The Meaning of Mariah Carey

by Mariah Carey

  Late at night like a little child

  Wanderin’ round alone in my new friend’s home

  On my tippy toes, so that he won’t know

  I still cry baby over you and me

  I don’t get no sleep

  I’m up all week

  Can’t stop thinking of you and me

  And everything we used to be

  It could have been so perfect

  See, I cry. I cry. I cry.

  Oh I gotta get me some sleep

  —“Crybaby”

  Let’s be honest, as an artist, I am the Queen of taking one morsel and making many meals from it. I milked and mined my limited time with DJ for much more than it was worth. My sixth studio album, Butterfly, was released into the world and has since sold more than ten million copies.

  Though our relationship was just a moment in my time line, Derek served a very high purpose in my life. He was the catalyst I needed to get out from under Tommy’s crippling control and get in touch with my sensuality. And the intimacy of our shared racial experience was major—to connect with a healthy family who looked like mine was very inspiring. He was in the right place at the right time, and he was there for the right purpose.

  DJ was a love in my life, not of my life. It was the idea of him, rather than the reality of him, that was so magnetic. In the end, I’ll chalk up our ending to the fact that we couldn’t live up to each other’s fantasies. One can never compete with the fantasy. You just can’t. It’s like Marilyn used to say: “They go to bed with Marilyn Monroe, and they wake up with Norma Jeane.”

  The hard way is the way I have learned the most. There is no “Dreamlover” coming to rescue me and no Prince Charming or Joe DiMaggio to sweep me off my feet. I got swept away by a shortstop, but only God Almighty is my All.

  A VISIT TO THE PRESIDENT

  I had to go get what I wanted, and I wanted freedom. I needed not just freedom from my marriage to Tommy, but freedom from Sony, as they were inextricably linked.

  The executives at Sony used to call me “the Franchise” (crazy, right?), so when I was ready to get off the label, they made it difficult for me. We went back and forth with the lawyers about what obligations I would be expected to fulfill. We agreed to an unnamed studio album (which would eventually become Rainbow).

  They wanted a greatest-hits album too. I was resistant to this because it felt so premature, as if they were trying to sew me up with the nineties.

  No matter who I was talking to at the label, Tommy was still in control. There was no one above him at Sony Music—everything had to go through him. When I began to have conversations about getting off the label, I was blocked at every turn. Tommy had a vendetta against me, and he used his power to hold me hostage. When things still weren’t moving along, I felt I had no more options, so I decided it was time to pay a visit to Norio Ohga, the president and chairman of Sony Corporation. I had never done anything like this. Tommy was the biggest boss I’d ever faced until then. Going above his head seemed like a wild, dangerous idea and was certainly a last resort. But I had no choice: this was my freedom, my career, my life.

  I knew I was the most successful artist in Japan that Sony had at the time, so I figured I could at least get a sit-down. My executive assistant made the travel arrangements for the two of us—nobody else, not even my lawyer.

  I called ahead and said, “I’m going to be in Japan. I’d like to come see Mr. Ohga.” Meanwhile, the people at Sony were probably busy working on the next big global technology or whatever. At the time, I wasn’t thinking that what they made from the music business was small potatoes compared to everything else. All I was thinking was that there had to be someone above Tommy. There had to be some way out, and I was willing to do anything. So, I decided to pack my bags, fly to the other side of the world, and talk face-to-face with the man who was really running things.

  Mr. Ohga’s assistant was a woman who was very kind to me and helped me throughout the trip. We remained friendly for years after. Mr. Ohga spoke English, but there was always an interpreter present. I had been to Japan several times and was somewhat familiar with their cultural norms, particularly with regard to showing respect and never losing face. What was more difficult to navigate were the cultural expectations around gender. Mr. Ohga was very old school, and I’m sure being confronted by a young woman was startling to him, even if that young woman was the best-selling artist on his label. And honestly, I don’t even think he knew that I was mixed race, so he didn’t know a young Black woman was coming to his headquarters, petitioning for her freedom. It was a ballsy move, but I had the numbers to back me up. Back then it wasn’t about streaming numbers. Sales were physical objects, things that people had to go out and buy—a hundred million albums, DVDs, CDs, VHS tapes! They bought products and posters. After all, I was “the Franchise.” To this day I still don’t know how much money I made for Sony. I’ve been told it’s billions.

