Eminem review of “The Death of Slim Shady”: Old personalities die hard

Since the early 2010s, each of Eminem’s albums has served as a kind of extended feedback loop. They’re characterized by their near-total refusal to engage with contemporary music trends. They’re bloated, narrow-minded, and mostly metaphysical. They focus on how hard it is for Em, now over two decades into his career, to come up with something new. And how everyone hates it when he tries something new. And how people still hate it when he doesn’t try something new. And, of course, that he’s the greatest to ever do it, and the haters should shut up.

Eminem’s 12th studio album, The Death of Slim Shady (Coup de Grâce)offers a seeming twist: the first half is performed by Slim Shady, an alter ego who has already been killed multiple times, while the second half is simply Eminem being himself. The only major difference between the two is a slightly toned-down level of empty provocation. This allows the rapper to deflect any criticism of edge-baiting under the guise of artistic expression, gleefully taking aim at a predictable array of topics before metaphorically slapping himself on the wrist.

There are some quotes that are fun, especially in the songs from “Habits” to “Fuel,” most of which sound like pop-rap throwbacks to the crazy Encore. A holdover from that album, “Brand New Dance,” satirizes Christopher Reeve’s paralysis after the actor is thrown from a horse, complete with numerous neighing sound effects and clattering hooves—and in case you missed the joke, there’s a homophone about giving Chris “his chrysanthemums.” It boils down to the basic ingredients of a family Guy Cutaway gag – and yet it is catchy, crazy and haunting and proves that Eminem can still turn even the craziest nursery rhymes into a catchy chorus.

But despite the constant reminder that this is all just a joke, The death of Slim ShadyBecause Eminem’s fixation on cancel culture and his membership in “Generation Z” are all part of an elaborate tongue-in-cheek farce, it’s often difficult to tell where the plot begins and where it ends. This ambiguity is supposed to be the point of Slim Shady, a byproduct of the injustices Eminem has suffered in the real world, but all too often the distinction between the two here is ambiguous at best. In “Road Rage,” he shames others for their obesity to such a ridiculous degree that the intent is crystal clear, but when it comes to transgender people, his Dave Chappelle-esque logic suggests less of a comic book villain and more of Marshall Mathers’ own ill-conceived views on the subject.

Although Eminem is still technically a master at spitting out tongue twisters incessantly, his supposed profundity as a social critic is often deployed axiomatically rather than genuinely questioned. The actual content of his lyrics remains as incoherent as ever. Instead of portraying middle-class parents as charlatans who are the real cause of America’s cultural woes – as he once did with hits like “The Way I Am” – he now treats his critics in a similar straw-man manner, characterizing them as wimpy bean-counters who don’t appreciate real art. “You nerdy assholes would find something wrong with 36 chambers”, he mocks the “Renaissance”, implying an objective standard of greatness that should not be questioned.

Eminem’s deficiencies as a “serious” thinker are most apparent on “Guilty Conscience 2,” the album’s overly theatrical centerpiece, in which he verbally confronts Slim Shady and addresses the blatant hypocrisy of portraying himself as the ultimate underdog rapper while simultaneously “hitting on little people,” behavior he considers “not cool.” But this moment seems to be a sign of growth on an album that includes lines like “They want me to bounce like fabric softener.” There’s no real reckoning beyond stating the obvious about Eminem’s alternate persona: “Just immature and bookish/You’re still mentally/Thirteen and still thirsty for controversy.”

But this description is an accurate assessment of The death of Slim Shady at his worst, like on the gaudy “Houdini,” where Eminem belts out the most awkward and cheesy bars of his career over what sounds like carnival music. “Pullin’ up in a Chrysler to the cypher with the Vics, Percs, and a Bud Light shirt,” he delivers in his trademark laser-focused, jerky flow, before wondering aloud if he has a “chance for a feat(ure)” with Megan Thee Stallion.

As soon as Slim Shady is finally out of the picture, The death of Slim Shadylike most of Eminem’s recent work, struggles to figure out how to proceed. The remaining five songs (and one skit) are split between nondescript stunt anthems with lots of complicated lyrical acrobatics (“Head Honcho” and “Bad One”) or overblown ballads dedicated to his family (“Temporary” and “Somebody Save Me”). Only “Tobey,” with its Danny Elfman-style piano and a particularly silly contribution from MC BabyTron, really stands out from the crowd.

In some ways, Eminem’s complaints are understandable. Many successful artists, from Bach to Bob Dylan, have at some point felt a disconnect between their work and its reception. But Em’s belief that his ambiguities are too complex for a younger generation and that his disinterest in being trendy has prevented him from getting the recognition he deserves has, over the course of several albums, only served to narrow his field of vision to the point where he can no longer see the world around him, let alone interact with it.