If Mariah Carey has learned a single lesson through the evolution of her long career, it’s that she can’t please everyone. It’s no secret the songstress spent the first era of her career making, and keeping, the people happy; in this, she succeeded and was rewarded. The independence wielded in what is known as the “Butterfly era” however, began to disrupt this generally harmonious arrangement. As a result, the diverse rainbow of fans she has caught with the net of her dynamic instincts over the years have often waged war against each other over who was the “best” or the “real” Mariah, and with the exception of the “Lambs,” the self-proclaimed title of Mariah’s die hard fans, much of Mariah’s fan base has been a revolving door of disgruntled, newly recruited, and repentant supporters.
Mariah’s latest batch of bait, Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel, will unfortunately catch only more of the same. As much as we’re all waiting for Mariah to rediscover that transcendent kernel of musical genius that inspires the population beyond the moment, for now you’ll have to settle for the relatively decent hit seeker that is Memoirs. On this newest offering, Mariah’s drawn a line in the R&B sand, and the masses will have to find solace in the idea that the diva is planting permanent roots in the music she, and only she, wants to make. If you don’t like it, find the revolving door.
At times, the album falls into the same trap that too often befell E=MC2 i.e. trying to make another “We Belong Together.” However, one can overlook the similarities in vocal delivery and repetitive “come back baby please” themes a little more on this album, since Mimi plays further with her lyrical and vocal style and makes full use of her assets, as expected. The result is a more convincing, less forgettable pop-soul hybrid that seems more fitting of the “Emancipation sequel” seal that accompanied the previous album. More importantly, there’s no more Jermaine Dupri. Mariah enlists fellow hit maker Terius Nash a.k.a “The Dream” and producer “Tricky” Stewart to collaborate on the entire album. The trio made “Touch My Body” together, and vaguely desperate attempt to top the charts though it may be, the album, thankfully, is not one hour long “Touch My Body” song, although there is a good deal overuse of the finger snap sound. A whole lot. But you will be reminded of one thing throughout the album: the woman’s voice is some freak of celestial nature. If you’re a fan of the voice, you will purchase, and enjoy, the album.
On another note, the effort is yet another interesting insight into the artist’s psyche, most notably the underrated role her sense of humor plays in her music. The boldest example would have to be “Up Out My Face,” on which she postulates, “If we were two Lego blocks, even the Harvard University graduating class of 2010 couldn’t put us back together again,” all in about two bars, and in as many octaves. She continues to parody her own voice in places, a tradition that seemed to begin on E=MC2 with “Migrate,” and beats the crass to the punch with “More Than Just Friends” in which she invites her would be lover to make her “hit the top of my soprano.”
Mariah gives her 1st generation fans a few shout outs on songs like “Candy Bling” where she samples the obscure 90’s hip hop gem “Back in the Day” by Ahmad. On “Impossible,” cooing a love song most likely inspired by recent nuptials, Carey gives significant homage to Jodeci, inadvertently revealing the intriguing notion of what songs other than her own became a cultural influence during her hectic 90’s domination.
For pop Mariah lovers: sorry. There’s not much of an offering for you this time. There’s a sturdy ballad near the end called “Angel’s Cry,” which will remind you of a good song you’ve heard but can’t remember, and there’s the somewhat disappointing remake of “I Want to Know What Love Is.” It seems like Mimi was going for a sure thing on this one, so I wonder why she sabotaged it by phoning it in. It wasn’t even given the dignity of being as long as the original– I’m pretty sure cutting short a song with a gospel choir in it is a musical sin.
All in all the artistic impression Memoirs gives is one of a relaxed, ‘round-the-way, drama-addicted girl making music, which is somewhat of an impressive feat for a larger than life superstar with the unparalleled range and imposing presence of a diva. Her gift of melody informs the slow, hard beats she insists on in this stage of her career, lending her credible arrangements to an otherwise overexposed branch of her beloved hip hop. The album gives indelible voice to the spectrum of women looking for love in sometimes right, often times wrong, places– a fitting dedication to imperfect angels everywhere, past, present, and future.
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