  Like the man himself, Mr. Ohga’s office was serious and elegant, dimly lit with a large, traditional black lacquered table as its centerpiece. Mr. Ohga was formal and laser focused. I wasn’t quite prepared for the extent of his formality, honestly. I hadn’t consulted with a prep team or advisers. So there was no preparation, but I did have a clear purpose. My intention for the meeting was for us to decide on an exit strategy. We would need to figure out the terms of a deal, and I wanted to make sure there would be marketing support from Sony for the work I would deliver. Despite how badly I wanted to get off of Sony, I knew my fans deserved the highest-quality music I could make, and I would give them nothing less. I wanted Sony to know that I would work hard and promote tirelessly. I wanted to be seen and heard; I wanted them to know that I was here, I was paying attention, I was serious, and I was willing to speak up for myself.

  I had to be sure that if I fulfilled my end of the bargain with these new albums, they wouldn’t cheat me by failing to support them. If I was going to put my heart and soul into this work, I needed to have their word that they would throw everything they had behind it as they used to do. It was a brief meeting that would have long-lasting impact.

  Tommy himself had once gone straight to the Japanese executives to oust Walter Yetnikoff, a former mentor turned rival. These powerful men were not only well versed in these kinds of cutthroat business dealings, they were encouraged to stand up for themselves. Though I wasn’t a male artist and I had no parental support or lawyer in the room, I was stronger now, and I wasn’t going to let myself be played ever again.

  I may have had big boss energy, but I was also deeply saddened by the whole process. I wanted to stay on at Sony, but I didn’t know how to move forward in the midst of my marriage to its CEO coming to an end. Deep down I was hoping they’d just fire him so I could stay. It wasn’t the first time he had caused problems—there was a lawsuit with George Michael, and Michael Jackson eventually launched a campaign against exploitation of Black artists, explicitly aimed at Tommy, with Reverend Al Sharpton at the National Action Network’s Harlem headquarters.

  Mr. Ohga may not have agreed to fire Tommy the very next day, but when I went to Japan, people took notice. They were now listening. My music had made an impact in that culture, in that country, and in that company. Going to Japan was a stretch for me, but it changed my life. I took a stand, by myself and for myself. I had made it happen, and soon I would be free.

  Though I expected to have more time and a more in-depth meeting, ultimately I was grateful Mr. Ohga respected me enough to take that meeting and make a deal with me; it’s why years later I was able to return to the company with Caution, which interestingly enough is my most critically acclaimed album. When I got back home to deal with the powers that be in America, we arrived at a final deal that included four albums to be delivered over the next five years: #1’s, Rainbow, Greatest Hits, and The Remixes. #1’s, which I had conceptualized and proposed to Columbia, would be the first to come out, in 1998.

  I was reluctant to rerelease old music, so in
addition to the thirteen number-one hits I’d had by then, I added four brand-new tracks to the album. Brian McKnight and I recorded a totally new duet version of “Whenever You Call,” from Butterfly. I also did a duet with Jermaine, a cover of Rainy Davis’s “Sweetheart.” I did a cover of “I Still Believe.” Last, but certainly not least, #1’s included my duet with Whitney Houston from The Prince of Egypt, “When You Believe.”

  The recording of that song was interesting. Jeffrey Katzenberg, from DreamWorks, brought me the song and asked if I would consider recording it for the soundtrack for an animated film. The soundtrack was heavily laden with R & B and gospel influences and featured K-Ci & JoJo and Boyz II Men. After I saw the movie, I knew it was something special that I wanted to be a part of (it went on to gross $218 million worldwide, making it the most successful non-Disney animated feature of the time). But most of all I was excited by the prospect of working with Whitney!

