Dear Mariah Carey,
It seems like lately (well, ever since “Honey” in 1997), I have NO IDEA what you are singing/talking/wearing/acting/selling/spoken-word-rapping about. Why are you all “greased up” all the time? Why are you shoving perfume in my face? And what’s with those songs that don’t even have high notes?
Look. I used to love you. When you first came out with “Vision of Love,” I was floored by your voice, your hair, and what seemed to be your sweet and accessible nature. And when I saw you doing the Running Man in a black leotard in the video for “Someday,” and heard you nailing that high note at the end, I knew you were one of the greatest of all time, ever. My fingers bled from dialing into WZPL’s “Hot 9 at 9” (Indianapolis) and requesting “I Don’t Wanna Cry.”
Remember when your songs didn’t “sample” beats or “feature” rappers? Remember when your hair was curly and wild and free? And—most importantly—REMEMBER WHEN YOU CARED ENOUGH TO GIVE ME THAT HIGH NOTE?
Mariah, it’s not too late. With the upcoming birth of your twins, may there also be a rebirth of 1990s Mariah, the Mariah who will “always be my baby.”
With Love and Respect,