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The Feeler and the Analyst: On SZA, Mariah the Scientist, and the Search for Coherence

Since 2023, Spread Thin by Mariah the Scientist has been a permanent fixture in my top three most-listened-to songs. A significant fraction of its millions of streams has my name on it. One might assume I am a fervent fan, but that would be a recent development. Initially, her public image created a values-based rift that kept me from exploring any of her music further. That changed a week after my birthday with the release of her album Heart Sold Separately. Almost against my will, Mariah the Scientist gained a chokehold on me I did not foresee.

I decided to go back through her discography to find more gems I had missed, and while listening to what would become my new favourite, 2 You, I heard the line:

“Disappointed is the least I could say
Who knew these women would lead you astray?
I guess you just wanna live life outside a cage
And I hope you change”

Then there’s another line from one of my favourites, All for Me:

“What does she have on me?
What does she have? (What does she have? What does she have?)
She isn’t half of me.”

These lyrics stand out because they express a feeling I have always disliked: female rivalry centred on male validation. To understand my stance, I’ll briefly say that my childhood and the male violence around me made me develop a serious case of misandry that I have since overcome. While thinking about these songs, my mind drew a connection to another artist: SZA.

As a public figure, SZA embodies values I admire; her artistic journey is inspiring. Yet, her lyrics never clicked. In fact, they often made me side-eye my device in disbelief. In The Weekend, she writes:

“Like, is you comin’ home? Is you out with her?
I don’t care long as you here by 10:30, no later than.”

Now, you might think I am being hypocritical, as this is a theme similar to what Mariah expresses. So, why is Mariah the Scientist so compelling to me, while SZA, whose persona I prefer, remains at an emotional distance? The answer lies not in the subject matter, but in the cognitive processing style each artist embodies.

SZA: The Feeler in the Storm

I finally listened to the entirety of CTRL in 2025 thanks to a friend. He asked why I wasn’t into her music, and I replied:

“There is something so desperate, needy, and honestly self-deprecating about the way SZA writes. In a way, that’s what makes her so relatable and popular, but it’s also what makes me unable to immerse myself in her music. Such an honest artist relies heavily on emotional empathy for her art to land on a personal level, and I personally can’t relate.”

Nonetheless, I enjoyed the album. Nine months later, many of her songs are still on my “on repeat” list.

A quick survey of her lyrics throughout her career tells a consistent story:

  • Open Arms: “Chokin’ on insecurity… I hate myself to make you stay / Push me away, I’ll be right here.”
  • Nobody Gets Me: “Only like myself when I’m with you.”
  • Special: “I wish I was that girl… I never liked her, I wanted to be like her.”
  • Drew Barrymore: “I’m so ashamed of myself… I’m sorry I’m not more attractive / I’m sorry I’m not more ladylike.”

The common theme is externalised self-worth. SZA’s sense of self is annihilated without a partner’s approval. This isn’t just love; it’s psychological dependency. As Brené Brown (2012) might describe it, this reflects a profound sense of shame, the belief that one is “worthy of love and belonging only under certain conditions.” SZA is a Feeler. In a metaphorical sense, she live-reports her emotions from within the storm. Her lyrics are a direct feed of intrusive, self-critical thoughts where the pain of loss becomes proof of personal inadequacy.

Crucially, SZA is self-aware. She knows her neediness is “embarrassing,” that the love she seeks is “living inside of me,” (Blind) and she even diagnoses the solution (“think I need therapy”). But there is no bridge between awareness and action. The statement ends in helplessness: “I can’t see, I’m blind.” This captures the essence of being trapped in the emotional present. Even if Kill Bill is read as a form of escape, it is not a declaration of empowerment but of surrender. It reinforces a dynamic in which her presence remains unconditional, even in the face of rejection, embodying the belief that enduring pain is the price of avoiding loneliness, even when that pain borders on metaphorical self and outer destruction.

At its core, her vulnerability is not about men’s acceptance, as it might initially seem, but about a deeper sense of feeling inherently different. This perception of difference arises from comparison, between self and what is seen as socially normal, and is therefore external. There is no internal resolution to this sense of difference; it can only ease when others fail to see it or recognise it as beautiful. Her self-acceptance, therefore, is intrinsically connected to others. SZA writes in the present tense, reactive and raw, often framing herself as a victim of her emotions. Her art is powerful as emotional catharsis, but for a mind that seeks order, it can feel frustratingly chaotic.

