Until this changes, Carey's going to come across like a five-octave songbird in a guilded cage.
Butterfly is no different.
This album is about as subtle as a being buried alive by cotton candy. For the most part, layer upon layer of overproduction ruins what worthy grains of ideas there are. No time is wasted. Only a few tracks have been spared the bombast. Close My Eyes and the closing ballad, Outside, are simple enough to reveal a glimpse of honesty.