I know that I 'm later than Neffe's period...this was actually sitting in my Blackberry for weeks. Switching data over to a new phone, I found it. So...here goes...

I've been trying to write to you for sometime now. The words were never perfect. It's as if I'm having a "come-to-Jesus" talk with a loved one, telling them to get their shit together, get the hell off Grandma's couch and that we know they've been stealing from her purse.

It's hard, to say the least. But to hell with that: this must be said.

Okay, fine. After much prodding and coercing, I did it. I bit the bullet. I took the plunge. I swallowed. I listened your latest effort, "Emancipation Memoirs of an Imperfect Glittery Emotional Butterfly: Charmlessbracelet." I figured I should be fair, and at least illegally download it and give it a whirl before deeming it hot, smoking, sparkly pink trash.

And you didn't disappoint me.


As has been the case with many of your recent releases and performances, my first reaction to news of another album so soon after the failtastic bombing of "E=MC2" was (1)a deep, painful, weary-souled sigh, (2)a massive eye roll, and (3)"this bitch...again?"

Two lackluster albums so close together? It's safe to say that we both would like to imagine that last album never happened, huh?

I will first offer this bit of advice to you, Mrs. Carey-Cannon:

Adding words and, more importantly, syllables to your album titles improves neither its quality nor public reception. Emotions. Daydream. Music Box. Classics. These elaborately-worded titles crafted to show "depth" are not the way to atone for Glitter, Honey. In your attempt to pass yourself off as a mentally stable, artistically mature performer, you've gone off track along the way somewhere. And it would be in your best interest to get off Nick's dick and pull it together. Keep it short, make it amazing.

So. With all of that said, how do I resolve or justify my feelings for you? Easily.

As far as I'm concerned, your last release was 2005's "The Emancipation of Mimi," which was arguably your last coherent, well-thought out, beautifully-executed recording. I have convinced myself that sometime after that period, you settled down, had a baby with some unknown gentleman, and disappeared from the spotlight.
Everything that followed that album was released by an imposter. No, the Mariah that gave us "Butterfly," "Music Box" and "Emotions" is absolutely not the same singer that wanted her partner to "Touch [Her] Body" and demands that a stalker quit being so "Obsessed." No way. No how.

The Mariah whose passionate voice on "One Sweet Day" comforted a then 12-year old Alex as I rode to bury my favorite uncle is NOT the same Mariah that stomped around stages, poorly-lipping old hits and letting background singers tackle those early-90's vocal acrobatics....while stuffing that second trimester tree trunk of a body into sausage casing minidresses while on the Adventures of Mimi Tour.

The youthful, angelic-voiced Mariah that frolicked in a field with Crackwhore Insemenator 5000, Old Dirty Bastard, is not the same Mariah that now relies on studio tricks, hides behind production, and offers live performances that could otherwise be featured in American Idol's cringe-worthy, laughable audition footage.


And if there is any doubt of bias, you're probably right. I miss the Mariah that sang her face off while secretly wanting to jump face-first off Tommy Mattolla's balcony. I need to hear from the Mariah that used choirs of fat, sangin' colored women to add to already-flawless vocals, not to hide those bargain bin riffs.
 
This is not an instance where brilliant music is universally overlooked. This is not like Robin Thicke's first (pre-Neptunes) CD, A Beautiful World, Kelis' Wanderland, or Res' How I Do. This is bad music getting bad sales. Period.

Just like the public with this new CD, I aint buyin' it. Get off Grandma's couch, pack your shit and step into the light.

Female artists tend to make amazing music while enduring hardship. Look to early 90's Mary J Blige (drugs, abuse), Mid-90's Whitney (drugs, insanity, blinding love) and Janet's Velvet Rope (depression) for examples. Maybe a little domestic abuse might be good for the career, eh? Ask Rihanna.

Anywho, I hope this finds you well. I pray that reports of pregnancy are true. It's time for a break...moreso for my benefit, honestly. This just isn't working. It's not me. It's absolutely you. Sit the hell down, dig up your old vocal coach's contact info and pull it together, bitch.

I'm tired of looking at and hearing you. You just keep releasing videos, huh? Just can't get enough, can you?

Your latest offering:






*awkward silence* Well then. Now that that's over, I'll cut to the chase: the combined craptasticalness of the song and the video is overwhelming, to say the least. The lameness I just witnessed makes me appreciate your late 90's meltdown. At least then, we never knew what to expect. Now, we can bank on seeing your overgrown ass in a bikini or some other age-inappropriate garms frolicking somewhere, playing with your hair, giving us "Reluctant Adult Barbie."


Oh Mariah. You rhythmless, fair-skinned, stiff-bodied reluctantly adult. You lose. Drop that sextape featuring you and Da Brat and try again. Until then, Get "Up Out My Face," woman.


Love,

chris.alexander