Fugees

Recent rumblings of a possible Fugees reunion have caused a commotion akin to a comeback album from A Tribe Called Quest or, in the case of indie rock, Pavement. Much of the excitement stems from The Score, a quintessential piece of intelligent and hooky hip-hop. "Ready or Not" dips and dives like a World War II submarine, "No Woman, No Cry" covers Bob Marley without a whiff of cheese, "Killing Me Softly with His Song" deftly references Roberta Flack, and "Fu-Gee-La" whirs by like a runaway train that just jumped the track.

The promise of a full-on Fugees reunion is all the more exciting when you consider what the trio's individual parts have done since The Score's release a decade ago. Wyclef Jean, for one, has emerged as the ultimate crossover artist, dropping Dylan on a bed of beats ("Knockin' on Heaven's Door") one moment and recording an R&B duet with Mary J. Blige the next ("911"). Meanwhile, Lauryn Hill's solo debut was a commercial and critical smash, coasting on the back of singles both bubbly ("Lost Ones") and contemplative (the "I chose life" ballad "To Zion," featuring Santana).

Don't be that guy if the Fugees return to the road sometime soon. Prepare yourself for the fan favorites beyond the hits, including the jazz-infused street jam "Recognition" and the bumping bootleg "Don't Cry Dry Your Eyes." And then there are such striking solo songs as the soprano-assisted "Apocalypse"; the sprawling, acoustic free verse of "Oh Jerusalem"; and the hard-hitting horn attack of "Where the Fugees At?"

It's remarkable how the Fugees' lingering legacy is based largely on one particularly resonant record, 1996's The Score. The album remains a benchmark of quality among alternative rap albums, even as hip-hop trends change by the month in the interim. The successful solo careers of the genre-less Wyclef Jean and the enigmatic, unparalleled Lauryn Hill haven't hurt the group's relevance either, of course, whether we're talking about the sunburst slide of "Doo Wop (That Thing)," the disco-hop fusion of "We Trying to Stay Alive," or the living, breathing goodbye letter "Gone Till November."