On May 15, 1990, Mariah Carey quietly released her debut single, “Vision of Love,” a contemporary R&B ballad marked by its retro swing and, of course, that voice. Though it gave birth to a thousand singing competition contestants caterwauling their way to instant fame, the song is more restrained than you might remember. Yes, “Vision of Love” introduced the world to that famous whistle register like a stripper popping out of a cake, and Mariah seems to express an entire song’s worth of emotion in one final vocal run, but it also boasts an economy of language, both musical and otherwise, that she’s recaptured rarely over the years.
“Vision of Love” took its time to reach its sweet destiny—four weeks at #1 on the pop chart—setting the stage for a career with very long legs. If Mariah’s handlers—her then-husband, Sony Music president Tommy Mottola, among them—wanted her to be a crossover queen in the key of Whitney, the singer evidently had other ideas. By the end of the ’90s, both Mariah’s wardrobe and voice—not to mention her album sales—began to shrink. But she’d become a far more interesting artist, savvily incorporating hip-hop elements into her work, which surely extended her commercial viability even as it limited her audience, and developing a singular, idiosyncratic voice as a lyricist.
To celebrate the 30th anniversary of “Vision of Love,” and her self-titled debut—released in June of 1990—we’ve ranked all 13 of her non-holiday studio albums.
13. Charmbracelet (2002)
The sense that Charmbracelet was rushed out to try and control the damage left in Glitter’s wake is inextricably tied in with the album’s DNA. At the time, we admit to feeling admiration that she was at least giving off the impression of dusting it off and stepping back up to the plate…or the hoop, given that the most enduring takeaway from the whole project remains her momentary penchant for basketball jersey scootchie dresses. But in hindsight, the album’s place at the bottom of her discography is incontestable. Throughout, the sense that her genre interpolations reflect a piece of her campy-kitschy persona consistently takes a back seat to the realization that now was not the time to lean into idiosyncrasies, with the one possible semi-exception being the incongruously chipper G-funk detour “Irresistible (West Side Connection).” I mean, on what other Mariah album would a track entitled “Clown” sound like the zero-calorie AC version of Timbaland this one does? Eric Henderson
12. Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel (2009)
Having then-It producers The-Dream and Tricky Stewart on the boards for all 17 tracks of 2009’s Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel makes the album one of Mariah’s most sonically consistent, but it also sounds cheap and same-y, lacking the fullness of her best work. Mariah is in fine voice throughout, and there are several standout tracks, including the hard-edged “Standing O,” the simmering “H.A.T.E.U.,” and “Up Out My Face,” on which she achieves a whole new level of lyrical ridiculousness involving Legos and an allusion to Humpty Dumpty. Lyrically, Mariah dips into her back catalog to depths unheard since 2002’s Charmbracelet, and the album’s final stretch devolves into a mess of rehashes: “Languishing” is a lazy rewrite of—take your pick—“Petals,” “Twister,” or “Sunflowers for Alfred Roy,” while the requisite ’80s cover song, of Foreigner’s “I Want to Know What Love Is,” climaxes prematurely with a cacophony of screaming and gratuitous whistle notes. Cinquemani
11. Music Box (1993)
Notable almost exclusively for its hit singles, Music Box is the album that, following the slightly less chart-domineering Emotions, made Mariah a bona fide superstar. One of those singles, “Hero,” was, tellingly, written for another artist before Tommy Mottola insisted she keep it for herself. One of Mariah’s signature ballads, the song trades in generic, often nonsensical platitudes and is surprisingly short on the kind of vocal histrionics that might overly stimulate listeners—the perfect combination for infinite rotation on multiple radio formats. By this point in her career, however, Mariah had devised a strategy to keep her label happy while stealing whatever bits of creative freedom she could. With its drum loop lifted from the Emotions by way of Big Daddy Kane, “Dreamlover” was her first foray into hip-hop (sorry, “Fantasy”), but it was David Morales’s dark, sultry house mix, along with David Cole and Robert Clivilles’s remix for another single, the gospel-infused “Anytime You Need a Friend,” that truly broke new ground for the singer. The album itself, though, is unchallenging and easy to swallow—everything Sony wanted Mariah to be. And 10 million people ate it up like Ovaltine. Cinquemani
10. E=MC² (2008)
The problem with having a winning formula is that, eventually, it’s going to boil down to just that: a formula. The irresistibly titled E=MC² stands shoulder to shoulder, at least according to my TI-85, with The Emancipation of Mimi in that I honestly prefer Mariah in the loopier, more freewheeling territory of Rainbow and Glitter, but I can’t deny the dogged efficiency in action. Even if I wasn’t exactly sure what the “E” was supposed to mean in the album’s title at first (emotion? Ear-splitting melisma? Surely not energy…oh, it stands for “emancipation,” duh), there’s little doubt that “MC” stands for our own master of ceremonies, and she even threw in a little nod to her own public schizophrenia for good measure. But those who were hoping for reinvention would, in addition to being radically unfamiliar with Mariah’s career trajectory, be dismayed that the “2” also stands for “Mimi, Part 2.” E=MC² doesn’t dawdle long enough for you to ever discern just how overly deliberate it is: It’s an album composed entirely of radio edits. There’s a big mathematical difference between pop instincts and pop manufacturing, and most of E=MC² demonstrates the latter. Henderson
