Miss Understood

The story behind the modern Christmas classic... as you've never heard it before

Mariah at Madison Square Garden last week (Source: Mariah’s official social media channels).

Mariah is unrepresented on Substack. There’s barely a mention of her name, even when the context is begging for it (best-selling female artists, crossover pop/hip-hop records, Billboard Hot 100 number ones… I mean, come on).

These days, when her modern Christmas classic blasts non-stop through the speakers of every single retail space imaginable, the context is imploring.

Now, if you know a thing or two about me, you’ll know her music has been the driving force of my life in ways that are difficult to measure. She was my first introduction to soul, R&B and gospel (“black music”, if you will) as a kid growing up in a country where the songs you hear and the gender you love were in constant scrutiny.

The first time I had a proper conversation with her. I was so nervous I couldn’t get too close (I was basically trying not to faint), but she was beyond sweet.

Proudly following every step of her career was fundamental in my defiance of stifling heteronormative expectations as I was coming to terms with who I was and, essentially, just trying to survive.

This time I was a bit more relaxed (I like to point out that, if you look closely, you’ll notice she’s hugging me!)

The inspirational message of her lyrics, which she writes from a place of having overcome racial and psychological abuse, gave me the strength and courage to become the person I am today.

This is why I owe her a lot. As well as introducing me to her idols (Aretha Franklin, Stevie Wonder, Donny Hathaway, and many other soul legends), her music healed what really hurt and nothing else could.

That time I appeared on her Instagram story!

Not many people know this, but Mariah didn’t necessarily want to do a Christmas record so early in her career. Her third studio album, Music Box (1993), was an international blockbuster that propelled her career to new heights.

Her label wanted her to delve deeper into the adult contemporary arena. They basically saw (and sold) her as this all-American girl with the long dress and the hair up (tamed, basically, curls and all), who wrote and sang beautiful yet admittedly poppy MOR ballads.

Essentially, their aim was to whitewash the strong urban and R&B tendencies of her music (and, truth be told, of every fibre of her being).

It is well documented that Tommy Mottola, her then-husband and chief executive of Sony, was controlling and abusive. Tension mounted as her fight for personal and creative freedom grew stronger in Daydream (1995) and Butterfly (1997). Later came the (in)famous breakdown, some career struggles, and a lot of determination, culminating in her spectacular comeback The Emancipation of Mimi (2005) which served as the ultimate testament of her independence and resilience.

Looking at the context of her career and life at the time, it is clear there was mounting tension all around, as some of the issues that would later explode were starting to brew.

Part of my Mariah Christmas record collection (yes, there’s more!)

Despite her stratospheric record sales and the many accolades already under her belt, there was still, four years into her career, a fundamental question that had to be answered: who, or rather, what was she, as an artist and as a person?

While the incisive “are you black or white?” question, relentless when she first came out in 1990, had somewhat calmed down on the surface, its implications behind the scenes were growing too loud to ignore.

Merry Christmas (1994) was perhaps the perfect compromise, on a more or less subsconscious level, at a time of mounting tension. The label was happy because it gave her an angelic aura that suited their strategy, and she saw it as an opportunity to embrace her blackness and bring the choir without facing (too much) resistance.

Take, for example, the first track, a rendition of the traditional Christmas carol Silent Night. The gospel influence is undeniable from the moment you hit play.

If you listen closely, you can really tell she is the product of a white opera singer of Irish descent who was disowned by her family for marrying a black man (half-Venezuelan, half-African American) who came from a devoted Pentecostal family in Harlem.

Mariah’s childhood consisted of trying to find herself between these two worlds. Her music clearly shows she’s a little bit of both.

The entire album, in fact, is plagued with gospel, R&B and urban elements that were constantly toned down or whitewashed by her label in her other records at the time.

As for the song that, years later, would go on to become what it is today, this was the first Christmas song she ever wrote, and the first song she worked on for this album.

She wrote it with Walter Afanasieff, her writing partner back then, in pretty much the same way as they wrote many of her other songs: bouncing ideas off each other.

Initially, Walter had some reservations about the melody. He told Business Insider:

“My first reaction was, ‘That sounds like someone doing voice scales … Are you sure that’s what you want?’”

But Mariah insisted, and after a few hours, they had the main elements of the song.

“She would sing a melody and I would do a chord change … it was almost like a game of ping-pong, back and forth, until we had it.”

7” pop-up gatefold (limited edition) of All I Want for Christmas is You plus Funko Pop (Christmas edition)

As I write this, the song is being inducted into the Library of Congress, which is something I don’t think she’s ever seen as remotely conceivable.

She worked on the lyrics by herself, true to her tradition. She was coming from a place of childhood trauma and “bleak” Christmases, as she calls them, desperately seeking a faint glimmer of hope, or the tiniest bit of joy, to spread to the world.

It would take her at least a couple of years to truly find that joy, but I’m glad she got there in the end.

Thanks for reading/listening. Happy spinning!