Most of the heavy-hitters rested, either entirely or on their laurels, in 2018. A few legends returned with their strongest statements ever (Ariana Grande, Robyn, Janelle Monáe) or in years (Mariah Carey), and you know here at Paper, we pay respect to icons when it's due. But when collectively reflecting on the music we fell in love with this year, we realized it was largely nobodies and newcomers who stepped up to do the work of political provocation and musical rule-breaking.
Sophie and Rosalía pointed us towards the future of pop. Cardi B, Leikeli47 and Tierra Whack upended tired trends in rap and demanded Black women's perspectives be paid mind. Young queer artists like MNEK, Troye Sivan, Kelela and Ian Isaiah wrote stories that reached listeners long neglected by music. For others, like Mitski and Lykke Li, it was their capacity for self-transformation that left us breathless. You can say a lot about 2018, but you can't say nobody in music showed up to do the work.
We had to kill so many of our darlings to do it, but below, in case you were curious, we've assembled Paper's top 20 albums of 2018.
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1. "Caution" by Mariah Carey
Did you know that Mariah Carey has written and co-produced arguably the greatest Christmas song of all time? The ubiquitous "All I Want For Christmas Is You" was indeed architected by the legendary diva, but that's easy to overlook, if all you focus on is headlines about this on-stage mishap or that controversy. We've gotta give glory to Carey where it's certainly due, because she's been the author of her own story for her entire career, encompassing 20 #1 hits, thank you very much. Caution is her 14th studio release in an impressive career spanning nearly three decades of self-penned, co-produced hits, and it is an effortless blend of modern pop flair with the soulful R&B of Carey's roots, bolstered by collaborations with legends and contemporary mainstays alike, including Slick Rick, Ty Dolla $ign, Skrillex, and Blood Orange. In many ways, Caution sounds like Carey blowing the dust off her favorite classic records for a new generation, with the kind of easygoing panache she's known for when she's at her best.
The thing is, though, Caution is the smoothest musical effort from Carey in quite some time, after weathering intense scrutiny following her last albums (see: Me I Am Mariah... The Elusive Chanteuse) and personal foibles (that New Year's Eve performance) that, for a little bit longer than we'd like to admit, distracted admirers from her peerless, world-class talent as a vocalist, a producer, and songwriter - an architect fully in control who's masterfully dominating an industry that continues to be male-dominated. Recent music industry statistics cite a 70/30 gender representation gap across songwriters, performers, producers, and executives: 70% male, 30% female.
Which is why it's more important than ever to note that on Caution in politically fraught 2018, Carey is listed as primary songwriter and producer for each track, followed by the men she collaborates with. (Consider how paradigm-shifting it is to see a song written and produced by Mariah Carey, first, then Skrillex.) And it probably has much to do with Caution's overall sound: unhurried, unfussy, and lean - 10 songs, zero filler. In this context, tracks like "The Distance" become an epic testament to Carey's longevity despite all odds; "Giving Me Life" is like Carey reaching into her pot of prog-soul melodic gold and sharing her wealth with male peers like Slick Rick, while Dev Hynes (of Blood Orange) gets a dream-come-true production credit; "GTFO", as the album's breezy kiss-off opener, shreds any remaining suspicion that Carey has ever needed to rely on men to hold her place on top: "Who's the knight in shining armor. I ain't the type to play the martyr. How 'bout you get the fuck out?" Then "Caution", packed with taut beats and a delicious snake-charmer melody, warns a lover to watch his step before telling a lie, laying her needs and desires bare for all the world to witness.
There is a quiet, but nonetheless radical beauty in this act: Carey implicitly trusts, through the graceful pain of lived experience, that her truth is powerful enough to resonate with women everywhere. May women feel reassured by Caution's tales of passion and peace, and for goddess to help the man who disturbs that truth. For them, Caution is a neon warning sign. Whether Carey is vulnerable or critical in her music, make no mistake: she is the only person who can, and should, write these stories.
(Paper magazine)
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