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Eminem
Man, oh man, oh man. Has there ever been an artist as flagrantly autobiographical as Marshall Mathers? Has anyone ever spoken so plainly about his personal life, his loved ones, his ex-loved ones, his despised ones, with such candor? It’s as if he treats the recording studio as a form of therapy. The problem with that is, once it’s out there, there ain’t no taking it back. Most people want to keep their shit behind closed doors, afraid that someone might know what they really think. Well, as Eminem sang on a previous album, he ‘just don’t give a fuck’.
On one level, this method has burned him pretty badly in the past year or two, resulting in all sorts of lawsuits, arrests, the crazy back-and-forth nonsense with his momma (who of all people should have known better than to go toe to toe with this guy in public), and God knows what else. On the other hand, it has brought him recognition that eclipses almost anyone else in the pop field, with kids memorizing his flow and nearly worshipping him. Why? Not simply because he is the first credible white rapper, but because he is the first rapper of any color who puts self-exposure before commercial exposure. Kids believe his shit. My own kids hate rap, but they enjoy listening to Eminem because his family politics are something they can understand (but not relate to, thank God). When he sings (yep, he sings) about his daughter Hailie, they hear a dad who is willing to tell the truth about overcoming his personal demons and speak the truth about how he loves his little girl.
By far, the album’s most powerful track is "Cleaning Out My Closet", a song that at first sounds like a rant, but after a few listens proves itself to be a meticulously crafted endgame focused at his mother. Starting off by discussing how he has become a societal pariah, he eventually focuses in on the personal issues that brought his crises to a head, with succinct and frighteningly direct references to his childhood. Needless to say, neither parent fares too well here. Absent is his self-effacing humor, replaced entirely with a self-righteous rage that ought to end any public response from his maternal target. For better or worse, this is entertainment at its best, riveting listeners to their seats while they either cry, twitch, or shake off the goosebumps.
Dr. Dre still holds court on the album, but Mathers produces most tracks by himself here, usually with excellent results. Only "Drips" crosses the line because it goes too far graphically to be much else than childishly risqué and embarrassing. "White America" ought to keep him on more than a few politicians’ enemy lists, while "Without Me" takes on Chris Kirkpatrick, Limp Bizkit and Moby, because they dissed him first. They started it, but I believe that Eminem will get the last word, because he always has. Just ask his mom.
Grade: 
 
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