Mariah the Scientist: The Analyst in the Lab

By contrast, Mariah feels entirely different. I came across her due to Spotify’s algorithm in 2023. Out of pure curiosity, I googled why her name was the Scientist and found: “because of her background in science; she attended St. John’s University on a biology scholarship before dropping out to focus on music” (BigBoy TV, 2023). Mariah’s persona is more than a stage name, it’s a songwriting method. She positions herself as an investigator of love. Her lab is the relationship, her tools are her observations, and her goal is a logical, albeit painful, conclusion.

Her lyrics are the evidence:

  • Spread Thin: “You only hit my line when you need something… We can’t operate on a time crunch.” (Data collection)
  • 2 You: “And my brain knows better than to pick up the phone / But my fingers remember the number I don’t.” (The experiment’s conflict)
  • Burning Blue: “And all my senses tell me to run / But my heart’s tellin’ me I’m not done.” (The variable)
  • All For Me: “It’s all for me, I took the energy / I put in us and put it in myself.” (The conclusion)
  • No More Entertainers: “I’m done with the performances, I’m ready for the real.” (The new protocol)

Mariah’s music is defined by clinical diagnosis and self-preservation through structured boundaries. Her breakup is not just heartbreak; it is dissection. She is an Analyst who writes her reports from the quiet lab after the explosion. The focus is not on inadequacy but on dysfunction and behavioural patterns. This is the core difference: SZA’s “And she’s perfect and I hate it” laments a lack of self-worth based on a comparison with a “perfect” subject. Mariah’s “She isn’t half of me” asserts self-assurance by comparison and critiques her partner’s perceived poor judgement.

Mariah is also self-aware, but differently. She knows the flaw in her own experiment, the confounding variable of her heart. She knows the logical action (“my brain knows better”) and can identify the correct path (“all my senses tell me to run”), but she is brutally honest about the gap between conclusion and execution. Unlike SZA’s helplessness, Mariah’s conflict is active. It is a battle she is methodically fighting, in theory, not a storm she is enduring. The statement doesn’t end in blindness; it ends in a new, stricter protocol: “No more entertainers.”, coincidentally the last song on the album (Did she keep entertaining him? Yes, but that’s beside the point.)

Mariah’s production reinforces this. The addictive, loop-based beats in Spread Thin are not just grooves; they are thematic reinforcement, persistent and unemotional. Her vocals move from quiet observation to frustrated accusation. The repetition feels comforting, predictable, a cognitive stability amid emotional turmoil. Her strength is not the absence of pain, but the refusal to let pain be chaotic. She imposes order on it. She gives it names like Spread Thin and Different Pages. Her self-acceptance lies in her ability to diagnose the problem and act on her findings, at least in her art.

Conclusion: A Question of Cognitive Coherence

This analysis is not a judgment of either artist’s character or self-esteem; it’s about their creative frameworks. The initial question “why I obsess over Mariah’s music despite my personal dislikes, while SZA’s music keeps its distance” comes down to cognitive processing. My brain has a deep need for cognitive coherence; I am a pattern-seeker who finds comfort when things “make sense” (Heider, 1958). Mariah’s analytical approach provides that sense of order. Her music is a tool for understanding. In Daniel Kahneman’s framework, SZA operates through System 1: fast, intuitive, and emotional. Her art is cathartic, a release. Mariah operates through System 2: slow, deliberate, analytical (Kahneman, 2011). Her art is reflection. For a mind like mine, which craves order, a subsequent analysis will always be more compelling than a live weather report from the eye of a hurricane.

On a last note, this essay is a generalisation of their lyrical personas. You can find moments of analysis in SZA and pure feeling in Mariah. Ultimately, their dominant approaches to songwriting explain why I can obsess over the music of an artist I am not a fan of, while struggling to connect with one I genuinely admire.

PS: I had so much fun drafting this essay!

References

  • BigBoy TV. (2023). Mariah the Scientist interview. [Online video]. YouTube.
  • Brown, B. (2012). Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead. Gotham Books.
  • Heider, F. (1958). The Psychology of Interpersonal Relations. John Wiley & Sons.
  • Kahneman, D. (2011). Thinking, Fast and Slow. Farrar, Straus and Giroux.