Milestones: Daydream by Mariah Carey
Mariah Carey was at the height of her fame—a superstar seemingly on top of the world. Daydream represented a confident artistic declaration that she was not content to be boxed in.
In the summer of 1990, a voice came through the car radio that stopped time. It was Mariah Carey’s debut single “Vision of Love,” crackling over the airwaves like a revelation—a young singer delivering gospel-inflected melismas and a towering high note that hinted at the arrival of a new vocal powerhouse. For many, that first encounter with Carey’s music was awe-inspiring: here was a 21-year-old with a range that soared into whistle-register heights and a soulful conviction beyond her years. “Vision of Love” wasn’t just a chart-topping hit; it felt like a promise of the ‘90s to come, introducing a prodigious talent who could meld pop polish with church-born passion. Five years and four albums later, that promise would reach full bloom in Daydream, the 1995 album that emerged as both a commercial juggernaut and a creative turning point in Carey’s career.
When Daydream arrived in the fall of 1995, Mariah Carey was already pop royalty. Still only in her mid-20s, she had amassed an unbroken string of #1 hits and multi-platinum albums. Yet Daydream managed to eclipse even her own lofty standards. The album debuted at number one on charts in at least nine markets around the world and eventually sold over 20 million copies worldwide, becoming one of the best-selling albums of all time. In the United States, it was certified Diamond (10× Platinum), and its impact was felt on charts for years to come. It garnered six Grammy nominations, including Album of the Year, confirming that this was a pop milestone. And yet, in a now-famous twist, the Grammys that year shut Carey out completely, an “unexpected snub” given that Daydream was among 1995’s most acclaimed and successful albums. The shutout only enhanced the album’s lore, as if to prove that awards could overlook what audiences worldwide clearly heard. Daydream was an artist at her peak, staking a bold claim in the era’s pop landscape.
On the charts, Daydream’s dominance was indisputable. Its singles practically took up residence at the top of the Billboard Hot 100. Lead single “Fantasy” made history as the first song by a female artist to debut at #1 in the U.S., then stayed there for eight weeks. Hot on its heels, the Boyz II Men duet “One Sweet Day” also debuted at #1 and proceeded to hold the top spot for an astonishing 16 weeks, becoming the longest-running #1 single in Billboard history up to that time. The breezy anthem “Always Be My Baby” gave Carey yet another #1—her 11th—and with these hits combined, Carey logged roughly six months atop the Hot 100 between late 1995 and mid-1996. In an era when physical CD sales were booming and radio was ruled by power ballads and R&B jams alike, Daydream managed to reflect and dominate the pop landscape all at once. Its transatlantic success (topping charts across Europe and beyond) underscored how Carey’s appeal had become truly global, bridging audiences of pop, R&B, and adult contemporary music. Few albums defined mid-’90s pop ubiquity like Daydream did—it was the rare record as comfortable in a teenager’s Discman as it was on the household stereo.
Yet what makes Daydream endure isn’t merely its commercial success, but how it marked a pivotal evolution in Mariah Carey’s artistry. This was the album where Carey, then in her mid-twenties, began to assert far greater creative control—exploring new sounds, new collaborators, and more of her own heart. In interviews at the time, she hinted that Daydream represented the first time she was truly making music she connected with on a personal level, leaning more into the R&B and hip-hop influences that moved her. Her record label, Columbia, gave her a longer leash in the studio than before, but not without reservations. The inclusion of Wu-Tang Clan rapper Ol’ Dirty Bastard on a remix of “Fantasy,” for example, initially rattled the higher-ups—it was a radical move for a pop diva in 1995, and executives fretted that such a left-field hip-hop collaboration might “jeopardize the album’s success.” Carey herself later quipped that label executives were “nervous about breaking the formula” that had put her onstage singing ballads in an evening gown.
But Mariah was determined to break that formula. Behind the scenes, her insistence on pushing into edgier R&B/hip-hop territory caused friction not just with her label, but with her husband, Sony Music CEO Tommy Mottola, who had overseen her career since day one. Mottola was known to exert near-total control over Carey’s image and sound—keeping her in the lane of polished pop and sweeping love songs—and he bristled at her growing desire to incorporate the streetwise flavors of hip-hop. The tension between Carey’s artistic ambitions and Mottola’s tight grip would only intensify after the release of Daydream, contributing to the breakdown of their high-profile marriage. In real time, Daydream was thus both a blockbuster record and a quiet act of defiance: the sound of a superstar stretching beyond the confines that had been set around her.
To achieve this expansion of her sound, Carey assembled an impressive roster of collaborators on Daydream, striking a balance between trusted partners and fresh influences. Longtime co-producer Walter Afanasieff—who had been behind many of her early hits—remained a guiding hand on Daydream, co-writing and co-producing a number of tracks and ensuring the album still delivered the lush balladry fans expected. But alongside Afanasieff, Carey welcomed new creative input that would shape the album’s modern R&B character. Jermaine Dupri, the Atlanta hitmaker, brought a youthful hip-hop soul sensibility to the table, co-writing and producing “Always Be My Baby” and the slinky deep cut “Long Ago.” It was a meeting of musical minds that clicked instantly—Carey had been a fan of Dupri’s work since his 1992 hit “Jump,” and when they got together in the studio, their chemistry was organic.
