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Caught Off-Key
The Moments, the Minutes, the Hours:
The Poetry of Jill Scott by Jill Scott
The Poetry of Jill Scott by Jill Scott
It is undeniable that singer Jill Scott is talented.
Her debut album Who is Jill Scott? helped to
reinvigorate the lagging R&B genre by bringing
a contemporary urban poetic voice--albeit
fiercely feminine--to a music that has since been
usurped by the now dominant Hip-Hop genre.
She sang of lost loves, new loves, cheating
loves, her love of self, and her love of God,
creating an unpolished but well-executed essay
on the inner-most thoughts of the modern black
woman.
Similar to Alanis Morissette's Jagged Little Pill,
Scott's words rang like...well...poetry, turning
what could have been ordinary song lyrics into
intriguing and heartfelt journal entries put to
music (see also Lauryn Hill's The Miseducation
of Lauryn Hill). What prevented Scott from
becoming a construction no greater than its
parts--beyond the sheer determination never to
be forgotten (read Madonna)--was her genuine
talent as both a singer and poet. Her lyrics were
fun, insightful, witty, and exuberant in their raw
honesty, and likewise, her voice followed suit,
bobbing and weaving with each word.
Why then does her poetry, sans music, fall flat?
In The Moments, the Minutes, the Hours, Scott's
poetry lacks the shine of her recorded lyrics,
and stops just shy of mundane. One will indeed
believe they are reading her journal entries--
and not the good ones. While some of the
poems garner snickers and smiles, many of
them do nothing to expand the boundaries of
literature, let alone poetry. There are no
insights here, no revelations, no true
manipulations of words and context, no fun.
In fact, there is a single-mindedness about this
book that is annoying. With her talents, it would
have been amazing to see, for instance, her
view on things other than the limited topics
covered in this book, which include a heaping
dose of women and bad relationships. We’ve
seen these topics covered better in both Ms.
Scott’s albums. We’ve heard lyrics that earned
a second or third or fourth listen. From One is
the Magic #: And if I divide 8 billion, 48 trillion,
98 zillion, there is just me/If I subtract 1+ me to
the 5th degree, use any theorem, there’s just
me. Or from her hallmark song, A Long Walk:
Your background, it ain’t squeaky
clean/Sometimes we all gotta swim
upstream/You ain’t no saint, we all are sinners,
but you put your good foot down to make your
soul a winner.
This book is not all a loss, just a mild
disappointment. Of the best of the lot: Across
Your Bread, The Last Time, Potty Trained,
Radio Blues, Pocket Size #1, and When the
Women Gather are reminiscent of her past
work. Old School Lovin’ is perhaps the best
poem in the book, which leaves the reader with
plenty of B-side poetry, and a caged bird who
doesn’t sing. P&A
Her debut album Who is Jill Scott? helped to
reinvigorate the lagging R&B genre by bringing
a contemporary urban poetic voice--albeit
fiercely feminine--to a music that has since been
usurped by the now dominant Hip-Hop genre.
She sang of lost loves, new loves, cheating
loves, her love of self, and her love of God,
creating an unpolished but well-executed essay
on the inner-most thoughts of the modern black
woman.
Similar to Alanis Morissette's Jagged Little Pill,
Scott's words rang like...well...poetry, turning
what could have been ordinary song lyrics into
intriguing and heartfelt journal entries put to
music (see also Lauryn Hill's The Miseducation
of Lauryn Hill). What prevented Scott from
becoming a construction no greater than its
parts--beyond the sheer determination never to
be forgotten (read Madonna)--was her genuine
talent as both a singer and poet. Her lyrics were
fun, insightful, witty, and exuberant in their raw
honesty, and likewise, her voice followed suit,
bobbing and weaving with each word.
Why then does her poetry, sans music, fall flat?
In The Moments, the Minutes, the Hours, Scott's
poetry lacks the shine of her recorded lyrics,
and stops just shy of mundane. One will indeed
believe they are reading her journal entries--
and not the good ones. While some of the
poems garner snickers and smiles, many of
them do nothing to expand the boundaries of
literature, let alone poetry. There are no
insights here, no revelations, no true
manipulations of words and context, no fun.
In fact, there is a single-mindedness about this
book that is annoying. With her talents, it would
have been amazing to see, for instance, her
view on things other than the limited topics
covered in this book, which include a heaping
dose of women and bad relationships. We’ve
seen these topics covered better in both Ms.
Scott’s albums. We’ve heard lyrics that earned
a second or third or fourth listen. From One is
the Magic #: And if I divide 8 billion, 48 trillion,
98 zillion, there is just me/If I subtract 1+ me to
the 5th degree, use any theorem, there’s just
me. Or from her hallmark song, A Long Walk:
Your background, it ain’t squeaky
clean/Sometimes we all gotta swim
upstream/You ain’t no saint, we all are sinners,
but you put your good foot down to make your
soul a winner.
This book is not all a loss, just a mild
disappointment. Of the best of the lot: Across
Your Bread, The Last Time, Potty Trained,
Radio Blues, Pocket Size #1, and When the
Women Gather are reminiscent of her past
work. Old School Lovin’ is perhaps the best
poem in the book, which leaves the reader with
plenty of B-side poetry, and a caged bird who
doesn’t sing. P&A
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