  It was a major pop-culture moment that Whitney and I were collaborating, but I was personally so happy we did because we ended up having a wonderful time together. Everybody wanted to pit us against each other in some “battle of the divas”—a tired but pervasive pathology in music and Hollywood that makes women compete for sales like emotional UFC fighters. This narrative just supports the stereotype of all women being petty and not in control of our feelings, yet totally controllable by the boys in the industry.

  Obviously, Whitney was formidable. Who wasn’t inspired by her career, who she was as an artist and as an anointed vocalist?! But we were very different. I loved (and still love) layering the background vocals, writing, producing, and doing behind-the-scenes stuff like that. She was kind of born into it, like a royal singing princess. To us, it never felt like a competition. We complemented each other. We both had our hearts anchored in the Lord, and that was real, even though so much of what was happening around us was surreal. After the initial iciness (built up by outside forces) wore off, we developed a real fondness for each other. She had a marvelous sense of humor. She started using my words and calling me “lamb”—it was just pure fun.

  Bobby Brown was around, and I don’t know what else was going on, but that wasn’t my business. I just know we had fun and laughed a lot. Doing the video was great fun too; we had many incredible moments together. Every day we spent together was special, and I’ll always cherish the memory of that time and of all that she left behind. “When You Believe” stands as a testimony to the power of faith and, to me, sisterhood here on earth as it is in heaven.

  Rainbow was released the following year and was a very different endeavor than #1’s, which was a compilation album. It was much more involved. For obvious reasons, there was a huge push to get it done, so I wrote and recorded Rainbow in three months. I was desperate to work without distraction. My longtime friend Randy Jackson suggested I check out a very cool and secluded recording studio in Capri (which I love more than any place on Earth). In this paradise tucked in ancient limestone mountains towering out of the Gulf of Naples, I had a lovely little studio apartment that was flooded with sunlight and privacy every morning. I’d sit in a room in the studio filled with candles and creativity and hunker down for hours, just writing and laying down tracks. I wrote by myself and occasionally with the incomparable Terry Lewis, whom I love as a writer, while the Jimmy Jam added his brilliant musicianship. (Together they are responsible for forty-one US top-ten hits.) Without them, the album would not have come together so smoothly. The three of us worked together all the way through “Can’t Take That Away (Mariah’s Theme),” which I brought to Diane Warren, who plucked it out on the piano as I sang the lyrics and melody to the first verse. We wrote the second verse together. That song was actually about the professional and personal situation I was going through:

  They can say anything they want to say

  Try to bring me down, but I will not allow

  Anyone to succeed hanging clouds over me

  And they can try hard to make me feel

  That I don’t matter at all

  But I refuse to falter in what I believe

  Or lose faith in my dreams

  ’Cause there’s

  There’s a light in me

  That shines brightly

  They can try

  But they can’t take that away from me

  —“Can’t Take That Away (Mariah’s Theme)”

  Since I was a child, I had often had to turn to the “light in me / That shines brightly” just to get through, just to survive. So that was a song about many things, but when I wrote it, I was thinking about all that was going on at the time, about Tommy and the many years I had spent under his control. That was my theme—“They can try / But they can’t take that away from me / From me, no, no, no.”

  The video (which I produced and paid for), while not the slickest in terms of tricks and production values, was a real change. We shot it in Japan. At the time, it was uncommon to incorporate real fans and user-generated content into videos. It was important for me to center my fans and express how they felt about the songs I was writing about my life for them. We collected a bunch of materials: footage of everyday people, real people who had overcome the odds to accomplish extraordinary things. The video also included superstar champions like Venus and Serena Williams, but mainly people in my life who I cared deeply about, like my nephew Shawn, who, despite being the child of a troubled teenage mother, went on to graduate from Harvard Law, and Da Brat’s grandmother. It showed triumphant moments, emotional moments—and it was real and raw. I wanted to utilize the theme of my core belief that all things are possible. I wanted the video to be a tribute to all the fans who helped me get through everything.

