Rhymes of Passion

The Fugees make rap, not war

"It's kinda hectic, man," says Wyclef "Clef" Jean, the Haitian-blooded rapper, songwriter and sonic engineer for the Fugees. "A lot of things are going on."

And, Jean should have added, those things are pretty damn nice--the kinds of things that only happen to a group experiencing its commercial breakthrough. The Fugees' first long-player, Blunted on Reality, received primarily positive reviews and mild sales success upon its 1994 release, but that response was nothing compared to what's happened since their latest disc, The Score, arrived in CD-store racks a little more than a month ago.

Powered by the cannily seductive single "Fu-Gee-La," The Score became one of the ten best-selling albums in the country in only its second week of life. What's more, the breadth and depth of the material on the new recording suggest it won't be pulling an instantaneous disappearing act, like the majority of rap long-players.

Careers in hip-hop aren't noted for their longevity, so it's impossible to state with certainty that this trio will be with us for the long haul. But the odds of survival look good because, unlike a lot of their contemporaries, the Fugees (Clef, Prakazrel "Pras" Michel and the sweet soulstress Lauryn "L" Hill) aren't a gimmick. There's substance in their grooves.

Moreover, this is the rare hip-hop combo that can actually perform its music live--an effort Jean, a skilled guitarist, insists upon. "The old-time groups, like Earth, Wind and Fire and Kool and the Gang, were real--they weren't put together by someone," he insists. "Those guys could really sing and they could really play music, whereas a lot of groups today are just pasted together."

The good notices earned by the Fugees for their music and their live shows appear to be adding fuel to a hype juggernaut that will either lift them to new heights or leave them in tatters by the side of the road. With equal parts excitement and weariness, Jean lists the latest demands on his time: "Even as we speak, we're shooting four hours' worth of footage for The Box [a video programming service], and then tomorrow we're shooting a video for 'Cowboys,' one of the songs on the album, and after that we're shooting another video for 'Killing Me Softly.' And we're doing a remix of 'Killing Me Softly,' too."

And on top of that, the group has just returned from lunch with the president of Ruffhouse, its recording company. Such an invitation is only proffered to combos that have been identified as priorities, and Jean knows it. "We expected things to move a little slower," he admits. "We weren't really expecting this. It's enormous."

The Fugees' sudden success indicates there's a considerable audience hungry for hip-hop that dares to explore subject matter other than drive-by shootings, gang funerals and hoisting 40s with your homeys. The Fugees are certainly capable of creating such narratives, but they're also drawing from other experiences. Michel was once a philosophy major at Rutgers, and Hill, an actress who appeared in the Whoopi Goldberg movie Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit, is juggling rap and studies at Columbia University. According to Jean, these life histories help the group to explode the usual clichŽs.

"See, we feel that blacks in general are really intelligent, but there are these stereotypes about us--especially rappers," he points out. "We're all supposed to have bad attitudes, and we're not supposed to be able to play instruments. All we do is walk around holding our microphones and holding our crotches, right? But that's not right, and when you listen to our album, you know it."

Not all of the words on The Score are fresh: Witness "How Many Mics," a familiar boasting opus brimming with lines like, "You loop over and over/Claiming that you've got a new style/Your attempts are futile/You're puerile/Your brain waves are sterile." But in addition to its predictable gibes, the number overflows with enjoyably incongruous references--to John Travolta, Alec Baldwin and the forgotten 1984 Corey Hart hit "Sunglasses at Night." Later, on "Ready or Not," a tale that deals in part with urban violence, Hill chants a lyric that speaks even more eloquently about the Fugees' contrary approach. "While you're imitating Al Capone," she intones, "I'll be Nina Simone."

In conversation, Jean doesn't skewer gangsta clichŽs quite so explicitly. He recognizes that rap buyers have certain litmus tests that they use to determine a recording's worth, and street credibility remains one of them. Hence, he makes a special effort to say, "Everything that we do started off on the streets, you understand? It's the street vibe.

"But we do other things, too. We're the first rap group in history where we're still seen as being a street band even though we've got a guitar player who's really playing. A kid who listens to a hard-core band like Mobb Deep will still listen to the Fugees."

Others will find the Fugees an intriguing blend of diverse cultures. The son of a minister, Jean was born in Haiti and moved to Brooklyn at age 9. A few short years later, he began making music with Michel, his cousin; Hill, a New York native who was then a freshman at the high school Michel was attending, eventually made the group a threesome. Before long, the Fugees--a slang term for "refugee" that they adopted after ditching their original moniker, Tranzlator Crew--had inked with Ruffhouse/Columbia. Blunted on Reality appeared a short time later, and "Nappy Heads," a single with shouted hooks and a good-time feel, received considerable airplay. But the album as a whole wasn't easily distinguishable from the mass of hip-hop releases. It was diverting, and interludes such as "Da Kid From Haiti" hinted at a more personal vision, but the production, by a series of industry pros, was of the cookie-cutter variety.

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