Mar 12, 2017 When we reached the obvious battle for 2002 in @Loser's Best rap album year series, I found myself torn between Scarface's The Fix and the nostaglia-machine/every Stan's favorite go-to The Eminem Show. I skimmed through both albums and eventually voted 'Face (still would), but skimming through TES brought on some crazy nostalgia so I went and listened to TES in its entirety for the first time in years and landed up writing a review. Let me know your thoughts! Spoiler: REVIEW: The Eminem Show - Eminem “It’s my life, I’d like to welcome y’all to the Eminem Show” Let’s take a moment to drown out all the background noise. We all know Eminem had a phenomenal run back in the day, we know he defeated incredible odds by making it as a white guy in a predominantly black industry. We know he was smart; he knew how to push buttons, he knew how to get under people’s skin, we know he straddled the very delicate line between bubblegum pop and raw underground hip hop and was an exceptionally talented lyricist, to boot. We know he was a student of the game. We know he got a co-sign from possibly the greatest hip hop pioneer to have ever lived and we know he changed the face of popular music and perhaps even popular culture from the day My Name Is hit radio-waves, bringing shock-tactics and horrorcore hip hop to the mainstream. Now, we also know, Marshall Mathers suffered from a debilitating drug addiction, we know he came dangerously close to clinking bottles of Hennessey with his deceased confidant Proof up in thug’z mansion. And most of all, I think we all know, that the man that crawled out of that dark, drug-fueled expedition of self-destruction was not the same man that gleefully flipped off the entire world with an Eric Cartman-esque tongue-in-cheek 10-odd years prior. We know a lot about Eminem. His story, his relationships, his vices, his psychology. But in 2002, following the commercially explosive and critically acclaimed SSLP and MMLP, the world watched with baited breath, eagerly anticipating the third chapter in the angry blonde saga. The previous year (2001) had given us a taste of what we could expect – a collaborative album with his band of Detroit emcees, D12 on the spectacularly dark and razor-sharp Devil’s Night along with arguably one of the greatest guest features of all time, going bar for bar with towering legend Jay-Z on Renegade. In 2002, the stage was set for Em to launch into the stratosphere. All eyes were focused on him. So, for just a moment, let’s drown out the autistic screeching of the grotesque army of the deranged COD-playing, mountain dew sippin, trench-coat wearing Stans; the last bastion of Eminem’s forces after his career nosedived into rap’s dark graveyard of fall-offs. Let’s take a moment to lay a wreath at the tombstone of a once great man; who’s decomposing hand occasionally thrusts out from beneath the soil to deliver us sad pieces of rotting garbage like Recovery and MMLP2. Let’s forget all that and go back to 2002. The Eminem Show marks a distinct turning point for Slim Shady. No longer was Eminem interested in making LP’s. It was no longer just about the music, it was about the man himself, and what his life had become; a spectacle, a show. The gut-wrenching confessions and excavations deep into his psyche melted over the brim and flooded out in a tidal wave of raw passion. The cartoonish mischief of SSLP and the venomous barbs of MMLP coalesced and what emerged was an entirely new creature altogether. From the moment the sounds of characteristically ominous piano keys, a curtain being drawn back and a very deliberate clearing of the throat on the opening Curtains Up skit, we know we’re about to become spectators to the performance of a lifetime. White America is the big brash arrival, the grand entrance over a thumping, stripped down instrumental, menacing guitar licks with an inconceivably powerful bassline. Em matches the beat, line for line, word for word, syllable for syllable; spittle-flying vitriol, expertly laid down in an almost militant fashion. It’s My Name Is meets k--- You; he’s back, he’s mad and he’s taking no prisoners. The carnival atmosphere of cuts like Business and Square Dance have Eminem taking the opportunity to flex his astounding fluid-like agility over Dre’s signature G-Funk bounce, meshed so belligerently with a glossy, funky pop sheen, it sounds alien, so effortless to him, so smooth that it almost seems too easy. He doesn’t ride the beat, he gets inside it. “You ain’t even impressed no more, you’re used to it,” he proclaims, amidst occasional barbs hurled at the at-the-time in-power Bush administration and its War on Terror. Em doesn’t delve too deeply into politics (something he did very poorly on Encore’s Mosh) but the album is peppered with occasional bouts of political commentary amongst the vicious braggadocio of cuts like Soldier and Till I Collapse, standing alongside deeply poignant songs like Say Goodbye