out of 10
1. Betcha Gon' Know (The Prologue)
2. Obsessed
3. H.A.T.E.U.
4. Candy Bling
5. Ribbon
6. Inseparable
7. Standing
8. It's A Wrap
9. Up Out My Face
10. Up Out My Face (The Reprise)
11. More Than Just Friends
12. The Impossible
2. Obsessed
3. H.A.T.E.U.
4. Candy Bling
5. Ribbon
6. Inseparable
7. Standing
8. It's A Wrap
9. Up Out My Face
10. Up Out My Face (The Reprise)
11. More Than Just Friends
12. The Impossible
£3.00
£7.49
A friend once told me, a couple of years after we first met, that she could sing. Really? Wow ... Any good? “Well, I’m pretty good, yeah. I mean, I’m no Mariah Carey …” And I loved that. It was the fact that she picked out Mariah and no-one else and it meant something. It meant that, in terms of purely qualitative scoring, in terms of bench-marking, no less, Mariah was your dogs. She didn’t say “Oh, well, I’m no Aretha Franklin …” No Beyonce, no Diana Ross, no Celine Dion. You know, your quality, hit-the-notes-like-there’s-no-tomorrow, range-beyond-human-ears, diva types. Nah – none of those would do. It had to be Mariah. Which makes perfect, perfect sense. Because ...
Think about it. For those of a certain age, Mariah Carey represents something of an ideal, a vocal pantheon. The girl can sing. And it seems like she's been doing it forever. You forget how long she’s been around. ‘Vision of Love’ announced her airbrushed arrival in 1990 and since then she’s sold 160 million albums. One hundred and sixty million. F*** me. I normally pass those kind of hyper-logistics by with a sniffy shrug but, jeez, that’s some going. Leona who ?
‘Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel’ continues the love affair she started with herself two decades ago. You’ve gotta love her for quite the most startling level of narcissim. That one about how she didn’t ‘do’ stairs always appeared just too funny to be true but I’m starting to wonder. Because the evidence in the liner notes suggests she actually does call herself Mimi, you’re tempted to believe anything. Get this – the lyric booklet comes in the form of a mini version of Elle magazine. Holy f*** ! You didn’t get that with The Wedding Present ! It’s a hoot. As well as a barrel load of photos that show us adoring fans just how ‘Mimi’ keeps it real (slobbering over husband Nick, on holiday in Aspen/Capri/Disneyworld/Bahamas, her silly little dogs, her jewellery, her preposterous f***ing shoe collection), she offers up reflective commentary on her previous albums. I thought “To me this album is very underrated” (Charmbracelet, 2002) nabbed the garibaldi but then I nearly wept at the minor indignation she displays at how her self-titled debut was received : “This was probably my most challenging album, because I was so young and people didn’t understand that I was already a song writer and producer.” Oh that’s right, love. We simply didn’t get it back then but we do now, of course. Young Joni Mitchell come Brian Eno that you were.
As for this record, our gal describes it as “R&B hip-hop with a lot of slow jams.” I’d say it never gets near those dizzy heights. It’s one long, soporific drone with pretty much nothing resembling a hook, no real moment of note. A startling lack of 'money shot' vocalising too, it's all very restrained. Weird. Those of us who recall that it’s not all been terrible, stick with it right through to the dreary end, in vain hope that a ‘Can’t Let Go’ or a, erm, ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ (help me!) might emerge. Nah. Ultimately, Mimi’s new one is bland beyond comprehension, unambitious slop of the highest order. There’s no point in even mentioning song titles. ‘Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel’, the title itself a display of ego of really quite applaudable magnitude, confirms what we suspected all along and takes us back to where we came in : this Mimi, she’s no Mariah Carey. Still, for someone so lifeless and strangely unalluring, she looks pretty good in her knickers on the back of the CD sleeve.
Buy this on CD from Amazon UK now for just £12.99
Think about it. For those of a certain age, Mariah Carey represents something of an ideal, a vocal pantheon. The girl can sing. And it seems like she's been doing it forever. You forget how long she’s been around. ‘Vision of Love’ announced her airbrushed arrival in 1990 and since then she’s sold 160 million albums. One hundred and sixty million. F*** me. I normally pass those kind of hyper-logistics by with a sniffy shrug but, jeez, that’s some going. Leona who ?
‘Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel’ continues the love affair she started with herself two decades ago. You’ve gotta love her for quite the most startling level of narcissim. That one about how she didn’t ‘do’ stairs always appeared just too funny to be true but I’m starting to wonder. Because the evidence in the liner notes suggests she actually does call herself Mimi, you’re tempted to believe anything. Get this – the lyric booklet comes in the form of a mini version of Elle magazine. Holy f*** ! You didn’t get that with The Wedding Present ! It’s a hoot. As well as a barrel load of photos that show us adoring fans just how ‘Mimi’ keeps it real (slobbering over husband Nick, on holiday in Aspen/Capri/Disneyworld/Bahamas, her silly little dogs, her jewellery, her preposterous f***ing shoe collection), she offers up reflective commentary on her previous albums. I thought “To me this album is very underrated” (Charmbracelet, 2002) nabbed the garibaldi but then I nearly wept at the minor indignation she displays at how her self-titled debut was received : “This was probably my most challenging album, because I was so young and people didn’t understand that I was already a song writer and producer.” Oh that’s right, love. We simply didn’t get it back then but we do now, of course. Young Joni Mitchell come Brian Eno that you were.
As for this record, our gal describes it as “R&B hip-hop with a lot of slow jams.” I’d say it never gets near those dizzy heights. It’s one long, soporific drone with pretty much nothing resembling a hook, no real moment of note. A startling lack of 'money shot' vocalising too, it's all very restrained. Weird. Those of us who recall that it’s not all been terrible, stick with it right through to the dreary end, in vain hope that a ‘Can’t Let Go’ or a, erm, ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ (help me!) might emerge. Nah. Ultimately, Mimi’s new one is bland beyond comprehension, unambitious slop of the highest order. There’s no point in even mentioning song titles. ‘Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel’, the title itself a display of ego of really quite applaudable magnitude, confirms what we suspected all along and takes us back to where we came in : this Mimi, she’s no Mariah Carey. Still, for someone so lifeless and strangely unalluring, she looks pretty good in her knickers on the back of the CD sleeve.
Buy this on CD from Amazon UK now for just £12.99