9. Glitter (2001)
Especially in light of a #JusticeForGlitter Twitter campaign that shot the soundtrack to the top of the iTunes chart 17 years after its release on September 11, 2001, it’s tempting to look back fondly at Glitter as an overlooked gem that simply suffered from a case of bad timing. Indeed, the album is dotted with authentically ’80s-inspired treasures—the sensual Rick James-penned “All My Life,” the squelchy Eric Benet duet “Want You,” and a beat-for-beat recreation of Cherelle’s “Didn’t Mean to Turn You On” among them. But Glitter is also marred by a series of misguided hip-hop excursions, in which Mariah serves as a mere hook girl, and a bunch of middle-of-the-road ballads that make Music Box’s adult contemporary slush sound radical by comparison. The real injustice of Glitter’s failure is the effective erasure from the singer’s canon of the camp-tastic “Loverboy”—the final piss take in Mariah’s series of sample-driven uptempo singles. Cinquemani
8. Rainbow (1999)
It’s funny to think that, chronologically, only two studio albums separate Mariah’s most lyrically and musically chaste effort, Music Box, with this, her most unbridled album to date. Butterfly gets all the credit for the singer’s personal and sexual liberation, but you won’t find Mariah dog-whistling herself to orgasm for nearly six minutes on that album as she does on “Bliss,” which suggests a cross between “Love to Love You Baby” and Janet Jackson’s “Any Time, Any Place” as sung by Minnie Riperton. There’s a series of inferior rewrites here, including “Heartbreaker,” “After Tonight,” and “Can’t Take That Away (Mariah’s Theme).” But the album also explores new adventures in frivolity, like the trend-chasing “X-Girlfriend” and the catty hip-hop nursery rhyme “Did I Do That?” But it’s “Crybaby,” featuring a tour-de-force vocal performance that finds Mariah exploiting the rough edges of her newly worn voice for the first time, that stands out amid all the slick commercial pop. On an album filled with artifice (just take a look at that cover), she never sounded so real as when she allowed herself to get ugly. Cinquemani
7. Me. I Am Mariah… The Elusive Chanteuse (2014)
Like Charmbracelet before it, Me. I Am Mariah… The Elusive Chanteuse hits familiar beats from Mariah albums past in paint-by-numbers fashion: a “We Belong Together” retread (“You’re Mine”), a soul-bearing confessional (“Camouflage”), a dubious ’80s cover song that she somehow manages to make her own (“One More Try”), a disco throwback (“You Don’t Know What to Do”), a nod to contemporary urban trends (“Thirsty”), and a gospel-infused closer (“Heavenly”). The opening track, “Cry,” is—as Eric sharply described in his review at the time—exactly what would happen if “Vision of Love” and “I Still Believe” made love atop a bed of freshly peeled onions. Unlike her 2002 album, however, Mariah is vocally more confident here, embracing the worn edges of her voice instead of shrinking away from them. And from the childhood self-portrait that inspired the album’s title to the slow-burning throwback “Dedicated,” the album is sweetly nostalgic rather than calculatedly formulaic. Cinquemani
6. Caution (2018)
Mariah makes it abundantly clear on Caution that she isn’t to be fucked with in this or any other decade. She wisely relies on the rap-inflected R&B sounds that have been her bread and butter since Butterfly, while bringing in unexpected collaborators like Skrillex and Blood Orange. She also switches up the message: In the aftermath of a highly public breakup, a sense of inevitable heartache hangs over the whole thing, from the delightfully salty lead single “GTFO” (“I ain’t tryna be rude, but you’re lucky I ain’t kick your ass out last weekend,” she quips) to the even more savage “A No No,” in which she summons her verbally gymnastic falsetto for a Gilligan’s Island-related diss. The adoption of patois and clearly intentional use of “irregardless” suggest Mimi (still) has no time for notions of cultural appropriation or grammar, and appearances by Slick Rick and Biggie (via sample) let us know that her heart will always lie in hip-hop. Where it belongs. Paul Schrodt
5. The Emancipation of Mimi (2005)
The Emancipation of Mimi is a peculiar title for many reasons, not least of which is that the album represents neither an obvious personal nor professional liberation for Mariah: By 2005, she was long divorced from both her first husband and record label. The album did, however, mark the first time she seemingly tossed out the proverbial playbook; her previous two albums produced nary a recognizable hit, so in many ways she was free to follow her muse. The album’s best tracks, “Your Girl” and “Stay the Night,” lean into the warm, dulcet tones of Motown, but the massive “We Belong Together” shrewdly married the power balladry that made Mariah famous with the hip-hop elements she’d grown so fond of, but incorporated subtly enough for multi-format consumption. The album’s most remarkable trait, however, is Mariah’s voice, which, though less agile than it was at its peak, settles into a comfortable mid-range belt throughout. Despite its 14 tracks, The Emancipation of Mimi clocks in at less than an hour, a testament to the unfussiness of the songs—few even contain bridges of any kind. But whatever the songs lack, they make up for in restraint; brevity keeps you wanting more, which is Mimi’s true virtue. Cinquemani
