← DISGRACELAND
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Foreign. I'm done with subscriptions, streaming fitness razors, vitamins. I've got subscriptions for everything in my life. They lock you in and half the time I can't figure out how to unsubscribe. That's why I'm so excited about the new Blue Apron. Now you can get delicious meals delivered with no subscription needed, including new pre made options. Keep the flavor, ditch the subscription. Get 20% off your first two orders with code APRON20. Terms and conditions apply. Visit blueapron.com terms for more.
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Hey, Ryan Reynolds here wishing you a very happy half off holiday because right now Mint Mobile is offering you the gift of 50% off unlimited. To be clear, that's half price, not half the service. Mint is still premium unlimited wireless for a great price. So that means a half day. Yeah, give it a try@mintmobile.com Switch upfront.
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Way to grow your business with TikTok for business, anything is possible. If you've ever thought about advertising on TikTok, now's the time to do it. You can drive more customers to your website, sell products right in the app, and you can even use TikTok's creative tools to easily make content and find creators. To help sell your products find new customers today, just open your browser, type in getstarted.TikTok.com tiktokads and grow your business fast. Disgraceland is a production of Double Elvis. The stories about Mariah Carey are insane. Her sister drugged her and pimped her out when she was only 12 years old. Her first husband hired not one, but two security guards to follow her every move. Then he held her at knifepoint, well, a butter knife, in front of his friends. She lived under a microscope in a mansion full of hidden cameras and recording devices. A squadron of armed guards patrolled her home. That same squadron almost shot her colleagues when she disappeared for a 30 minute joyride. But even when she endured an oppressive home life, no one could imprison the decade defining five octave voice of Mariah Carey. She wrote countless number one albums and number one singles while essentially in lockdown, including that undying harbinger of holiday joy that starts playing the moment your Thanksgiving leftovers hit the freezer. I'm talking, of course, about All I want for Christmas is you. Because under any circumstances, Mariah Carey made great music, unlike that music I played for you at the top of the show. That wasn't great music. That was a preset loop from my melotron called Doodly doo doodly doo mk1. I played you that loop because I can't afford the rights to that's the Way Love Goes by Janet Jackson. And why would I play you that specific slice of moth to a flame cheese? Could I afford it because that was the number one song in America on June 5, 1993. And that was the day 24 year old Mariah Carey married Sony CEO Tommy Mottola, locking her into eight years of constant surveillance in one hell of a marriage. On this episode, Sister Pimps Mansion Imprisonment an all time holiday banger in the diva Mariah Carey. I'm Jake Brennan and this is Disgrace Iceland. Mariah Carey tells us every year that she doesn't want a lot for Christmas. Not presents, not packages, boxes or bags. She just wants a little old fashioned holiday joy. That feeling you get when you hear Nat King Cole sing about chestnuts and open fires or when you take the first bite of a warm sugar cookie fresh out of the oven. Every year, like clockwork, Mariah's ubiquitous holiday hit reminds us that all she wants for Christmas is you, nothing else. And every year we believe her. But on this particular Christmas, Mariah Carey had so much more. If Santa's workshop is in the North Pole, his secret second home is a ski chalet in Aspen, Colorado, AKA Mariah Carey's holiday house. Every room in the chalet looks like a Norman Rockwell painting. Two Christmas trees glow in the windows. One sparkles with homemade ornaments and family photos and the other is decorated with butterflies and cherubs, snow angels and sleigh tracks dimpled. A fresh coat of snow outside. Inside, rich scents waft through the halls. Stuffed shells, linguine with white clam sauce, cocoa cookies and decadent cakes. This is Martha Stewart level hosting on your Italian grandma's pep pill stash the ultimate winter wonderland for the woman who owns Christmas like no one else. Especially today. Because today, December 25, 2019, Mariah Carey's inescapable Christmas song All I Want for Christmas Is yous is at number one on the Billboard Hot125 years after its release. Not that she needed another number one song. Hell, she already broke Elvis Presley's record for the Most number ones 11 years earlier. Back in 2008, she was doing just fine for herself with or without a new chart topper. But this one just felt different. Personal. All I Want For Christmas was never a love song. It was a wish, a prayer for a Christmas just like today, filled with family