“This is for real, for real, for real. Oprah Winfrey-full segment, for real, for real. No fooling. I won’t beat around the bush here: I adore Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel, Mariah Carey’s latest, less-than-feted disc. (I’m not sure how many times I’ve listened to it, but it’s probably somewhere close to 50 or 60 plays.)
Songwriting partners Tricky Stewart and The-Dream (who put out an album of his own last year that was totally unfuckwithable), the under-heralded team that produced most of Angel, are geniuses, and deserve at least a couple parades in their honor. And anybody who contests – or has dismissed Angel and is all psyched up about forthcoming, rapper-heavy remix album Angels Advocate – that can fuck right off, or at least get up out my face. You’re probably part of why Carey’s planned Minneapolis concert – it was supposed to go down on this week – got canceled. (Okay, that’s a stretch. But a promoter could not be found for a fucking Mariah Carey concert? Seriously? This world is fucked up.)
The general lack of commercial and critical enthusiasm for Angel was disheartening, as if calculated to offer proof positive that if a songbird of a not-quite-cougar vintage wants to move units, she has no choice but to stock her album with ring-tone-ready club bangers, bow-throwing rappers, and gratuitous sexual innuendo.
