There is a Maybach Music drop in this song. We’d prefer not to know that either…
Ramzi Awn: “Triumphant” is a star-studded affair in more ways than one. A feature-heavy mix of old sounds and new, and old and new Mimi, the result is a deft blend of different voices and a sprawling chorus that shimmers like one of those music boxes with the sheet music that cranks out. It’s not a bad look for Mariah — at once distinct, genuine and revelrous — but it does not triumph over her own standards, either.
Brad Shoup: Perusing OHHLA.com reveals Mariah’s singles discography to be a virtual post-Golden Age time capsule. Dipset, Master P, O.D.B., Uncle Murda, Mystikal, Bone-Thugs-N-Harmony, Da Brat, Fat Joe, Freeway, Westside Connection, Amil, Twista, Ghostface, the Lox, Lil’ Cease, Nicki Minaj, Lord Tariq and Peter Gunz: she’s visited more neighborhoods than the ice cream man. I dunno if Rozay got intimidated by the timeline or what, but amazingly, JD’s work on the “Honey” remix puts a clown suit on this. I mean, if you’re going to crowd Mariah’s still-quality vox with “Make It Rain,” put a Birdman on it and let’s have some fun.
Will Adams: This sounds so dejected, forlorn, and unfulfilled that I suspect it might be the homecoming anthem for Olympic athletes who finished dead last in their respective events.
Anthony Easton: Limps towards the finish line, and does so without much of Carey’s signature pop ambition. It’s sad when one of the great vocalists of our age lets herself get played by a hack like Ross — though the money’s still green, so maybe “played” is the wrong word.
Jonathan Bogart: The Army of Mariahs singing against each other is still one of my favorite production tricks (though Dupri and Cox are reaching into the vaults for her high-pitched squeal, surely). It would have been a  or maybe an  if Meek Mill were the only rapper on it, but Rick Ross sucks all the energy out of the room despite the track’s attempts to flourish around him.
Alfred Soto: “Meek mill” is what this pathetic example of cross-marketing should have been called. It isn’t so much that Carey’s a stranger in her own house — it’s how she doesn’t give a damn that her guests have used her blender, made smoothies, and forgot to offer any.
Katherine St Asaph: Effortless, in every sense of the word. But I thought the same of her The-Dream work too.
Jer Fairall: The production nods at commercial R&B’s sudden predilection towards dense, introverted atmospherics, all but burying Mariah’s showpiece vocals in the mix in the process, though not before allowing one subtly lovely moment where her voice dips on the line “baby, still know who you are.” Only when Rick Ross appears halfway through does this noirish setting find an appropriate voice, but even he is left trying to spin the kind of feel-good hokum that befits the star of this particular show. By the end, no one is left looking all that comfortable, let alone, y’know, triumphant.