harmony, joy. Because it wasn't always like this. There wasn't always children's laughter in the air and sleigh bells ringing on Christmas Day for Mariah Carey. Often there was screaming, arguing, insults flying across the room and maybe even fists. There was no Christmas music at the Carey household tonight, only a chaotic symphony of raised voices, harsh words sharp as knives meant to cut right to the bone. Mariah was 8 years old, or maybe 10. Didn't matter. Most Christmases went down like this in her family. The pattern was always the same. Mariah's mother would scrape together whatever she could to deck her modest home with holiday cheer. Advent calendars filled with chocolates, mulled wine with a hint of cinnamon in every sip. She worked with what she could afford in order to make every Christmas a memorable one. And they were memorable Christmases, just not in a good way. Because Mariah's older siblings sucked the holiday atmosphere out of the air the second they stepped through the door. Their names were Morgan and Allison and they didn't think twice about stealing Christmas from their little sister. They resented Mariah and their mother for living together without the two of them away from their quick tempered father. Morgan, Allison and Mariah shared the same parents. A white Irish mother and a black Venezuelan father. But they didn't share all the same traumas. Morgan and Allison dealt with the wreckage of their parents divorce when Mariah was only three years old. Around the same time, their mother seemed to grow a backbone and told their father that he would not beat this one, unquote in reference to Mariah, you can read between the lines. Morgan and Allison thought Mariah got off easy with the divorce. They thought she got off easy with everything. The way Morgan and Allison saw it, Mariah was the golden child. Mariah had lighter skin, dirty blonde hair. But Morgan and Allison didn't know that the same hair remained an unkept tangle throughout Mariah's childhood because their mother didn't know how to properly style and maintain black hair. They didn't know the kids still cornered Mariah at sleepovers just to hurl racial slurs at her. She wasn't immune to the ugliness of racism, no matter how light her hair or her skin was. Morgan and Allison, though, they couldn't see any of that. They just saw a white passing girl shielded by her white mother in a white neighborhood on Long Island. Mariah was more protected than Morgan and Allison ever were. And that's why Morgan and Allison didn't give a shit about protecting Mariah. Go ahead. Let her dream about a happy holiday season. A corny one, filled with caroling and snowball fights. Mariah could wish all she wanted. It wasn't going to happen. Not here. And not if Morgan or Allison had anything to say about it. The man was dead before the smoke from the gunshot could clear. Blood spouted from the wound in his neck as he fell to the floor with a thud. His wife surveyed the grisly mess before. She wasn't supposed to be here. She wasn't supposed to be the murderer. It was supposed to be Morgan. Morgan was the kind of young adult who mingled with the wrong crowds. The kind that could get blood on your hands if you weren't careful. Morgan was no stranger to violence. Physical fights with his father taught him how to fend for himself at an early age. The police were sick of prying the two men off of each other, to the point where Morgan and his father couldn't even legally be next to each other anymore. So it's not that surprising that the wife of a man named John William Maddox reached out to Morgan through a mutual connection and made him a tempting offer. Kill her husband and she'd fork over 30 grand. Morgan agreed and accepted $1,200 up front. Morgan never thought twice about tearing into his own father. But in the end, he couldn't tear a stranger's head off even if it paid well. He let the future black widow do her own dirty work. And then he snitched. Mariah was in the third grade. She saw the courtroom sketches, heard Morgan whisper to their mother about avoiding jail time. The fact that her brother was involved in a murder case wasn't shocking to her. She understood what Morgan was capable of, but she couldn't, for the life of her, figure out her sister, Allison. Allison's attacks on Mariah were spreading. Sporadic. She drugged Mariah with a full tab of Valium. She tossed a cup of boiling tea onto Mariah's back, giving her third degree burns. One time, Allison even offered Mariah a long fingernail's worth of white powder, which, thankfully, Mariah didn't accept. Alison egged her on. Just try it just a little bit. Who cares? 12 year old Mariah cared, thank you very much. She booked at home and abandoned Allison in her hefty bump of cocaine. Then Allison did what she always did. Acted normal and loving for a little bit. Just long enough to quell Mariah's anxiety. She rang Mariah one afternoon and said she and her boyfriend would be by to pick up Mariah for some quality time together. Mariah eagerly waited outside to watch for their car. Sure enough, Allison's boyfriend pulled up right on time. But there was no Allison in the passenger seat. It was just him and the handgun on his thigh. 