Metro Pulse/Platters/Eminem

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Dealing with America's most hateful pop star

by Jesse Fox Mayshark

I wrote a mini-review of The Marshall Mathers LP by Eminem a month ago or so, mostly because I was so baffled by the album that I couldn't think of what to say in a full-length write-up. My response boiled down to, "Boy, this sure is some violent, disturbing stuff. But hey, the guy's talented. And the single's catchy." It's kept nagging me, though, so I thought I'd give it another try.

Eminem, in case you're living in isolation from the 12-to-25 demographic, is a white bleach-blond rapper from Detroit who is arguably the biggest music star in America right now. His 1999 debut album, The Slim Shady LP, went multi-platinum. The Marshall Mathers follow-up sold a record-breaking 1.7 million copies in its first week. The irresistible single, "The Real Slim Shady," is all over the radio and MTV, despite the fact that a good half-dozen words have to be bleeped out (including the best line: "Will Smith don't gotta cuss in his raps to sell records/Well, I do/ So f—- him and f—- you too").

But the album and its massive success have prompted a whole flurry of worryin' and wonderin' about the future of "the kids" and what it all says about the sickness of modern society. And not without reason. It's ironic, and maybe fitting, that in a year when Tipper Gore's hubby is running for president, the kind of lyrics that started her whole music labeling campaign in the 1980s (most of which were by fairly obscure artists) seem tame compared to the stuff that now sits uncontested at the top of the charts. The "explicit content" advisory on The Marshall Mathers LP is a comically insufficient indicator of what lies within, kind of like a "Hazardous Materials" label on a neutron bomb.

Consider: The album opens with a "public service announcement" that "Slim Shady does not give a f—- what you think. If you don't like it, you can suck his f—-ing c—. Little did you know, upon purchasing this album, you have just kissed his ass." From there, Eminem goes on to devote a song to his mother (who sued him for $10 million after he depicted her as an abusive drug fiend), with the loving title "Kill You." Between choruses of "Bitch, I'ma kill you," he calls her a slut and eventually rapes her. In fact, "bitch" and "slut" are basically the only words he uses anywhere to refer to the female gender. (When you add the mother-raping to the father-slaying on the first album, you get something like splatter-film Greek tragedy—Freddy Krueger as Oedipus.)

He says "faggot" almost as much as his other favorite F-word (his only concession to gay rights being that homosexuality isn't any worse than having sex with dead animals). He implies sympathy for the Columbine killers, even bragging that they stole the guns and trenchcoats from him. And in a jaw-dropping, heart-stopping, rage-fueled song called "Kim"—the name of his real-life wife and mother of his 4-year-old daughter—he plays a jealous husband who first beats his cheating spouse, then abducts her and eventually slits her throat. Not suitable for children? Hell, some of this stuff doesn't seem suitable for organic life forms.

But...But...But...

Here's where it gets tricky. It's not just that the music and production are terrific, which they are. Or that Eminem's "skills" and "flow" set him apart, although even rap purists are hard-pressed to deny them. Sure, he's a nasal, whiny white guy. But boy, does he know how to use that whine. He can be angry, flippant, funny, and (yep) unexpectedly endearing all within the same verse. Rap is an essentially vocal form, and Eminem is one of the best pop vocalists of the moment.

Still, the core of his music is what he has to say, and that's where his apologists (me included) run into real trouble. You can argue—and Eminem does, repeatedly and unconvincingly—that he's just kiddin' around. That's why he uses so many identities: Marshall Mathers (his real name, who he assures us is "just a regular guy"); Eminem, the stage persona; and Slim Shady, the unrestrained id, waving his middle fingers at anyone who looks. But the schizophrenia is a dodge. They all sound like more or less the same person: a defiantly angry, selfish, wounded, and emotionally alienated guy who's torn between wanting attention and hating everyone who gives it to him. The closer someone gets—his mother, his wife, his fans—the more likely he'll lash out at them.

This doesn't seem like a pose to me. It doesn't sound like a pose. The loathing in Eminem's music is the most convincing on record since Kurt Cobain. And that, of course, is why it's so viscerally engaging. But where Cobain's was all inner-directed, Eminem's cuts both ways. He talks a lot about killing himself, but not as much as he talks about killing everybody else. A recurring theme on The Marshall Mathers LP is his frustration with fame and its inability to quell his demons. He knows success has taken away some of his license for anger ("They say I can't rap about being broke no more"), and part of him wishes it would go away so he could justify his unaccountable rage ("I'm so sick and tired of being admired/ I wish that I would just die or get fired/ And dropped from my label"). The album is a mortar round from the trenches of celebrity, an assault on Survivor and Big Brother and anything else that supposes mass exposure equals happiness.

So, what to do with it? Is it good for teenagers to listen to Eminem? Well, no. It's not good for them to have sex or take drugs either, right? But most of them will survive. Is Eminem actually dangerous? Unless you're in physical proximity to him, probably not (he's currently facing assault charges). The bottom line, or the closest I can get to one, is that The Marshall Mathers LP is a particularly potent piece of repellent art. Discounting the filler and the most unlistenable stuff, it's still at least half a great record. It may be the best album you never want to hear.