So when you feel like hope is gone
Look inside you and be strong
And you’ll finally see the truth
That a hero lies in you
—“Hero”
It was the middle of July 1993, and I was headed to Schenectady, New York, to record aThanksgiving special for NBC. It was the first event to kick off promotion1 for my soon-to-be- released third studio album, Music Box. The first single, “Dreamlover,” would bedropping in a week, and the full album would be released on the last day of August.
Schenectady, a typical industrial city in eastern New York, was largely made up ofEastern European immigrants and Black folks who had come from the South to work inthe town’s cotton mill. It’s a straight shot north along the Hudson River from Hillsjail.
The concert was to be taped in Proctors Theatre, a former vaudeville2 house completewith a red carpet, gold leaf galore, Corinthian columns, chandeliers, and Louis XVcouches in the balcony promenade—the whole nine yards. Even though it was a beautiful,classic theater, it was not the setting I would have chosen, to be sure; nor would mosttwenty-year-olds in the early 1990s. But I made few decisions about my whereabouts then.
Outside of the recording3 studio, every aspect of my life was decided4 by a committee inthose days, with Tommy acting5 as chairman of the board. (Oddly enough, I was neverinvited to the meetings.)
As we pulled up to the center of town, the streets seemed to be increasingly empty,and I began to notice a lot of police officers. Several streets were blocked off near thetheater, patrolled by clusters of men in dark uniforms, outfitted6 with shiny shoes and blackguns. The limo slowed to a crawl as I stared out the window, the eerily8 quiet streets rollingby. A familiar anxiety was rising inside, which I fought mightily9 to contain. I had tomentally prepare to present new songs in front of new people, a performance that wouldbe televised to millions on a major network. I knew I couldn’t let my anxiety develop intofear. With the exception of the cops—who had called all these cops? I had my ownsecurity with me; in fact, I always had security with me—the street behind the theater,where the backstage door was located, was desolate10.
Before I was quickly whisked into my gilded11 dressing12 room, I caught a glimpse ofcrowds of people behind barricades13. Though I now had a moment to settle in, I still feltanxious. Eventually I asked why the streets were blocked off and full of police. What inthe world was happening in downtown Schenectady on this hot midsummer day?
“Miss Carey,” they told me, “it’s for you. It’s because you were coming to do theshow.”
Apparently14, masses of young fans were crowding the streets, hoping to catch a glimpseof me. At first, I couldn’t fully15 digest this response. What did they mean? The barricades,the squads16 of police, the emptied streets were because of me? My first album, MariahCarey, had come out three years prior hitting and holding the number-one spot on theBillboard 200 chart for 11 consecutive17 weeks, remaining on the list for 113 weeks in total,with four singles going number one back-to-back. I had won Grammys for Best NewArtist and the best female pop vocal18 performance, and received nominations19 for both Songof the Year and Record of the Year for “Vision of Love,” which I performed on TheArsenio Hall Show, Good Morning America, The Tonight Show, and The Oprah WinfreyShow. The album would go on to sell nine million copies in the United States alone andwas still selling all over the world (it would go on to sell more than fifteen million copies).
My second album, Emotions, had been released just the year before. I particularly adoredworking with David Cole (one half of the fab C + C Music Factory). He was a church kidwho loved dance music (as evidenced on “Make It Happen”). As a producer, he pushedme as a singer, because he was one too. I released an EP with live versions of songs frommy first two albums for the wildly popular show MTV Unplugged. It included a remake ofthe classic Jackson Five hit “I’ll Be There,” featuring my background singer and friendTrey Lorenz. The song quickly shot to number one after the show, making it my fifthnumber-one single and the second time “I’ll Be There” held the coveted20 spot. I performed“Emotions” at the MTV Video Music Awards and the Soul Train Music Awards. Andhere I was again, about to hit another stage, and somehow I had no clue that I was famous.
For four solid years of my life, I was writing, singing, producing, and doing photoshoots, video shoots, press junkets, and promotional tours. All the awards and accolades21 Ireceived were handed out in highly coordinated22 industry settings. It just seemed to be partof the work. If I had any “free” time I was sequestered23 in an old farmhouse24 up in theHudson Valley. Tommy orchestrated all of it. I was in my early twenties.
Because I was never alone, I had no comprehension of the impact my music and Iwere making on the outside world. I never had time to think or reflect. I now believe thatthis was completely by design. Did Tommy know I would be easier to control if I werekept ignorant of the full scope of my power?
