Lauryn Hill: MTV Unplugged Version 2.0

More than just a phenomenally assured solo debut from a gifted and idiosyncratic voice, The Miseducation Of Lauryn Hill represented, for much of America, a watershed moment in hip-hop's pursuit of mainstream acceptance. Accessible enough to rack up an armload of Grammys and score major video play, yet authentic enough to win over critics and underground purists, Miseducation had a profound impact. That burdened Hill with a sense of iconic significance that went above and beyond her considerable gifts as a singer, songwriter, and performer. Hill has kept a low profile since Miseducation, which has only whetted appetites and increased expectations for her follow-up. Those expectations seem to have made a profound impact on her art and psyche, as the Hill that emerges on Unplugged seems less like a superstar reconnecting with her adoring public than a vulnerable woman traumatized and transformed by the pressures of her role in popular culture. Never one to shy away from enormous challenges, Hill uses her Unplugged performance not in the traditional sense—as an opportunity to rework beloved past songs—but instead presents emotionally wrenching new songs in a stripped-down format that accentuates their raw edges and intense emotions. Unfortunately, she also saw fit to include every last bit of stage banter from the show, which would be forgivable if it didn't constitute nearly an album's worth of stream-of-conscious ranting that alternately suggests a ragged self-help lecture, a late-night gab session, and a nervous breakdown. Much of Hill's stage patter revolves around the liberating power of truth and honesty, a major theme of the disc's 13 songs. Opening with yet another thinly veiled attack on Wyclef Jean ("Mr. Intentional"), Unplugged alternates personal love songs with angry jeremiads that resonate with the potency and indignation of protest songs, even if it's sometimes unclear exactly what they're protesting. "Mystery Of Iniquity," for example, seems open to interpretation both as a furious attack on the musicians who sued Hill for credit and compensation, and as a harsh rebuke of President Bush and abuses of power in general. Elsewhere, Hill combines the spiritual, personal, and political with such blinding emotional force that it's impossible to separate the three. Of course, her Achilles' heel has always been a tendency toward self-righteousness, and Unplugged's raw textures push that element to the forefront, particularly on overwrought early tracks like "Adam Lives In Theory." Buried within two discs and 100-plus minutes of psychobabble, self-help happy talk, ranting, and preaching is a raw album of stunning power and honesty. It's just a shame that Hill doesn't allow her eloquent and moving music to speak for itself.