to Hollywood and Hailie’s Song. In short, there’s no lack of content here, despite many critics commenting on the ‘step-back and pick apart the success’ approach he seemed to have taken, in contrast to his first 2 albums which both bore a far more aggressive, s----stirring tone. The music is fascinating as it is sonically satisfying; Cleanin Out My Closet has Shady rummaging deep into his past, the abuse he endured at the hands of his drug-addled mother and absent father over a truly haunting medley of electric guitar riffs and twisted strings; it almost feels like you’re right there with him as he crawls through the cob-webs of his asylum. Although most of Em’s stiff-sounding production work has never really exceeded past mediocre at best (Loyal 2 the Game), the bulk of the production duties on the album are handled by Em himself and do not disappoint. A departure from the ‘shady’ sounding G-Funk of his previous efforts, TES features a wide array of sonic assortments – the bright Top-20 mass-appeal of classic-Eminem first single Without Me and smooth Southern-flavored Superman are nestled right between guitar-infused stadium instrumentals on Till I Collapse and Sing for the Moment, the latter two of which are some of the highest points in Eminem’s entire career. Sing for the Moment has Em channeling his inner Renegade, reflecting on his unintentional symbolism to the youth; how could the skinny white kid that r---d the Spice Girls and robbed banks with Dre have become the spokesperson for an entire generation? Sure, today we look back and cringe but in 2002 the rags-to-riches tale had never been told in such a raw and untamed fashion; that seemingly insurmountable 360-degree turn was incredible. And Em narrates it to perfection. Till I Collapse is the crowning peak of the album, a triumphant anthem, lashing out at detractors, proclaiming his spot atop the throne. You can almost hear the veins popping out of his neck as makes the words twist to suit his purpose. “I’ll probably never get the props I feel I ever deserve,” he bellows to the thunderous handclaps, alongside one of the hook-god Nate Dogg’s (RIP) greatest performances of all time. Eminem approaches the mic like a boxer in the ring; every punch is timed to perfection, his maneuvers flowing like liquid until the bubble bursts, and the full movement erupts in a symphony of frankly astounding lyrical gymnastics, well-deserved grandiose proclamations and a level of self-awareness that he has rarely attained since. Of course, the album is not perfect. And as time wears on, the once belligerent, seeming towering inferno of rage and passion has somewhat dulled, a few cracks begin to show. All the candid splashes of emotion seem a little out of touch, a little gauche. Perhaps a bit of restraint would have helped preserve the content better. The instrumentals are indeed beginning to sound dated, and worse – they serve as a reminder of the absolutely awful music he would put out in later years, trying to recapture the magic. The guest appearances from the usual suspects – Obie, Dre, D12 – are quite forgettable. Most of all, 15 years later, where albums rarely exceed the 60-minute mark and TES weighing in at a whopping 1 hour, 18 minutes makes it very difficult to sit through in its entirety. Still, if we drown out the background noise, take ourselves back to when Em was still under 30, when Jay and Nas were the undisputed kings and Em the wildcard who might just dethrone them both in a single swoop, when Em was just reaching the peak of his craft, when that cocktail of drugs and passion had been balanced just right back in 2002, I think TES does indeed stand the test of time, when a white trash kid from a trailer park slum in Detroit spoke his mind, blew up, latched onto the fame and fortune, dug into the deepest recesses of mind and put on a show for the world to see. In some ways, the most complete, mature and cohesive project of his career, in others; the start of the ending. It’s a pity his career never progressed any further (excluding the brilliant 8 Mile and severely underrated Invasion mixtape series era), but TES is a great memory of one of hip hop’s greatest disappointments. Rating: 8.5/10. Spoiler: Other Reviews https://forum.sectioneighty.com/sav-reviews-monster-by-future-hendrix.t57457 https://forum.sectioneighty.com/sav-reviews-barter-6-by-thugger-thugger.t57673#post-1686665
Mar 12, 2017 Thanks man, appreciate it. Was thinking I might give MMLP a listen soon, maybe write something up. I'd like to review some other artists first though.
Mar 12, 2017 I hope you one day review Yelawolf's - Love Story. I am interested in an objective-ish approach to his style... may be difficult to analyze deeply but here' s a challenge.
Mar 13, 2017 tried listening to it when it came out couldn't get past the first few songs tbh. his trunk muzik tape back in the day wasn't too bad if i remember right. but sure, i'll give it another shot.