I’m told that in the Music Box era, as a gift to me, my then makeup25 artist Billy B andhairstylist Syd Curry26 made a thoughtful scrapbook for me, in which they gathered littlenotes of love and appreciation27 from other artists or celebrities28 they worked with or saw intheir travels. Joey Lawrence (remember Joey from Blossom?), who was such a heartthrobat the time, apparently left a significantly sweet message. Well, Tommy saw the lovefestof a book, ripped it up, and burned it in the fireplace before I was able to see it—a childishact of cruelty, especially to Billy and Syd, who went through all that effort to prove to mehow big I was even among the stars.
With no parental29 or familial management or protection, I was easy to manipulate, butthe dynamic of my relationship with Tommy was complex. In many ways, Tommyprotected me from my dysfunctional family, but he went to the extreme: he controlled andpatrolled me. Yet his control also meant that in these early years, all my focus, all myenergy, and all my passion went into writing, producing, and singing my songs. Tommyand his stranglehold on my movements seemed a fair price to pay for getting to do thework I had always dreamed of. He had my life, but I had my music. It wasn’t until thatmoment in Schenectady that I began to realize the degree of my popularity. I had fans!
And soon they would become another source of my strength.
In the dressing room, where I sat in a chair having my hair first straightened, thencurled and sprayed, the magnitude of what I had just learned began to sink in. The policewere not around because of some violent or dangerous incident—they were there to makea clear way for me. My family may not have provided me safety, my relationship may nothave given me security, but realizing that there was a multitude of people showing up andpouring out love for me gave me a new kind of confidence. Because Tommy neverallowed me to experience the glamorous30 privileges granted to the young, rich, andpopular, the fame I discovered was solely31 defined through my relationship to my fans andtheir relationship to my music. I decided that day that I was prepared to be devoted32 tothem forever.
The Thanksgiving special was titled Here Is Mariah Carey, and I was going to debutthree new songs from Music Box: “Dreamlover,” “Anytime You Need a Friend,” and“Hero,” along with some of my known hits—“Emotions,” “Make It Happen,” and ofcourse, “Vision of Love.” I had always written songs from an honest place, using my ownlived experiences and dreams as a source. I also pushed my vocals34 to their extreme. I wasalso going to debut33 “Hero.” It’s always a risk to debut songs at a live show that peoplehave not had the opportunity to connect with through radio repetition. Even though I wrote“Hero,” it wasn’t originally intended for me to perform.
I was asked to write something for the movie Hero, starring Dustin Hoffman and GeenaDavis. Tommy had agreed I would submit a song for the film, to be sung by GloriaEstefan, who was on Epic35 Records (Sony, Tommy’s label, was the parent company). Iknew that Luther Vandross was also writing a song for the soundtrack, so I would be ingreat company. I hunkered down in Right Track, or the Hit Factory—one of the majorstudios where I had spent a major fortune. I was there that day with Walter Afanasieff.
The plot of the film was explained to everyone in the studio in five minutes: a pilotgoes around and rescues people. That’s about all I absorbed. Shortly after, I got up to go tothe bathroom, one of the few activities I did unaccompanied by someone on Tommy’spayroll. I lingered in the stall to luxuriate in my fleeting37 moment of peace. Savoring38 mytime, I slowly walked down the hall to return to the studio. As I walked, a melody andsome words came clearly into my mind. As soon as I got back into the room, I sat rightdown at the piano and said to Walter, “This is how it goes.” I hummed the tune36 and someof the lyrics39. As Walter worked to find the basic chords, I began to sing, “and then a herocomes along.” I guided him through what I had heard so vividly40 in my head.
“Hero” was created for a mainstream41 movie, to be sung by a singer with a verydifferent style and range than my own. Honestly, though I felt the message and the melodywere fairly generic42, I also thought it fit the bill. We recorded a rough demo, which I founda bit schmaltzy.
But Tommy heard the potential for a classic. He insisted not only that we keep thesong but that it was going on my new album. I was like, Okay. I’m glad he likes it. Ifinessed the song and made changes to the lyrics to make it more personal. For that, I wentto the well of my memories and dipped into that moment when Nana Reese had told me tohold on to my dreams. I did my best to reclaim43 it, but it was a gift no matter who it wasfor.
By the time of the Schenectady show, “Hero” had lost its simplicity44 and gained somedepth. The initial trepidation45 I felt about singing it live for the first time in front of anaudience was melting away as I thought about all the people who had lined the streets andpacked the theater to see me that night. I decided that this song did not actually belong toGloria Estefan, a movie, Tommy, or me. “Hero” belonged to my fans, and I was going todeliver it to them with all I had.
