Eminem 'Relapses' Into The Macabre

Note: This post was supposed to appear on YW on Monday, but thanks to my laptop battery running out in Paris, I was unable to post it until today. Enjoy...

Once, when I was 14 years old, a guy on the 1 train asked me if I wanted to see “The Matrix.” Peering into his own bag and snickering, I realized he wasn’t talking about the movie, so I said, “Sure.” As he pulled back the flap of his Jansport to reveal a three-chambered, sky blue acrylic bong, he took notice of the Slim Shady LP sitting on my lap and said, “You know, you’re generation is real lucky to have a new Dr. Dre protege. We had Snoop. Now you guys have Eminem.”

Now, 10 years later and sitting on a train to Paris, I think of how prophetic that statement was. By 2004, Marshall Mathers had cemented his status as one of the preeminent voices of Generation Y. He’d recorded and released five multi-platinum selling albums, starred in a semi-biographical blockbuster, and won an Oscar.

But it appeared that Slim was running on empty -- although a commercial success, his last effort, Encore, sounded directionless. Perhaps he was too consumed with making his own beats. Or maybe he was trying to please everyone. The result was an album that sounded overdone, repetitive, and rehashed. Sure, there were still some terrific tracks and brilliant rhymes, but his music felt stale and unstimulating -- dying in your earwax well before it had the opportunity to penetrate and induce goose bumping audio euphoria.

Then the rapping Elvis went on hiatus. For five years we hardly heard a word from Em -- a mixtape appearance here, a freestyle there, a very hush hush bathroom brawl in Detroit. Where had he been? What was he up to? Was he ever coming back? These questions and others are thoroughly answered in his new album, Relapse.

The album, which recalls the theatrical hyperbole of the Slim Shady LP, is spit partially through a prescription drug haze and partially through the judgmental lens of a self-loathing addict. The result is the most sincere and candid record I’ve heard in the last 10 years.

By letting Dr. Dre take over the low-end-funk production – which is solid, although I must say I expected a little more out of Dre – and rhyming about things he actually cares about, Em comes up with a more painful, honest and vital record than anyone could have expected at this late date. Where it stands on his album totem pole is still up for debate, but it’s easily better than Encore and probably The Eminem Show.

The self-lacerating wordplay shows maturity and growth, but Shady hasn’t lost his grimly satirical, court jester-like side – as is his modus operandi, he skewers celebrities on several tracks and slices and dices enough women to subconsciously make you want to read Ted Bundy’s Wikipedia page. Some critics, like those from the Chicago Sun Times and The Village Voice disparage the whole album because of this, claiming that the record is childish and pointless. But it’s as if they didn’t listen to 75-percent of the album where Em is laying his heart out for us raw, ugly and pumping.

As opposed to most Hip-Hop albums these days, this one is genuine and strife with emotion. Mathers’ music isn’t littered with incessant references to cars, clothing, hot bitches, jewelry, and champagne. Nor is it representative of the new school of nerd rap that everyone seems to be gobbling up like ice cream cake. The man is real. His music pulses with unmatched emotion and vulnerability. His flow, cadence, and rhymes are chameleon-like – changing from song to song, making even his stalest references and tracks worth listening to, if only as a tutorial for how to rap. The only rapper whose come close to being as frank about his life is T.I. on Paper Trail. And in case you didn’t know, Tip referenced Em as a major influence for that album.

Yes, Em talks about his mother and Christopher Reeves again, but this time it’s different. He comes to terms with his mom on “My Mom,” almost forgiving her for her misdeeds because he’s come to the realization that addiction makes people do fucked up things. He even pokes fun at himself for rapping about his mom, saying that we’re probably tired of hearing about her. He says the same thing about Reeves, but lets the late Superman get the last laugh by rapping as his one-time hero on “Medicine Ball.”

Sure, there are some throw away tracks like “Old Time’s Sake” and “Same Old Song and Dance,” where Slim rehashes old misogynist themes and serial killer lingo, but even those have some redeeming qualities. Most importantly, however, those tracks are heavily outweighed by a series of amazing, brilliant, and goose bump inducing songs. On “Déjà Vu,” the album’s tour de force, Em tells us in macabre detail about his Christmas 2007 overdose on Methadone. On “Beautiful,” he opens up about his personal doubts and his need for drugs. On “Hello,” he unleashes the best of Slim Shady, reminding us why people both hate and love him. And on the most disturbing of all tracks, “Insane,” Mathers tells us about being molested by his stepfather. Who, aside from Em, would ever have the balls to rap about something like that?

Overall, the album isn’t untouchable, but it’s a breath of fresh air – even if that air is darkly polluted with fear and loathing. This is not a record that most will bump loudly in their cars. It’s not Wu-banger after Wu-banger, but rather an introspective concoction of songs that should be listened to intimately on headphones. Addiction is a fucked up battle and that comes thru with crystalline clarity. The mean, vindictive, joker/serial killer tracks are there to remind us what Shady is like on drugs. And the meditative, reflective, emotional songs are there to tell us how Em perceives his life and drug-fueled alter ego. By the time you’re done listening to this record, you’ll feel like your brains been gangbanged by a bottle full of Vicodin, Ambien, and Percocet… but in a good way.

Recommended Listening: 3 AM, My Mom, Insane, Bagpipes From Baghdad, Hello, Déjà vu, Medicine Ball, Beautiful, Underground.