12 years old is a funny age. Mariah was just old enough to know that her sister's mystery powder was actually drugs. But she was too young to know her sister's boyfriend was also her pimp. As Mariah got in the car, the pimp boyfriend promised her they'd link up with Alison later. In the meantime, he had places to be, like the drive in movie theater. The boyfriend parked the car. Allison never showed. So Mariah became the boyfriend's date by proxy. Or maybe by design. He knew better than to take Mariah, a 12 year old, to the drive in. And he definitely knew better than to kiss Mariah on the lips in the front seat of his car. It was unspeakably wrong, not to mention unspeakably stupid, in a gassed onlooker in the car parked next to them gawked at the assault in plain view through the passenger window. The pimp boyfriend backed down and drove Mariah home without another word. Finally, someone was looking out for her. Thank God someone was watching.
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Holiday PSA from dsw this is your reminder that shoes are a gift.
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Literally.
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So unwrap something good like boots that inspire your next big adventure. Or cozy slippers that give you an excuse to stay in. Or sneakers that feel like pure joy. Because shoes aren't just shoes, they're exactly, exactly what you wanted. Let us surprise you so you can surprise them. Find shoes that get you and everyone on your list at prices that get your budget at DSW stores or dsw.com Sparkle throughout the night with Born in Roma fragrances by Valentino Beauty. Each bottle holds the energy of Rome after dark. Donna Born in Roma blends luxurious jasmine with rich, creamy vintage vanilla, creating a sensual and vibrant signature scent. Uoma Born in Roma fuses aromatic sage and smoked vetiver leaving a lasting impression that lingers well into the early hours. Shop Born in Roma by Valentino Beauty now at Ulta this week on scene on the screen, Hugh Jackman, obviously Oscar nominated actress.
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And as much as people love to see blades coming out of his knuckles and tearing some people up like he loves to to sing and dance.
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Yeah, he's a showman.
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He really is. Some have called him the greatest showman girl.
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Join me Jacqueline Coley as I meet the filmmakers, actors and industry insiders influencing entertainment. Each episode, guests share their journeys and inspirations and answer trivia about the movies that shape them. My next guest is Craig Brewer, writer, director and producer of Song Sung Blue. To listen, simply search seen on the screen wherever you listen to podcasts.
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Mariah Carey's black Mercedes raced towards her mansion, one hand on the wheel and the other holding a half eaten french fry. Mariah's friend, Chicago rapper Da Brat, claimed the last one of the fries in the fast food bag from the passenger seat. They exchanged a glance and burst into giggles over absolutely nothing. Debrat's phone buzzed. She didn't have to answer to know who was interrupting their bubble of girl time. It was Jermaine, who was back at Mariah's home recording studio with the girl group Xscape. He was blowing up debrat's phone every five minutes. Jermaine Dupri wasn't the kind of guy to crack down on a 30 minute break when it was time to record a new collaboration. Mariah's husband, Tommy Mottola, on the other hand, he was a different story. Da Brat snapped her phone open again. Yo Brad, get the fuck back here. There was panic in Jermaine's voice. Da Brat didn't get it. They were one mile away at tops after picking up a lousy order of drive thru french fries. What was so wrong with that? She couldn't see what was developing on the other end of the phone. Back in the studio, the guard leaned over the console and looked Jermaine Dupree dead in the eye. He was going to ask him one more time. Where is she? Germain repeated that he had no clue. The guard escalated from a question to a demand. Tell us where she is. The guards began to pull their guns from their holsters. Germain's blood iced over. Nuh. Not today. He wasn't going to get shot over a joyride. He dialed the Brat again, but the guards were sick of waiting. They were on the move now, filing into two black SUVs for a rescue mission. The men didn't have far to go. Mariah's Benz was already winding up the lengthy driveway past the security station, past both gates, directly towards the small militia of men assembled outside the mansion. Mariah's home looked like something out of a kid's mouth. Imagination. The Georgian style mansion sprawled across a whopping 