  The song didn’t do anything on the charts because the label barely promoted it—and this marked the beginning of their sabotage campaign. But it mattered for the fans. It mattered for the people who needed to hear it. And it matters for me. To this day, I still listen to it every once in a while. I still need it.

  * * *

  Another important song on Rainbow was “Petals.” It was, and still is, a painful piece for me. It’s about my life, my family, my growth. It was both a thank-you and a farewell to the toxic influences in my life.

  I’ve often wondered if there’s ever been a perfect family

  I’ve always longed for undividedness and sought stability

  —“Petals”

  In a way, “Petals” told part of my life story through snapshots of the formative relationships that touched and changed me. With that song, I wanted to offer forgiveness and to imagine another possible life in the future—one with less hurt and more healing. So I wrote the song to release some of the pain. But there are still times when the hurt chokes me and I cannot sing the song.

  Rainbow had two number ones—“Heartbreaker” (my fourteenth, featuring Jay-Z) and “Thank God I Found You” (my fifteenth, collaborating with Joe and 98 Degrees, and with Nas on the remix). It was important to me to pull together the artists I felt were defining the time, and Usher, Snoop Dogg, Jay-Z, Da Brat, Missy Elliott, Mystikal, and Master P were also part of the album.

  After working at Jimmy and Terry’s Minneapolis studio, I returned to New York to do “Heartbreaker” with DJ Clue. Jay-Z jumped on that track, and it became the hit we all know and love. We did the “Heartbreaker” remix between New York and Los Angeles. DJ Clue brought in all kinds of cool artists, like Joe and Nas on “Thank God I Found You (Make It Last Remix).” Rainbow closed out the twentieth century and, for me, was the bridge to freedom. But as they say, freedom ain’t free.

  Recording the album was a whirlwind, but it was fulfilling as well. By then I had a real sense of my rhythm and specific preferences for how I would craft a song. I would often create different parts of a song in different places. I really love the process of writing in a collaborative way, but doing my vocals is a more intimate process for me. While writing I like to do a scratch (first draft) vocal, sometimes without lyrics or with partial lyrics, and then
take that basic track, complete the lyrics, finish the vocals, perfect it, and layer in background vocals. I like to do the lead when no one else is there, just me and my engineer. If I could do my own engineering, I would record like Prince and be completely alone. I prefer not having to consider other people’s opinions in the development of vocals. I like a calm space where I can get to work and focus; I need to be able to hear my thoughts and see the vision in my head. I need to be able to play with the song, tweak it, and I definitely need a chance to sing it through a couple of times. Where does it feel natural to go up? Where doesn’t it? Making records is kind of a spiritual science compared to a live vocal performance. I’m at my best when I can take my time and really live with a record.

  We put out the Greatest Hits album for Columbia in 2001. It was a double album, which included the commercially successful hits and some personal and fan favorites like “Underneath the Stars” and my duet with the truly legendary Luther Vandross, a remake of “Endless Love.” My last album for Columbia, which would mark the end of my obligation to Sony, was The Remixes. By the time it came out, in 2003, Tommy had stepped down from Columbia/Sony, so I had more creative input into the album and was more invested.

  The concept of the compilation was unique: It was a double album like Greatest Hits, only the first disc was all the club mixes, and the second was all the hip-hop collaborations and remixes, from “Honey” to “Loverboy (Remix)” to “Breakdown,” featuring Bone Thugs-N-Harmony. It even included the So So Def remix of “All I Want for Christmas” with Lil’ Bow Wow (he was still lil’ then) and my hit song with Busta Rhymes and Flipmode Squad, “I Know What You Want.”

  But before these final two albums, I sealed the new deal on my freedom. After meeting with all the major record labels, I settled on the more eclectic Virgin Records, which was very artist friendly (they had Lenny Kravitz and Janet Jackson). I believed if I had enough money and marketing support, we would have success. With a fresh, historic record deal, I was about to embark on the project that changed my life—Glitter.