REVIEW: Mariah Carey mixes old with the new at The Pearl

Her voice can be a caress or a cannon ball and she’s classy, like silk underwear, Grey Poupon and Ron Burgundy.

Mariah Carey, a sequin come to life, is a throwback diva with a nouveau sparkle, wearing glittery dresses so tight, that they force her to swish across the stage carefully with her legs pressed together, looking like a mermaid attempting to navigate land upright.

Still, she’s a loose, graceful presence, and at The Pearl at The Palms on Friday night, where Carey kicked off the first of a pair of two-night stands at the venue, she never seemed to overexert herself, never appeared to break a sweat much less a nail.

Unlike today’s crop of young pop prime movers, the Beyonces, Britneys and Ciaras of the world, Carey doesn’t twist herself in knots in elaborate fits of choreography —that’s what her dancers are for — nor does she rely too heavily on backing tracks to do her singing for her (though all of her vocals were certainly not live at The Pearl).

Instead, Carey heralds more from the Diana Ross, Aretha Franklin, Patti LaBelle school of femme fatale frontwomen, ladies whose mere presence conveys a kind of glamorous gravitas that is its own sort of showmanship.

Carey carries herself the same way, ambling across the stage casually, chatting with the crowd in-between songs nonchalantly, turning in a loose, leisurely, 90-minute set with the laidback ease of a Sunday morning spent in one’s pajamas.

But if Carey exudes the relaxed air of an old-school performer, the material she performed on this night catered much more to the modern day libido.

In many ways, Carey has aged in reverse, going from a playful, barely hinted at sexuality early on in her career to something more ribald and direct as she’s gotten older, evolving from kitten to cougar.

This point was underscored at The Pearl, where Carey eschewed many of her biggest hits — “Hero,” “Emotions,” “Vision of Love,” “Someday” — for more current material where the hormones are perpetually at high tide.

“Maybe I grew up a little too soon,” Carey sang on dramatic torch song “My All,” and these days, she seems to be all about making up for lost time with a youthful flirtatiousness.

“Throw me on the bed,” she instructed during the sweaty R&B bump and grind of “Touch My Body.”

“Let me wrap my thighs all around your waist,” she later purred.

Carey’s most recent albums, including her forthcoming new CD, “Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel,” are colored more by the domineering bass lines and self-assured bravado of contemporary hip-hop than the big-voiced adult contemporary grooves that initially made her a household name.

“Memories” even contains something of a diss track, a rap staple, in the form of “Obsessed,” a tough talking kiss off aimed at Eminem, who has taken his share of potshots at Carey over the years.

“Got you all fired up with your Napoleon complex,” she thundered during the song. “Seein’ right through you like you’re bathin’ in Windex.” Contrast this with the almost saccharine sentimentality of a tune like “Always Be My Baby,” one of the handful of early ’90s hits that Carey performed, and it become clear that Carey is reveling in a more amorous and liberated headspace these days.

To wit, her show on Friday had almost an impromptu feel to it, with an eclectic set list and a lack of staged moments for big numbers, which lent the evening a relaxed vibe.

It was not an overly elaborate production by Vegas’ high-watt standards, save for Carey descending from the rafters on a flowery trapeze at the beginning of the show and a few hot-and-bothered dance interludes while Carey exited the drapery-festooned, multitiered stage for a quick costume exchange from time to time.

Because of this, some members of the audience, which ranged from grandmas to twenty-somethings in tight skirts, could be heard grumbling about the relatively quick and off-the-cuff nature of the show, which ended somewhat abruptly after a brief, one-song encore of “We Belong Together.”

And so it remains to be seen whether Carey could become a regular Vegas headliner, for which this stint could pave the way, seeing as how she seldom capitulates to the crowd, nor does she seem to be all that enamored with the fireworks normally expected from a high-priced Vegas production show.

But this is also what separates her from the Chers and the Celine Dions out there.

It’s kind of ironic, really, that this is a town perpetually in transition, always looking to the future in hopes of glimpsing the next big thing with which to dazzle the millions who flock here, and yet so many of its entertainers are mired in the past.

If nothing else, Carey offers a break from this line of reasoning, not to mention a break from reason in general.

And really, what could be more Vegas than that?

Contact Jason Bracelin at jbracelin@reviewjournal.com