22,000 square feet. French windows punctuated its timeless red brick exterior. Staggering double stacked chimneys on the roof. Two gazebos, one for each pond in the backyard, separating Mariah from her neighbors. Fashion designer Ralph Lauren and film producer Stanley Jaffe. It was a vision straight out of a picture book. Like a fairy godmother dropped a castle in upstate New York. Mariah called it Storybook Manor. Her extravagant hamlet was nestled In Bedford, New York, 40 miles outside of Manhattan. Out here, New York City was just a concept. There were so many things to do at Storybrook Manor that Mariah and her husband Tommy barely needed to leave the estate. And that's exactly how Tommy liked it. Thing is, Tommy wasn't just Mariah's husband, he was her boss too. He was the CEO of Sony Music Entertainment and a bigwig at Columbia Records, one of Sony's main record labels. In 1988, Tommy signed Mariah to Columbia Records and proceeded to pump Sony's flush budget into her debut album. Sony forked over $800,000 just to produce the record. Another million for marketing and promotion. Tommy topped it off with another 500 grand to remake make one of Mariah's music videos. He didn't flinch at the frightening amount of zeros it took to roll out Mariah's self titled debut. Everything in Tommy's world was big by design. Big security measures. Big Glock in his briefcase, Big chauffeurs driving big armored limousines. The acts he worked with were even bigger. To his credit, Tommy kickstarted the careers of some of music history's biggest names, starting with hall and Oates. He'd go on to sign decade defining artists of the 1990s and early 2000s, including Celine Dion, Destiny's Child, Shakira and Jennifer Lopez. When artists said yes to Tommy Mottola, they won big. It was not in your best interests to tell him no under any circumstances. Even if he asked to start a romantic relationship with you despite a 21 year age gap. Gap. Even if he wanted to get married and build a $30 million mansion. In Mariah Carey's case, all of the above. Mariah wielded an earth shattering five octave voice, but she didn't have an actual voice. Tommy was the only person allowed to say no in the relationship. No music that a man like him couldn't easily relate to. No social outings with friends, no acting lessons, no privacy, period. Tommy hired two bodyguards to specifically follow Mariah's every move. Even within their own home, they had strict orders. Trail Mariah like a shadow everywhere except the bathroom. And when she has to powder her nose, wait for her outside the door. So long as Mariah was at Storybook Manor, Tommy never had to wonder what she was doing. He could watch over his wife at any hour, like a shepherd guarding his flock. Or more accurately, stalking it. He loved to buzz Mariah using the intercom system installed throughout their mansion or take a peek at his wife through one of the hidden cameras and recording devices nested throughout the house. Mariah didn't even know where they all were, and that was Tommy's secret, because Tommy was allowed to keep secrets. But for Mariah, keeping secrets was a serious offense. She still managed to keep a few things to herself, though, like her inside joke about Storybook Manor, which she privately nicknamed Sing Sing, a reference to the infamous maximum security prison in New York. Not that Mariah could share the joke with anyone, since she wasn't even allowed to see or make her own friends. Then there was the emergency bag that Mariah stashed underneath their bed, filled with just enough necessities to leave on a moment's notice. That was laughably sad, too. Mariah couldn't even sneak into the kitchen at night to write lyrics without Tommy butting in on the intercom. Whatcha doin'? So Mariah found the workaround, the one place she knew Tommy hadn't planted any recording devices. Her shoe closet. One of the opulent touches Mariah tacked on when the home was designed. Tommy got a subterranean shooting range replete with a bona fide artillery of weapons. And Mariah got a 64 channel recording studio in a shoe shrine modeled after Coco Chanel's own closet. So when Da Brat wanted a grand tour of Storybook Mansion earlier that day, Mariah knew that the shoe closet was the only place they could speak freely. That was where they could hatch a daring plan. Mariah spoke softly, as if she were talking about scoring a brick of cocaine. Want to go get some French fries? Sneaking out of Sing Sing, I mean, Storybook Manor was that serious. The brat didn't understand that at first. She didn't get Mariah's tone or Germain's frantic calls. But when the two women returned home to an army of guards, each armed and ready to reclaim Mariah, it clicked. Mariah and the brat were gone for maybe 30 minutes. But even half a minute out of Tommy's jurisdiction was unacceptable. It was a close call. A little too close for Tommy's comfort. He needed to crush Mariah's desire for these little excursions. But for Mariah, the road to freedom was just beginning. We'll be right back after this.
