2000: Jill Scott, Who Is Jill Scott? Words and Sounds Vol. 1
By Tomás Miriti Pacheco
Describing her introduction to poetry, Jill Scott recalls the eighth-grade classroom in which a favorite teacher first presented to her the work of Nikki Giovanni. “I felt like I was really seeing a reflection of myself,” she said in an interview with NPR. “ Just sitting in between grandma’s legs getting my hair done, and y’know the sound of the water plug. All of those things I knew very well.” Scott’s writing reflects her joy at these precious moments in the detail she gives to them, and it is in the prices of groceries, the category of the clouds, and guilty farewells that the question of Who is Jill Scott? begins to take shape. Her work is lyrical in its praise of these every-day things, and how this praise demands singing; even reading from her poetry collection The Moments, the Minutes, the Hours, the words seem to draw out the elated highs and earthy lows of her voice. On the first volume of her Words and Sounds trilogy the two are indistinguishable, she bends a melody around a romantic tale as easily as she builds one from the letters of her name.
A teacher played an equally large role in my experience with poetry—my freshman year I discovered that my English teacher doubled as head of the slam poetry team, and his guidance would open up another world of writing and performance. However, where Scott’s poetry informed her songwriting, I aimed to write lines as pointed and memorable as those I first recognized in music. As a little kid, I treasured those lyrics which seemed to strike out with the full force of the song behind them. Booming from the wood-cased speakers in the living room or floating from the kitchen alongside the smell of sizzling fat, I grasped onto them with what little understanding I had, snippets of song I could remember enough to belt out in sync before returning to a silent head-nod. Jill Scott’s work was rife with them, and in many cases their distinction can be traced back to her poetic technique. On an early favorite (and, incredibly, her first time songwriting), The Roots’ “You Got Me”, the hook’s lilting, provocative tune is defined by its distinct line breaks: “If you are worried bout where/I been or who I saw or/what club I went to with my homies/baby don’t worry you know that you got me”.
Scott’s toolbox of spoken word devices makes her a unique talent, but I believe the honesty she uses them to convey is the common factor in her debut album’s best moments. That is to say, when she answers its titular question, if not in a single manner or right away. “It’s nice to be here, so let me do my thing”, she declares on the “Jilltro”. On the cover, her head is turned softly to the side, eyes hidden under the brim of her hat, stoking anticipation for the big reveal. We are meant to wonder Who is Jill Scott? and to note what she lets slip through chronicles of love and heartbreak in a world that is familiar if not always friendly.
Though knowing nothing about the embarrassment of being identified at the supermarket by the smell of a lover, or the anger of being lied on by their ex, I always sang along to the outro of “Gettin’ In the Way”. What I did understand was the moment the honey soprano of the chorus shattered into a voice stretched with irritation talking about “everything beautiful between me and him/and here come you and your big mouth”, that these were fighting words. I knew that love was something worth fighting for, and I knew that Jill Scott was not afraid to do so because she was announcing it to one woman in front of the whole world. Here her attention to detail creates the sensation of being let in on this spontaneous, personal moment as it is happening, and she maintains it even through her threats.
The music video for “A Long Walk” does this so well it hardly needs anything in common with the song beyond the title. It strikes a rare balance between the extremes of using the song’s lyrics as a script and abandoning them entirely in favor of some related aesthetic. Scott’s words do not describe what we see from the perspective of her date, but the way they animate her face is crucial. As the walk continues, objects and people spring from black-and-white into vibrant color until it is clear that the neighborhood is as much a character as Scott herself. For “Jilly from Philly”, even as she wails about the abstractions of the mind, nothing is so grandiose that it cannot be accompanied in the greeting of a passing friend or the brightness of children’s play clothes.
Last year at college I had the honor of hearing Nikki Giovanni speak. She was crass and insightful, and by the time of the standing ovation there were too many truths ratting about my head to count. However, one moment stood out with the honesty around which Scott had built her style. A student asked a question about his and our responsibility as, presumably, future leaders. “I’m really not sure what you mean,” she began. “By responsibility, do you mean you think you have something other people don’t? Be a good neighbor, what else can you hope for?”
Tomás Miriti Pacheco is a poet and journalist from Columbus, Ohio. His work can be found in Columbus Alive, Ruby Hornet, and local youth publications.