Them
Father” with dubby, reggae breaks, impromptu lyrical changes and
some experimental instrumentation.

The younger audience members seemed initially taken aback by the
band’s unfaithful versions of the songs, like the gospel quality of
the opening number and the freestyling vocals. This type of
improvisation was a callback to the Seventies, a time when groups
like Funkadelic or artists like Stevie Wonder actually jammed
free-form, but now most rappers (even supposed freestylers) and
bands stick to the same safe formula and familiar songs that got
them on the radio. But Hill’s risky approach paid off.

The impressive execution of the songs and Hill’s charisma kept the
interest level high. A medley of Fugees hits — “Ready or Not,”
“Fu-Gee-La” — pumped the audience mid-set, Hill stalking the stage
and eventually shedding her long skirt to expose a pair of cuffed
jeans (They weren’t Levi’s.) She played off of fellow MC
Abe Mola McMullen‘s “uh huh, uh huhs,” then hit
vocal harmonies with the back-up singers (one a grade-school friend
of Hill’s) that were pure and often transcendent. Hill’s voice
often proved the roughest of the four singers, but her passionate
delivery of the soulful lyrics made each of her well-written songs

Hill played out her own battles between old-school Seventies soul
and Nineties DJ culture with a battle between her band and two DJs.
Asking the audience to applaud for the winning songs, the band
played bits of classic hits like the Jackson Five’s “I Want You
Back” (Hill’s voice hitting those impossible, early-Michael highs)
and Stevie Wonder’s “Sir Duke,” while DJs shot back with spins of
Jay Z’s “Can I Get a …” and Puffy’s “All About the Benjamins.”
Finally, she announced that it was time to bring the two together
and meet somewhere in between, and she launched into her own number
“Every Ghetto, Every City.” They closed the set with a short
version of “Doo Wop (That Thing),” with the audience singing so
loud it almost eclipsed Hill.

The encore consisted of the Fugees’ cover of Roberta Flack’s 1973
hit “Killing Me Softly,” Hill’s voice hitting tearful, emotional
crescendos. But perhaps the most pointed moment was when Hill sang
“Superstar,” a musical commentary about all the unoriginal artists
on the scene today. “Everything you drop is so tired,” she sang,
“Music is supposed to inspire, how come we ain’t getting no
higher?” With this attitude, the singer challenged her audience,
never underestimating their taste for adventure. The show ended
with a sense of mutual respect, Hill’s fans assured that the singer
believed in them as much as they believed in her.

In This Article: Lauryn Hill


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