The Thanksgiving special included inner- city kids from a local communityorganization. I saw the kids backstage, brimming with both promise and fear, and in them,I saw me. I would sing this song for them too. The concert opened with my latest hit,“Emotions”—upbeat and embellished46 with lots of my signature super-high notes. As I wassinging “Emotions,” and through the several stops and retakes required (singing live forTV recording is tedious work), I was able to really look at the people in the crowd. Thiswas Schenectady, and these were real folks—not paid seat fillers or trendily dressed extrasbut authentic47, mostly young people with that unmistakable hunger and adoration48 in theireyes. I saw them for who they were, and they were me. I closed my eyes and said a prayer.
As the first few chords of the piano intro played, I started to hum from my heart. When Iopened my mouth, “Hero” was released into the world.
Some of us need to be rescued, but everyone wants to be seen. I sang “Hero” directlyto the faces I could see from the stage. I saw tears well up in their eyes and hope rise up intheir spirits. Whatever cynicism I had about that song was gone after that night. ButTommy, too, had noticed the size of its impact.
Later that year, on December 10, 1993, when I performed “Hero” at Madison SquareGarden, I announced that all stateside sales proceeds would be donated to the families ofvictims of the Long Island Railroad shooting, which had happened three days prior. On atrain—a route I’d ridden before—a man pulled out a 9-mm pistol and opened fire, killingsix people and wounding nineteen. Three brave men, Kevin Blum, Mark McEntee, andMichael O’Connor, subdued49 him, thus preventing more slaughter50. They were heroes, andso I dedicated51 “Hero” to them that night. Just ten days after the September 11 attacks, Isang the song as part of the America: A Tribute to Heroes telethon. And on January 20,2009, I had the unthinkable, unparalleled honor of singing it at the Inaugural52 Ball of thefirst African American president of the United States of America. To this day, “Hero” isone of my most performed songs. Music Box would go on to reach diamond status in theUnited States and is one of the highest-selling albums of all time.
And here’s a side note with a side eye: A couple of people have come for “Hero,” andfor me, with both royalties53 and plagiarism54 claims. Three times I have been to court, andthree times the cases have been thrown out. The first time, the poor fool going after mehad to pay a fine. Initially55 I felt victimized, knowing how purely56 the song came to me, butafter a while I almost began to expect lies and lawsuits57 to come with my success—fromstrangers and my own family and friends. And they won’t stop.
The taping that night in Schenectady took several hours. A television show has so manytechnical needs—multiple cameras, close-ups, far and cutaway shots, costume changes,hair and makeup touch- ups, extras, audience reactions — it’s a production. When wefinally wrapped, I said all my thank-yous to the kids, the choir58, the orchestra, and the crew.
Then, just as I had come in, I was whisked out the backstage door, which seemed to leadnot to the street but straight into the limo.
I plopped into the backseat, buzzing from a contradictory59 cocktail60 of exhaustion61 andexhilaration. As we pulled out into the street, I noticed that where there was onceemptiness and a scattering62 of barricades, there were now crowds of people swelling63 overthe flimsy metal partitions, screaming my name and “We love you!” I noticed the copstoo, standing64 there, unfazed, in the pulsing midst of the energy and excitement. It was onething to be informed, but quite another to see with my own eyes, hear with my own ears,and feel in my soul the reaction from real people to me and my music. What I felt thatnight in Schenectady was not idol65 worship, it was love. It was the kind of love that comesfrom honest connection and recognition. I was mesmerized66 as I looked out the window,watching all these people shower me with such love. Not just fans. A family.
As the crowd faded from sight and we neared the outskirts67 of town, approaching thehighway, my high began to wear off. And by the time the wheels touched the tar7 of theTaconic Parkway, the mood in the car had returned to its routine gloom. Most Thursdayevenings Tommy and I would ride up the southern stretch of this highway, leavingglamorous Manhattan behind to spend the weekend in Hillsdale. As the lights and high-rises shrank in the rearview mirror and the magnetic pull of the city dimmed, a part of mylife force grew faint as well.
When the car radio, which stayed locked on Hot 97 (their then slogan: “blazing hip-hop and R & B”), would begin to break up, muffled68 by static, I knew my life as a Grammyaward–winning singer-songwriter twenty-something was over. Every weekend, Tommywould turn off the radio that was my lifeline and take a moment of silence before poppingin one of his beloved Frank Sinatra CDs. What a tragic69 metaphor70, listening to Tommyhum “My Way” as he drove us back to my captivity71.
I was conditioned to either talk shop or go silent on our bleak72 commute73. Mostly,though, I just stared out the window at the grand Hudson River, preparing for my firstmajor role: contented74 wife-to-be. This was the only acting job Tommy ever encouraged.
Taking acting classes or accepting roles in movies or on TV was strictly75 forbidden.