As Dupri and co-writer Manuel Seal played a piano groove, Mariah began humming along and quickly cooked up the infectious “Always Be My Baby” chorus on the spot. The finished song layered downbeat, hip-hop-inspired rhythms with sweet, soft R&B vocals, and Carey invited her go-to background vocalists (including sisters Kelly and Shanrae Price, and Melonie Daniels) to stack harmonies behind her, “building a wall of background voices” that cushioned her final belted notes. The result was a track both “sassy and soft”—a playful midtempo love song with an undeniable R&B core. Dupri’s involvement signaled a new era: he would go on to become one of Carey’s key collaborators in the coming years, but Daydream is where that partnership, and Mariah’s deeper embrace of hip-hop textures, truly began.
Carey also teamed up with other R&B royalty on Daydream. For the silky slow jam “Melt Away,” she joined forces with Kenneth “Babyface” Edmonds, then at the peak of his fame as the master of ‘90s R&B songwriting. Together they crafted a sultry, sensual bedroom ballad that glides like a dream. On this track, Carey surprised listeners by dipping into a richer, lower register than she had often showcased before—singing in intimate, hushed tones that revealed new shades of her voice. It’s as if she let her voice melt into the luxurious harmonies, opting for restraint and atmosphere over vocal pyrotechnics. That newfound subtlety made “Melt Away” a fan favorite, often cited as one of her most underrated songs of the decade.
Balancing out the album’s modern influences, Daydream also pays homage to earlier eras of music that shaped Carey’s artistic sensibility. Nowhere is this more evident than on the dreamy track “Underneath the Stars.” Carey has cited the late Minnie Riperton—the ‘70s songbird famed for her crystalline whistle register—as a major influence, and here she practically time-travels back into Riperton’s era. Her vocals on “Underneath the Stars” are deliberately breathy and nostalgic, floating above a mellow groove as she reminisces about young summer love. “Moonlight in your eyes, I feel like I’m in heaven,” she sings in a delicate croon, the melody curling like smoke in the night air. In the background, layered nearly subliminally, she lets loose brief flashes of her upper range—fluttering high notes that flutter in and out like fireflies. The effect is that of a hazy R&B daydream (true to the album’s title) that nods affectionately to the slow-jam records of decades past. Carey even engineered the mix to sound a bit like an old vinyl 45, complete with those “synthetic record scratches” to enhance the retro vibe. It’s one of Daydream’s understated gems, a song that feels out of time—as if a forgotten Smokey Robinson or Minnie Riperton B-side drifted into Mariah’s world. Carey later revealed this was the first song she recorded for Daydream, and it “got [her] into the head of making an album that was more R&B—more in the vibe of the Minnie Riperton era.”
The album’s tracklist gracefully toggles between such contemporary R&B sounds and Carey’s pop ballad heritage. On the blockbuster collaboration “One Sweet Day,” these two strands meet in a song that is at once deeply rooted in gospel/R&B tradition and tailored for pop universality. Co-written and performed with Boyz II Men (the reigning kings of ‘90s R&B harmony), “One Sweet Day” is a heart-rending tribute to lost loved ones—a song born from personal grief that somehow became a communal anthem of comfort. Carey began writing it after the death of her friend and fellow musician David Cole (of C+C Music Factory) as a way to cope with loss, and when she brought the idea to Boyz II Men, she discovered they too had been working on a similar tribute song. The resulting collaboration merged their ideas into a single powerhouse ballad, with producer Afanasieff adding gentle beats and chords underneath so the focus stayed on the vocals. And what vocals they are—Carey and Boyz II Men trade lines and then join together in lush five-part harmony for the chorus, their voices lifting with emotional urgency. “And I know you’re shining down on me from heaven,” Mariah cries out, and you can hear the tears barely held at bay. There is a church-like intensity to the performance; it feels less like a polished studio creation than a moment of shared catharsis. The song’s record-breaking run at #1 attests to how it resonated broadly—for much of 1996, America was collectively mourning to “One Sweet Day,” whether for friends lost to illness, to accidents, or even to the AIDS epidemic that had taken Cole’s life. Decades later, the song’s critics might call it overly sentimental, but there is no denying the sincerity in those vocals. Every time Carey ascends to her final chorus, layering one of her trademark whistle notes above the climactic refrain, it sends shivers—a reminder that few singers in pop history have ever had this kind of command. The whistle tone, that almost otherworldly register she wields sparingly, arrives like a beam of light piercing through clouds of grief. It’s a quintessential Mariah Carey moment: technically awe-inspiring yet employed in the service of raw emotion.