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Word, word, word. This episode is brought to you by McAfee. I got a message that our flight was canceled, but they can put put us on another flight and we just need to confirm our credit card info.
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Kraft Mac and Cheese is the Best Thing ever. It's even better than pop music. You look just as natural enjoying us at age 13 as you do 55. Kraft Mac and Cheese Best Thing Ever Rei Co Op presents a perfect outdoor moment with the perfect gift you're ripping with your favorite person. Bluebird Skies blower powder and frankly, you're skiing like magics. So sick. Another laugh thanks to REI's curation. From lid to sticks. You nailed the gift.
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Does it get more perfect than that? Give without guessing. Shop in store or visit rei.com she felt the cold metal dig into her cheek. Her mouth went dry. She didn't dare breathe, let alone shift in inch in her seat. She just stared at the fireplace in front of her, careful not to let her gaze wander. Not over to Tommy. Not to his colleagues gathered at the dinner table. The nerves in her face prickled with fear. She could feel the metal warming against her cheek now. The situation was inevitable. Frankly, it was amazing that Tommy hadn't cornered her sooner. Mariah Carey was well aware she was in a dead end marriage, locked inside a designer dungeon they called home, a 1990s version of Ronnie and Phil Spector. She fully expected to die at Storybook Manor and then haunt it, her trademark whistle notes rattling the rafters for all of eternity. At least it wasn't a gun being held to her face. Tommy could have pulled the pistol on her or any of the other weapons he kept at home. No, this was a knife. A butter knife. Tommy grabbed it and slowly swiped it across his wife's face right in front of their company. Tommy could sense a breakup was on the horizon and he wasn't the one doing the dumping. So he started making concessions to smooth things over. He let Mariah take those acting lessons. She was allowed to attend social events without him as long as she was accompanied by armed security. Of course. He even bought her a red convertible Jaguar, but these were empty gestures. Mariah was ready to walk, and she was strong enough to walk. That's what pissed Tommy off the most. That Mariah had the audacity to leave him after everything he did for her. Tommy took Mariah in when other labels couldn't make heads or tails of her groundbreaking blend of pop and R and B. He gave her a home at Columbia and Sony when Atlantic said they already had their teen girl star, or when Motown said they didn't want, quote another Tina Marie situation, meaning a situation where listeners couldn't tell if she was white or black. Honestly though, Tommy's attitude about Mariah's biracial identity wasn't much better. He tried to steer her away from anything adjacent to hip hop for as long as possible. In his eyes was a successful strategy. Mariah's self titled debut album went to number one in 1990 on the Billboard Hot 200. It remained there for 11 consecutive weeks. Mariah maintained a stranglehold on the top of the Billboard Hot 100 too, bagging four back to back number one singles with the iconic rollout of Fantasy, Always Be My Baby, Honey and my all. Between 1995 and 1998, Fantasy actually debuted at number one, an unprecedented feat in Billboard history for a female solo act. Tommy even convinced Mariah to make a hit Christmas album at the time when original holiday music took a back seat to the same old Bing Crosby jingles. Tommy did all that for Mariah. Or maybe Mariah did all that for Tommy. Maybe Tommy had it all backwards. Mariah was the one who wrote all these genre defying hits and she curated a sound that was mature for teen pop, yet too danceable to be dismissed as easy listening. Tommy had a little saying, you do what you do and I'll do my magic. But Mariah didn't need magic when she had talent and spades. And deep down, perhaps Tommy knew it too. Back at the dinner table in front of the guests, Tommy drew the moment out. Let Mariah sweat with the knife pressed too her cheek, he flexed what little power he still held over her. Their colleagues didn't tell Tommy to knock it off. Just like everyone else in Mariah's life, too scared to say anything. People who worked with Tommy Mottola knew