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. Close My Eyes and the closing ballad, Outside, are simple enough to reveal a glimpse of honesty. Over and out.