For fans of Carey’s earlier work, Daydream also offered comforting reassurances that the balladeer in Mariah was still very much alive and well—only now, her ballads carried a bit more experience and depth. Her choice of cover song on this album is telling. She remade Journey’s classic rock ballad “Open Arms,” a hit from 1982, transforming it from its original arena-rock grandeur into a slightly more delicate, R&B-tinged plea. The track opens with Carey alone at the microphone, singing a cappella with a reverent hush before the arrangement swells. By the time the chorus arrives, she’s belting with full force—but listen closely and you’ll hear gospel undertones in the background. Mariah enlisted her trio of background vocalists once more to provide churchy harmonies, and together they gave “Open Arms” just a touch of gospel flavor amidst the power-ballad drama. It was a subtle update to a familiar song, aligning it with the overall Daydream ethos of blending pop with soulful textures.
Original ballads on Daydream further demonstrated Carey’s growth as a vocalist and songwriter. “When I Saw You,” for instance, stands as the album’s unabashed throwback to the sweeping love songs that made her a household name—it’s a direct descendant of earlier Mariah hits like “Vision of Love” and “Love Takes Time.” Written with Afanasieff, “When I Saw You” is all heartfelt romantic devotion, set to an elegant piano melody and swelling strings. Carey delivers it with clear-eyed sincerity, unleashing the kind of sustained, crystalline belts that first drew comparisons to Whitney Houston and Celine Dion. Including a song like this on Daydream was almost strategic: it reassured listeners that even as she explored hip-hop beats and slow jams, Mariah had not abandoned the classic balladry that helped build her empire. In fact, her vocal performance on “When I Saw You” might be even more nuanced than in years past—she holds back until the perfect moment, then lets fly a cascade of emotion.
On the opposite end of the spectrum is “Long Ago,” one of Daydream’s coolest deep cuts and a song that underscores just how far into R&B Mariah was willing to go. Co-written with Jermaine Dupri, “Long Ago” rides a dark, hip-hop-inflected groove: deep bass, a moody keyboard line, and a slow, head-nodding beat that wouldn’t sound out of place on a TLC or Mary J. Blige record circa 1995. Carey’s voice melts into this sultry backdrop, sliding over the insistent bassline like silk as she sings in a yearning lilt about a past romance. The song finds her lost in memories of love gone by, “drowning in thoughts of yesterday,” and the production accentuates that woozy, hypnotic feeling. It’s R&B through and through, with Mariah’s vocal harmonies stacking up in jazzy chords. “Long Ago” wasn’t a single and often flies under the radar, but it’s a critical piece of Daydream’s puzzle: proof that Carey could go toe-to-toe with the era’s R&B elite on their own turf and still make it sound completely natural.
A delightful surprise comes with the song “Forever,” which sees Mariah time-traveling to the early 1960s. “Forever” is an unabashed throwback, built on doo-wop chord changes and a tender melody that echoes 1950s teen pop ballads. The arrangement is rich with sentimental strings and gentle arpeggiated guitars, and Carey’s vocals are relatively restrained, sweet, and tinged with old-fashioned romance. One can almost imagine it being sung by a young Etta James or Brenda Lee in some bygone decade. Of course, being Mariah, she can’t resist turning up the power in the final run-through of the chorus—her voice rises to a full-throated climax as drums crash in, bringing a contemporary pop grandeur to this nostalgic tune. But even in those big moments, she maintains a certain warmth and richness in her tone, never sacrificing emotional warmth for vocal showmanship. “Forever” feels like a love letter to the kind of classic songwriting that Carey grew up on, and its presence on Daydream once again underscores the album’s theme of bridging eras.
Fittingly, the album closes on an introspective note that ties together its themes of imagination, love, and the woman behind the stardom. The final track “Looking In” is one of the most personal songs Mariah Carey had released up to that point—a sparse, soul-baring ballad that offers a rare glimpse past the gilded facade of fame. Over a simple, almost lullaby-like piano progression (co-written with Afanasieff), Carey delivers a plaintive meditation on the loneliness that can come with celebrity. “She smiles through a thousand tears, and harbors adolescent fears,” she sings softly, referring to the public figure “Mariah” as a girl isolated “inside the golden world.” The vocals are notably restrained; she’s not trying to wow anyone here. Instead, she sounds exposed, even weary, as she lets us in on the secret that her glamorous life isn’t as perfect as it appears. “If she only knew,” she sighs, before closing with the stark admission, “They’ll never know the real me.” It’s a haunting end to an album defined by its blend of fantasy and reality. After nearly an hour of joyous hooks, dazzling vocal runs, and genre-spanning ambition, Carey leaves listeners with a sobering self-portrait that lingers long after the music stops. In that vulnerability lies the deeper truth of Daydream: beneath the glittering success and record-breaking hits, an artist was carving out her independence, using her voice not just to astonish, but to reveal. Decades later, those revelations remain as vital as the songs themselves.
Standout (★★★★½)