Before I begin throwing up at the first notes of It's a Wrap let me tell you why I’ve had it on repeat for a couple of days now. From the first splashes of [unidentified liquid], soft melodic keys and unearthly soaring coos, I thought I was in a classic Carey vehicle, with her feather-like voice going places high and low, with no lyrical revelations but plenty of pure musical pleasure. This song, however, turned out to be a (complete) surprise.
We are in a lavish kitchen, it smells of coffee, fresh bakery and Mariah. Come in a trio of shoo-tup in her weightless midrange, again reminding us of the old-school R&B that made her who she is. Yet another early morning, she tells us, and there is a grain of salt in her usually perfect voice. So far, so safe. When she comes to Aint no donuts, aint no coffee, I think – oh it’s another one of those, the ones I love. But when the first surprise arrives – I should crack you right in your forhead, I am a bit stunned. This is Mariah like I’ve never thought of her before (But then again, have you seen Precious?).
In a place where the usual suspects are prone to go completely berserk in fury and despair (think 10 Seconds by Jazmine Sullivan or MGB’s I’m Going Down), comes the genius move: Mariah drops from the high notes of her previous threat to a feathery, velvety – Let me take a breath, and remain my composure – almost in a whisper, and then even with more tenderness, Told you one more time if you f’ed up then it’s over. (How this woman peacefully clashes ‘fuck’ against cherubic coos is the encyclopaedic definition of sarcasm).
Then she lets her rage out a little in a short but satisfying chorus, where her voice shows some cracks around the edges, like she is going to choke on her own syllables, or choke somebody with her silk stocking. Then again an array of coos and half-whispers give me a false sense of security. It’s like she is messing with my head, so seraphic with her sensual scoo-do-do-do-dos, so unreliable anywhere near the kitchen knife. When we get to Put all your shit in the elevator (with shit produced in a light high pitched purr) the coos in the background get even more out-of-this-world, more plushy and sensual, making the clash between the lyrics and music (melodically it’s like she should be singing Come on over here and let’s do it again when in fact she sings It’s going down like a denominator) and the climax – You gonna wake my neighbours! Get away from my door! – even more fun and lovely. The song continues with the violent changes in pitch, volume and style, and when she coos and asks for a pause to calm herself I see her closing her almond long-lashed eyes and drawing butterflies in the air with her manicured figures. It’s a wrap for you boy is hysterics with a plush crimson ribbon on it. By then it’s on repeat.
And by listen number twelve (no, I’m not very attentive) I get this line almost in the end: So get out of my face, I’m hung over… The sound of [unidentified liquid] in the beginning doesn’t sound so out of place in the song all of a sudden and I am hit hard with a belated case of a-ha!
Press rewind. Listen again.
We are in a lavish kitchen, indeed, it smells of coffee, fresh bakery and Mariah (here the word ‘breathy’ requires a few other meanings). Even the throwback beat sways and rocks back and forth like the deck of an unsteady ship. Even I start feeling giddy. I close my eyes and I see the somewhat unsteady Mariah self-confessedly pouring herself a full glass of [unidentified brand of posh alcoholic drink] first thing in the morning. Yep, first thing in the morning. She slurs her lines (how didn’t I get this the first time?) and her like it’s nothing, aint no donuts become like isss nothin, ainno donusss. Her midrange that some reviewers have called ragged with flaws is not sign of age (rolling my eyes). Mariah is in character, people. She is at the top of her game, if anything. Here the jumps of alcoholic logic from life threats to apologies (if I misrepresented… then I’m sorry), screams to whispers seem true to nature, completely spot on. And her scoo-do-do-do-dos are a melodic equivalent of a violent wave of an intoxicated hand (he just hopes it doesn’t land anywhere near his face). Playing that kind of gal, she tries to be cool but loses it in the end – Put all your shit in the elevator, she yells, and the line – You gonna wake my neighbours, sounds increasingly unreliable, since the man in the song isn’t the one screaming. The words ‘shot’ and ‘it’s the martini’ sound menacing, just like the repeating when it’s gone, it’s gone, it’s gone… What’s gone? Your drink? Considering the witty lyrics, the swaying rhythm and the real life little incident at an award show It’s A Wrap, penned by Mariah and none other than Barry White, becomes not just a pretty song. It’s a story winking back at itself.
I don’t know if my version of the song is right, but I know this woman has pipes, brains and a sense of humour. Her high pitch can be breathtaking but her lush whisper can cut like a knife. And for that I can forgive her anything.
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