about the poorly concealed wrath that simmered just below his cool facade. Ready to boil over at any moment. Saying no to Tommy Mottola never worked out well for anyone. Then again, Mariah's reward for saying yes yes to Tommy for eight plus years was a knife digging into her face. She officially had nothing left to lose after that night. She used her five octave voice to make one of the biggest moves of her career. She said no. No to constant surveillance. No to sleeping with a getaway bag under her bed. No to public humiliation. And fearing her own husband, Mariah Carey filed for divorce. In 1997 and started chatting up labels who could buy her out of her contract with Columbia. Virgin Records stepped up to the plate with a $100 million deal. So long, Sony and Sayonara. Sing sing. As of 2001, Mariah Carey was free of Tommy Mottola as both a boss and a beau. Or so she thought. In reality, nothing was ever that simple because you don't just leave Tommy Mottola. What's my motherfucking name? The deep voiced rapper delivered that line in the booming opening moments of the song playing on Mariah's stereo. And Mariah couldn't believe what she was hearing. She knew that voice, not just because she was a fan of the artists that it belonged to, because it was in her new music too. Her unreleased music. Ja Rule thundered over another pop star's delicate voice of the chorus of the song. Someone clearly wanted to beat Mariah to the punch on dropping a collab with him. And whoever it was wanted it to feel like a slap in the face. Mariah didn't have to sit and wonder who was behind all this. There were certain coincidences pertaining to Mariah's new music that had her ex's name written all over them. Rainbow Mariah's final album with Columbia received a suspiciously low amount of promotion. And we're not just talking about a low budget and lack of planning. Mariah heard that Tommy actually pulled her stand up ads and promotional materials from record stores. The gloves had come off. Mariah sampled the song Firecracker by Yellow Magic Orchestra for her new song Loverboy. But before Loverboy could hit airwaves, another artist sampled the same track. A new girl on the block named Jenny. Jennifer Lopez, Columbia's new it girl. She not only stole the sample, but she turned around and released her own song, I'm Real. In record timing, it felt staged, deliberate. But apparently that blow wasn't enough. The I'm Real remix featuring none other than Ja Rule directly after he and Mariah worked on a new collaboration called if We. Not to mention the negative stories about Mariah's personal life that were popping up in the papers seemingly out of the blue. It all added up to one sabotage. Mariah suspected Tommy Mottola had industry spies lurking around reporting back to him in Colombia. Fine. If Tommy was going to hire moles, then Mariah was going to hire a spy of her own. She dialed a San Francisco detective whose former clients included President Bill Clinton and Courtney Love. Mariah's heart skipped a beat when the private investigator contacted her with the results. No, she wasn't imagining things. Yes, her beliefs were founded. That's a quote. Mariah never took Tommy to court over the whole ordeal. She didn't need to. Once the Private Dick started making comments to the papers about the case, the coincidences mysteriously tapered off. Even though Tommy denied everything. Less than two years later, in 2003, he left Sony. Maybe Tommy's magic with Columbia finally ran out. And maybe it was all sleight of hand to begin with. The men reviewed the plan one more time. This property was more complicated than their usual hits. 4.2 acres of land, nearly 13,000 square feet of mansion. 9 bedrooms, 13 bathrooms. Unlimited potential for looting, but also unlimited potential for failure. This robbery would be a big one if they could pull it off. Bigger than robbing the rapper Gunna or any of the airhead social media influencers they targeted in the past. Even bigger than stealing from players for the Atlanta Falcons and Atlanta United. The so called Drug Rich gang pulled off those burglaries without even cracking a Gatorade. They were efficient. Slick. Their members had been swiping from homes in the Atlanta area for years. Their men marked themselves with hats and chains branded with the letters rx. One of the men got those letters inked on his face. They flaunted their affiliation the way