To Be Eaten Alive

Here’s a tweet that recently made me laugh: “You think you know your friends then boom you see them posting Mariah the Scientist lyrics on their Instagram story.” It’s a reference to the 26-year-old R&B singer’s famously raw and diaristic lyrics, which, at their worst, tip into the maudlin—the stuff of high-school journals and Tumblr art. Still, when Mariah’s writing does work, as on 2019’s Master and 2021’s Ry Ry World, her poetic vulnerability stuns. “I use my telescope at night, it won’t be for stars/Instead I hope that I can love you from afar,” she sings, resigned to her solitude on Ry Ry World standout “RIP.” Mariah might not have the disaffected tragedy of Summer Walker or the gut-punch neuroses of SZA, but she still knows how to pick apart the remains of a failed relationship with scavenger-like precision.

To Be Eaten Alive, Mariah’s third studio album, ditches the well-drawn, sometimes-treacly origin stories of her first two full-lengths. In their place is a collection of disappointingly aimless and often impersonal takes on distant love. Mariah has been in a highly publicized relationship with Young Thug since around 2021, and the strain of maintaining their bond during Thug’s incarceration could, in theory, make for compelling songwriting material, more so than simply being scorned. Instead, she sounds bored and uninspired, too exhausted by her circumstances to jolt herself awake.

The beats are often the problem here; Ry Ry World blended everything from melancholy trap and muted boom bap to moody Justin Timberlake and Beach House samples. That inventive approach balanced the pitchiness of Mariah’s voice and her limited vocal range, both of which work in her favor when she’s recalling disastrous fights in a deadpan tone. Unfortunately, when she scream-belts her heart out, those qualities are more like liabilities. Save for a few surprising collaborations, including the out-of-place but refreshing Kaytranada-produced “Out of Luck,” the beats on To Be Eaten Alive are mostly plodding and bland, making the album’s 27-minute runtime feel twice as long as it actually is. dvsn’s Nineteen85, a previous Drake collaborator, helms three of the songs here; his mud-thick BPMs and drums drag Mariah down with them, practically damning the songs before they take off. It’s a shame that any of these tracks could appear as a sleepy “Mariah’s Interlude” on a hypothetical Aubrey Graham album.

The listless “40 Days n 40 Nights” and “Good Times” waste flashes of vivid songwriting (“I’ll put a hundred miles on the AMG tonight/And take it anywhere but home,” she sings on the former). Equally sunk are “From a Woman” and “Lovesick,” where Mariah unleashes strained choruses that somehow disappear into the ether; she sounds more like she’s complaining than pleading. When she does find an instrumental with some life behind it, more similar to those on Ry Ry World, she finally sounds awake. The thumping, WondaGurl-produced “Bout Mine” is the Mariah the Scientist sweet spot: a trap-R&B hybrid offset by swaggering, too-cool vocals. It’s also one of the only song titles you’ll remember from the album, even after repeated listens.

When Mariah confronts the excruciating circumstances she and Thug find themselves in, her best songwriting emerges. “I think of your kids, your mother/Then I have to commend my lover/When I think of how it must feel to be you,” she sings on “Lovesick.” She mourns shared dreams of “painting the crib blue” on opener “Heaven Is a Place on Earth,” later alluding to the times they “had to keep sticks and illegal tints on all these cars.” It’s heartbreaking all around, a glimpse of the catharsis a more focused album could’ve provided.

Thug himself shows up on album closer “Ride,” the couple’s second collaboration after Ry Ry World’s excellent “Walked In.” Their chemistry remains through the roof. What a joy it is to hear Thug, in full Beautiful Thugger Girls mode, professing his love with his characteristic whine and humor: “I drip love, do you need an IV?” Thug’s chorus is an adoring, slightly overliteral testament to loyalty, but it’s still more enjoyable than the majority of To Be Eaten Alive. Mariah, for her part, returns to the cheeky flirtation she showed on “Walked In,” this time musing that she might change her last name to match her partner’s. It’s bittersweet given the stakes of Thug’s high-profile RICO trial, but as a tragic fantasy, it serves up more feeling than anything else on the album. That’s an unfortunate reality check for a talented young singer who, for the first time, can’t sing her way—or anyone else’s—out of heartbreak.