Ms. Lauryn Hill soars above the grumbling

With all the troubles Ms. Lauryn Hill, (as she insists) has put herself through, nothing matters except how she sounds, and that she sounds at all. A tax-evasion prison stint, missed recording deadlines, showing up late for gigs - these mean little when it comes to the continuing adventures in the Miseducation of Lauryn Hill (to quote the 1998 multi-platinum solo album from the onetime Fugee).

Before Hill's show Saturday at the Electric Factory with opener/friend the socio-conscious MC Talib Kweli, the question was: What would she sound like? Especially considering Kweli's defense on Medium.com of Hill's decision to experiment with hard reggae, folk, and skronky rock while remaking her hits for this tour. She's an evolving artist, not a rote jukebox, Kweli theorized. Audiences wrongly expecting otherwise should attend at their peril, or stay away.

On Saturday, audience members did exit in bunches when she hit the cocky acoustic calm of "Mr. Intentional," the weary, touching soul-rock of "Black Rage," and some who stayed grumbled when favorite Hill hits didn't sound the way they did in the past.

That's a shame. Hill was riveting and alluring as an emotive reinterpretive vocalist and a hard righteous rapper. Bouncing on her heels and swinging her dress hem, she was in constant motion. Even on a stool, strapped behind her acoustic guitar, she was jittery.

As for reinterpretation, "Killing Me Softly" (Hill's Fugees-era revitalization of the ballad that was a hit for Roberta Flack) spun like a curve ball. You never heard it coming - its molasses-slow windup, its tonal shifts - until she hit the chorus with her rousing baritone. "Everything is Everything" got a wiry reggae-rock workout with a stinging electric vibe that made phrases such as "I wrote these words for everyone / Who struggles in their youth / Who won't accept deception / Instead of what is truth" ring louder. It was no surprise that "To Zion" got a spacey, holy arrangement. The shocker came when Hill took to the Aretha Franklin hit "I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Love You)," with a deeply bluesy and romantic rumble. If you missed Hill, that's too bad. If you left early, well, that's just a mess.

As for the estimable opener Kweli, he did his low-voiced, smartly lyrical thing with Philly's most underrated vocal and compositional talent, Res, joining him for soulful licks and a snippet of Fleetwood Mac's "Dreams."