On the ride back from Schenectady, I don’t recall Tommy and me discussing what hadjust happened. Perhaps he knew that I saw the purity and power of the fans—that I’ddiscovered how their love couldn’t be controlled. It is fans who create a phenomenon, notrecord-company executives. Tommy was smart. He knew. But I don’t know if he realizedthat after that moment, I finally did too.
We arrived at the farmhouse, and all I wanted to do was take a bath. Being a performeris a production. You build up and put on, you strategize, manipulate, accommodate, andshape-shift. It requires rituals (sometimes in the form of bad habits) to return yourself backto yourself. My ritual was to wash the performer off. The addition of a large tub facing anexpansive picture window was one of the few contributions I got to make to Hillsjail. Thebathroom was my refuge, since putting a camera or intercom in there would’ve been a bitmuch, even for Tommy. The cool marble tile sent a soothing76 sensation through my barefeet, which had been hoisted77 up in heels all night. I lazily peeled off my ensemble,thankful that the sound of the water running was the only one I heard. I lowered theoverhead lights and ceremoniously lit a few white candles. The water was welcoming, andI surrendered. As if being baptized, I submerged my head and lingered in the warm, darkquiet. I gently rose up, tilted78 my head back, and propped79 my arms along the edge of themassive basin, eyelids80 still shut, savoring every moment of this calm solitude81. Slowly Iopened my eyes to a radiant full moon, glowing against a clear, blue-black sky. Softly Ibegan to sing: “Da, da, da, da, da…”
Images of the scene I had just left—adoring fans screaming and crying—flashedthrough my mind, blending with painful recollections of my brother screaming and mymother crying, of myself as a lonely little girl in a neglected dress. I was floating in a tubthat was larger than the size of my entire living area just five years before, in a roombigger than all of the living rooms in all of the thirteen places I lived with my mothergrowing up. The enormity, complexity82, and instability of the road I had traveled to get intothis bath hit me. It was the first time I felt safe enough to go back and peek83 in on Mariah,the little one, and recognize what she had survived. And suddenly, the first verse andchorus of “Close My Eyes” came to me:
I was a wayward child
With the weight of the world
That I held deep inside.
Life was a winding84 road
And I learned many things
Little ones shouldn’t know
But I closed my eyes
Steadied my feet on the ground
Raised my head to the sky
And the times rolled by
Still I feel like a child
As I look at the moon
Maybe I grew up
A little too soon.
It would take me years to finish this song—years of anguish85 and survival.
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1
promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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vaudeville
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| n.歌舞杂耍表演 | |
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recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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outfitted
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| v.装备，配置设备，供给服装( outfit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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eerily
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| adv.引起神秘感或害怕地 | |
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mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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barricades
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| 路障，障碍物( barricade的名词复数 ) | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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squads
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| n.（军队中的）班( squad的名词复数 )；（暗杀）小组；体育运动的运动（代表）队；（对付某类犯罪活动的）警察队伍 | |
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consecutive
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| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
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vocal
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nominations
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| n.提名，任命( nomination的名词复数 ) | |
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coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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accolades
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| n.（连结几行谱表的）连谱号( accolade的名词复数 )；嘉奖；（窗、门上方的）桃尖拱形线脚；册封爵士的仪式（用剑面在肩上轻拍一下） | |
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coordinated
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sequestered
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farmhouse
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makeup
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curry
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| n.咖哩粉，咖哩饭菜；v.用咖哩粉调味，用马栉梳，制革 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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glamorous
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| adj.富有魅力的；美丽动人的；令人向往的 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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debut
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| n.首次演出，初次露面 | |
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vocals
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| （乐曲中的）歌唱部份，声乐部份( vocal的名词复数 ) | |
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epic
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| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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savoring
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| v.意味，带有…的性质( savor的现在分词 )；给…加调味品；使有风味；品尝 | |
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lyrics
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| n.歌词 | |
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vividly
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mainstream
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| n.（思想或行为的）主流；adj.主流的 | |
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generic
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| adj.一般的，普通的，共有的 | |
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reclaim
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| v.要求归还，收回；开垦 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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embellished
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| v.美化( embellish的过去式和过去分词 )；装饰；修饰；润色 | |
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authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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inaugural
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| adj.就职的；n.就职典礼 | |
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royalties
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| 特许权使用费 | |
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plagiarism
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| n.剽窃，抄袭 | |
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initially
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| adv.最初，开始 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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lawsuits
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| n.诉讼( lawsuit的名词复数 ) | |
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choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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cocktail
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| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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63
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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mesmerized
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| v.使入迷( mesmerize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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72
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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commute
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| vi.乘车上下班；vt.减(刑)；折合；n.上下班交通 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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complexity
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| n.复杂(性)，复杂的事物 | |
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83
peek
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| vi.偷看，窥视；n.偷偷的一看，一瞥 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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85
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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