4. Mariah Carey (1990)
With rock-inflected kiss-offs like “You Need Me” bumping up against socially conscious anthems like “There’s Got to Be a Way,” Mariah’s self-titled debut is very much a product of its time: slick, eclectic, and easily interchangeable with albums from the same era by Whitney Houston, Celine Dion, and Taylor Dayne. And while artistic constraint is the oft-repeated theme of her self-mythology, Mariah was given plenty of space to stretch throughout, exploring new jack swing on “Someday” (*shakes fist* at those darn guitars) and, yes, even rapping on the freestyle-lite “Prisoner.” The album was such a smash that the latter track garnered unsolicited airplay in the summer of ‘91 and likely would have been a hit had Mariah not been so eager to move on to the more retro-minded Emotions. Of course, Mariah Carey also served as a bridge between the ’80s and the ’90s, with its ballads—“Vision of Love” in particular—serving as the template for nearly every female R&B singer well into the 21st century. Cinquemani
3. Daydream (1995)
Nineteen ninety-five was a banner year for the endurance of female pop singers maintaining their plush turf against the twin masculine tides of rock and rap. Janet Jackson capped off her decade-of-design with the infectiously intercontinental “Runaway,” Madonna had emerged from the darkness of her Erotica/Sex twofer with some of the biggest hits of her career, and newcomers like Alanis Morissette and Björk used pop to bridge genre gaps in ways that would, respectively, conquer the charts and predict the future. Mariah arguably reached a new apex in her career that same year with Daydream. While the album’s placement on our list makes it clear we think she’s aimed higher, she never aimed more on target for that all-things-to-all-people quality that great pop music requires. The stats speak for themselves: Daydream was her third #1 album in the U.S., and it spawned three #1 hits, one of which—“One Sweet Day,” with Boyz II Men—set and held the record for the longest-running chart-topper for close to a quarter century. But numbers alone don’t convey how perfectly balanced Daydream truly is, alternating the early-’80s boogie of “Fantasy,” the late-’80s balladry of “Open Arms,” the note-perfect shoop-shoop update of “Always Be My Baby,” and the club-house David Morales sensationalism of “Daydream Interlude (Fantasy Sweet Dub Mix).” It’s a jukebox spitting out every mood you need, and while the album may be slightly lacking in the trademark Mariah cheese department, it’s still Velveeta smooth. Henderson
2. Emotions (1991)
Early on, critics griped about Mariah’s reliance on vocal acrobatics, which, they claimed, kept audiences at a remove from her actual songs. Indeed, the title track of her sophomore effort, Emotions, and the album’s bombastic uptempo centerpiece, “You’re So Cold,” are lessons in fabulous excess, showcases for Mariah’s famous five octaves. But the album’s second single, “Can’t Let Go,” is one of her most understated hits, her downcast verses floating ephemerally atop the song’s pointillistic percussion, while “Till the End of Time” finds Mariah taking her sweet time building from a barely audible whisper to a thundering belt over the span of five minutes. If she struggled to locate her musical identity at this point in her career, Mariah was already exerting a sense of agency in her lyrics: “Make It Happen” and “The Wind” hint at the inspirational anthems and confessional manifestos, respectively, that would come to be fixtures on future albums. With Emotions, she managed to strike a balance of soul and pop that’s not just technically impressive, but filled with undeniable, honest-to-god feeling. Luckily, it still exists as it was conceived, complete with Mariah’s unapologetic deployment of her powerful instrument, and free of the reproach of the same critics who would, in just a few years’ time, lament its inevitable deterioration. Cinquemani
1. Butterfly (1997)
Butterfly is best remembered as a symbol of Mariah’s personal and professional transformation, but it’s first and foremost a showcase for songs that, regardless of their autobiographical import, flaunt the singer’s gift for richly painted narratives. She describes a fleeting moment of rain-soaked liberation on “The Roof,” her lower register dripping and melding with the track’s impeccable sound design, while “Fourth of July”—which recalls 1995’s “Underneath the Stars,” the airy, textured R&B of which informs much of the album’s sound—recounts another tryst suspended by an impending thunderstorm. She applies the same ravishing attention to detail to anxiously awaiting a phone call in a hotel room (the sultry “Babydoll”) and lusting hungrily for a taste of a male specimen (“Honey”) as she does to lamenting an uncertain childhood (the elegant “Close My Eyes”). Mariah is famous for her “hip-pop” collaborations, but she wasn’t merely satisfied with slapping rappers onto the songs here; rather, she immerses herself in Bone Thugs-n-Harmony’s signature style on “Breakdown,” adopting their smooth, rapid-fire cadence and—when she’s no longer able to suppress her anguish—sliding effortlessly into a more familiar, full-throated belt. If Mariah’s multiracial background and multi-octave range initially made her a singular multi-hyphenate, her divorce from Tommy Mottola and the creative license that immediately followed is what finally made her a fascinating one. Cinquemani
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