Ta-Nehisi Coates, commenting on this piece by Teresa Wiltz reminiscing on Lauryn Hill's1998 album The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, doesn't understand the ongoing fascination:
At this point, I'm kinda tired of hearing about her. For a moment, she had the touch, and now something's gone terribly wrong. A tragedy, no doubt. But not one that requires regular notations on a career that hasn't produced anything of note in a decade.
Everyone in my 10th grade class was bumping Miseducation, even if they fronted like they weren't. It was an immensely popular album, but more importantly it was an immensely popular album by a woman, who was arguably the last serious lyrical female voice in hip-hop. She was and is an icon of self-determination, perhaps the only woman who demands a spot on the top 10 emcees of all time (at least the top 15). She demanded this kind of recognition not "as a woman" but as an emcee: She was as brolic as they come, all the subsequent hits make it easy to forget that album opens with a scathing diss track aimed at Wyclef Jean.
Female emcees before and since have primarily entered the culture on pop or sex appeal, and those who haven't (like Jean Grae) never got the kind of respect that comes from being a sick lyricist and a pop success. There was this one brief moment where it seemed like there was a space for women in hip-hop culture as something other than objects, and it faded when Lauryn lapsed into obscurity.
To the extent that there's an obsession with Lauryn, I think it has much to with the fact that it seemed like for a moment, the culture was changing, and that her presence would open the door for subsequent female emcees with comparable or greater talent. The tragedy is not just that Lauryn disappeared but that no one stepped through the door after she was gone. When I was graduating from high school, young women looking to see themselves reflected in hip-hop culture had Lauryn Hill. Who do they have now?
-- A. Serwer
