Receive Weekly Email and Text Message Updates:
Sign up for latest info on concerts, dining, promotions and more!
Go!

Most Popular

  • Getting Off
    Attorney Tyler Flood says he wins 80 percent of his clients' DWI trials, even if they were 100 percent drunk as a skunk.
  • City of Coffee
    Is Houston about to become America's coffee capital?
  • Houston's Choice for Mayor
    Black Guy, Rich White Guy, Lesbian or Hispanic Republican
  • Looking for a Bull Market
    Killen's Steakhouse in suburban Pearland is probably best during boom times.
  • Burgers and Hash
    Lola, a modern diner in the Heights is dishing up some top-notch Texas short-order cooking.
Most Popular sponsored by

Reader's Picks

Top Recommendations

A short list of Houston's most popular hot spots.
user content provided by: LikeMe.net & Houston Press

National Features >

  • City Pages

    Michele Bachmann, Unmuzzled

    You don't need to read Sarah Palin's book to hear the ravings of a mad woman.

    By Matt Snyders

  • Miami New Times

    Pimp Daddy

    The rise and fall of a chubby sex-cult leader.

    By Natalie O'Neill

  • Riverfront Times

    Babe 'n' Arms

    Tom was a hot-tempered cross-dresser with a garage full of guns--and then he became Rachel.

    By Nicholas Phillips

Mariah Carey

Thursday, August 28

Share

  • rss

By Craig D. Lindsey

Published on August 28, 2003

Years and years ago, I wrote a double review of Mariah Carey's Butterfly and Janet Jackson's The Velvet Rope. My point then was that Carey and Jackson weren't all that different from each other, but after the review came out, a few people wanted to burn me in effigy. They were livid, enraged that I would even speak of that light-skinned corporate shill's name in the same breath as Ms. Janet. Jackson is an artist, they said, and Mariah couldn't hold a candle to her. Janet was taking chances; Mariah was nothing but a mulatto Celine Dion!

But be honest. As the years rolled on and the music of both ladies has evolved with time, hasn't it been a bitch telling them apart? Jackson's last album, the unfortunately formulaic (and aptly titled) All for You, found the once liberated and independent superstar breathily begging for a man, her music little more than an excuse to melodiously document her middle-aged hot flashes.

As for Mariah, say what you will. She's nuts, she needs to put on clothes before she gets a chest cold, she couldn't act her way out of a paper bag. But from a musical standpoint, she never fell off as pitifully as Janet.

We always knew what we were getting with a gal like Mariah, whose name, as Michael Stipe once noted, rhymes with "pariah." She jumped into this thing striving to be the best gosh-darn pop star she could possibly be. And admit it, when she busted out with "Vision of Love" 13 or so years ago, you were feeling it when she hit that high note.

True, she did go overboard with the rap star cameos. Ever since some smart son of a bitch had the idea to pair Carey up with Ol' Dirty Bastard on the 1995 song "Fantasy," she's found it to be a necessary tool, a way to stay in touch with that "urban" (read: Freddy vs. Jason-watching) audience. Since then, she's peppered her songs with the likes of Jay-Z, Snoop Dogg, P. Diddy and Missy Elliott. She continues in that tradition on her latest, Charmbracelet, with guest shots from Cam'ron, Freeway and the Jigga Man once again.

At this show, we most likely won't be getting the pink hot pants-wearing Mariah, the one who rolls with rap royals. This will probably bring us pop princess Mariah, the Mariah with the high vocal range, the gold lamé dresses and the overweening desire for your adoration.