It’s not easy being Mariah Carey. From the outside her life looks like roses and elderberries; a much younger husband, a closet the size of a small African nation, and an entire fleet of random people hired to laugh at every joke she makes. It’s the perfect life, The American Dream that we common folk fantasize about. But alas, life isn’t all country Manhattan kitchens and Manolo Blahnik heels for Ms. Carey. She may seem like an angel sent from above to grace us with her soprano, but she’s not perfect. She’s just like the rest of us damn it. These are her memoirs, the Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel.
It’s easy to dismiss an album with such a ridiculous title, but pretentious album titles seem to be Mariah’s stock in trade these days. Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel is Carey’s thirteenth studio album, and demonstrates why she has been the best selling female recording artist for two decades. Her voice is otherworldly yes, but she is also one of the shrewdest pop stars of all time. Like Diana Ross before her, she has her pulse on the market. She hires cutting edge producers and the best songwriters in the business to create impeccably crafted pop records.
For Memoirs, Carey recruited The-Dream, the undisputed heavyweight champion of over the top pop opulence. It’s as much of a Dream record as a Mariah record. His fingerprints are all over it. The drum machines are blunt and heavy, similar to Rick Rubin’s raw production values on the first LL Cool J album. Dream tempers the drums with syrupy sweet keyboards and piano. It’s a mixture of street toughness and grandeur, supplemented with Dream’s oddly chirpy background vocals.
The production is excellent, the beats strong. The problem is Mariah herself. She has a five octave vocal range. If you have the ability to break glass with your voice, you have an incredible gift. Unfortunately, I don’t think she’s ever learned how to use it. Despite what MTV and American Idol have shoved down our throats for the past fifteen years, singing is not about vocal pyrotechnics. Singing is about interpretation and emotion. Mariah has no idea what the word “interpretation” means. She uses the exact same inflection and cadence for every song, regardless of tempo. Towards the end, she dutifully trots out the notes that she has built her career on. The fifth octave should be used sparingly, so when you bring it out, it means something. To Mariah’s credit, she uses more restraint here than she has in the past; she actually sings the choruses instead of just randomly scatting over them, but her music would be so much more resonant if she didn’t trot out those high notes on every single track.
Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel is not a bad record. Mariah sings well and her charisma is undeniable. However, this was the first time I listened to a Mariah Carey record and was able to pick out the producer without even reading the credits. The-Dream’s production is totally unique, but we’ve heard Mariah thirteen times before.