celebrities cloak the themselves in Louis Vuitton's LV logo and Gucci's signature interlocking G's. Drug Rich membership was something to be coveted. Nothing intimidated their men. Not luxury carjacking, not armed home invasions, not even committing false imprisonment and holding a 16 year old girl hostage. Killing time while the other men made off with their family's Beemer and Mercedes. Drug Rich took care of business. The gang had ways of keeping pesky tenants in their place. If they interfered with a burglary. It was nothing to force someone out of the shower at gunpoint. Even less to fire in the direction of a family member lingering at home. And if the threat of bullets didn't keep nuisances out of the way, the Drug Rich gang had more inventive ways of securing the bag. Like tying up an unlucky homeowner with a makeshift dog leash and walking him on all four fours until the job was done. But the gang didn't have to worry about anything like that today. The owner of the targeted estate wouldn't be home. She made that clear on Instagram with posts from the BET Awards in Los Angeles. She shared a photo of her goddess like figure wrapped in a luxurious black Dolce and Gabbana dress that cascaded into a gold train. The estate's owner had a taste for extravagance that was unmatched. Legend had it that she even had a room in her house just for shoes. That's how the drug rich gang knew that they'd have plenty of clothes to choose from at Mariah Carey's house. On June 27, 2022, the gang sent three men for the task. Just enough hands to carry a serious amount of loot. They crept across the estate's sprawling acreage, broke down the back door with brute force. Guns on their hips, bags in their hands to fill with clothes and shoes. The gang left all electronics in their place. This trip was all about the designer drip. Later, the men left as quietly as they entered, the bags over their shoulders bulging with bling. It was just like Christmas. It was that time on December 25th when everyone's Christmas fever started to wind down. Signs of a successful holiday were scattered around Mariah's ski chalet. Empty cups of cocoa and eggnog. Shredded wrapping paper overflowing from trash cans. A seasonal playlist on low volume but still humming in the background. All I Want for Christmas is you was naturally tossed into the mix, which was 100% appropriate. On Christmas Eve 2022, all I want for Christmas is yous crushed the record for single day streams on Spotify's global charts with over 21.2 million spins. It was just as true with 2022 as it had been in 1994. Mariah Carey owned Christmas. But owning Christmas doesn't come from streams and record stores. For Mariah Carey, it meant a little bit more. It meant making her own security in her happy place when no one was protecting her. Or someone was protecting her too much. The September burglary at her Atlanta home was behind her by now. Mariah put the estate on the market that fall. The drug rich gang invasion had shattered her sense of safety. So she moved out and she moved on. It wasn't the first luxurious mansion she had walk away from, and it might not even be the last. But she'd leave all over again if she had to. Because Mariah knew that the real luxury was finding security. Even if it meant walking away from the people who claimed to love her. Even if she had to make her own sense of peace and preserve it in a Christmas song. And no sibling, no husband, no burglary could take that away from Mariah Carey. I'm Jake Brennan and this is Disgraceland. Disgraceland was created by yours truly and is produced in partnership with double Elvis credits for this episode can be found on the show notes page@gracelandpod.com if you're listening as a Disgraceland All Access member, thank you for supporting the show. We really appreciate it. And if not, you can become a member right now by going to Disgracelandpod.com Membership members can listen to every episode of Disgraceland ad free. Plus you'll get one brand new exclusive episode every month, weekly unscripted bonus episodes, special audio collections, and early access to merchandise and events. Visit disgracelandpod.com membership for details, rate and review the show and follow us on Instagram, TikTok, Twitter and Facebook Disgracelandpod and on YouTube@YouTube.com isgracelandpod Rocka Rolla He's a bad, bad man.
- [38:36]
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