May 15, 2016

Earlier @Immy suggested that I should write a new review of Recovery and I decided that I wasn't afraid to take a stand, everybody come take my hand.

Please note that I have not written a review in years and I am not as seasoned as our true professionals (@WPG and @captain awesome) but I hope you enjoy my thoughts anyway.

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One of the must stunning things about prime Eminem was just how effortless he seemed. His technical ability and lyrical consistency was so impressive it seemed that he could have churned out classics in his sleep. As it turns out, this was not a correct assumption. In 2004, Eminem essentially DID make an album in his sleep, the rambling, incoherent, stunningly misguided Encore. Encore’s release, marking the artistic decline of someone who just two short years earlier had seemed unstoppable, somehow guaranteed that the reelection of George W. Bush was only the second most depressing thing to happen in November 2004. It slid into the pop cultural ether like the sort of wet turd he probably would have rapped about in a hypothetical fourth verse of Just Lose It, and it marked an album-to-album plummet in quality rarely matched in hip-hop history.


His long-awaited return came in 2009 with the confounding, even more misguided Relapse, an album that was nearly as bad as Encore for entirely different reasons. You could probably write a novel on what went wrong on Relapse and what was going on in his head when he decide to adopt the persona of a serial killer with a middle eastern accent, but please, don't bother doing that. The bottom line is, fans diagnosed the problems pretty quickly. The content needs more depth. The production and features need variety. And that accent has got to go. These were near-unanimous solutions. Eminem heard the voice of his fans and critics and adjusted accordingly.


Good, right? Wrong. Recovery, Marshall’s 2010 attempt at artistic redemption, is a textbook lesson in overcorrection. Improve the content? Check; self-serious attempts at concept tracks should do the trick. Fix the delivery? Check; maybe the way to show a bit of emotion would be to SHOUT THIS AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS. Enlist some outside help? Check; let’s bring in Pink, everyone’s idea of an inspiring creative muse, to spice things up a bit.


Recovery is dead on arrival not necessarily because he veered in a different direction (indeed, this was probably necessary; the planned sequel Relapse 2 would have likely been an unmitigated disaster), but because he’s trying so hard. On song after song, you can see his wheels spinning furiously to almost no effect. Perhaps the most glaring example is Won’t Back Down, a proud contender for worst Eminem song of all time (over the years this has become an increasingly crowded field). The backdrop is an abrasive, video-game ready DJ Khalil attempt at rock music for people who don’t listen to rock music but occasionally like the guitar riffs they hear in monster truck rally commercials. As that screeches in the background, Marshall drops clunker after clunker in attempts at clever wordplay: “f--- a steak, I’ll cut my toes and step on the receipt ‘fore I foot the bill!” and “I gave Bruce Wayne a valium and said ‘Settle your f---ing a--- down, I’m ready for combat, man!’ Get it, *calm Batman*?” are just the first minute or so of the song. Each line is delivered in an ugly, full-throated roar, and the lyricism encompasses such topics as a) how dope Eminem is at rapping (“I’m an uncooked slab of beef laying on your kitchen floor, in other words I’m off the meat rack” – that’s how raw he is, you see); b) how large his penis is (“f---, my d-ck’s big”; further context not considered necessary); and c) how wacky and unpredictable Slim Shady is (“Fork was in the road, took the psycho path!”).


Similarly disastrous is Not Afraid, the inspirational anthem for janitors everywhere who feel a commanding jolt of rage every time they remember that Mom recently started asking for rent money. Not Afraid resonated with fans in its initial release because it felt like a direct response to their grievances, including an explicit admission of error regarding the quality of Relapse. But upon closer inspection, Not Afraid is a deeply embarrassing song – a manufactured attempt at an inspirational stadium-ready anthem, with a seemingly endless stream of poorly written barbs directed at nameless haters (all of whom, Marshall asserts, "can make like bees with no stingas and drop dead"). Cinderella Man hits a lot of the same marks, proclaiming “f--- my last CD, that s---’s in my trash” mere moments before uttering the words “My filet is smoking weed, yeah fa---- the steaks are high”. Comebacks can often be undermined with a relapse to previous habits (see Jay-Z striking gold with American Gangster but subsequently releasing lazy duds like The Blueprint 3 and Magna Carta Holy Grail), but on Recovery, Em is incapable of even getting through his comeback songs without embarrassing himself.


The examples cited above go beyond cherry picking; they are representative of Marshall’s writing style throughout the entirety of Recovery. The general strategy is to latch on to a metaphor or a turn of phrase, twist it into a convoluted pun about how wild and crazy he is, and then scream the pun into the microphone at Gilbert Gottfried levels of volume and intensity, often using an unnecessary double time flow. He only truly finds success when he veers away from this formula. Going Through Changes is a welcome change of pace, an honest and compelling look at his drug addiction in the wake of Proof’s death. Talkin’ 2 Myself is considerably less impressive, but it earns points for injecting emotional honesty in place of the types of platitudes that litter much of the rest of the album.


Despite these welcome deviations from that formula, however, Marshall largely clings to what he thinks we want to hear. In Cold Wind Blows, he’s the fearless Slim Shady we all love to hate – he’ll go at anyone, even Elton John and Michael J. Fox! ;D On 25 To Life, ghost-written by The Village-era M. Night Shyamalan, he’s the narrator of a Concept Song with a Twist Ending. With the Dre-produced So Bad, over some celebratory “I’ve-had-sex-recently” horns, he pretends that he’s had sex recently – and indeed, in doing so, he inadvertently threw his conquest’s “spine out of alignment” after “getting the pineapple Schnapps going” (I am not making this up). On No Love, he’s not only “standing on top of his Monopoly board” (that means he’s on top of his game) but also “about to spit the greatest verse of all time” (points awarded for ambition, I suppose).


Each of these characters is as implausible as the cartoonish serial killers of Relapse, but the difference is that this time they come under the guise of “the real Eminem”. The truth is that over the album's running time, it becomes clear that Eminem doesn’t even understand what “the real Eminem” means anymore. With every project since his comeback he has been scrambling to recreate some iteration of his former self without any interest in artistic growth. Unfortunately for Marshall, he will never get another chance to experience what he accomplished in 2002 (life is no Nintendo game). Unfortunately for us, too.

 

May 15, 2016

Don't know how you can review Recovery without bringing up the most memorable line. Good review nonetheless.

 

May 15, 2016

Thank you for listening to this to remind us why we shouldn't in the first place.

 

May 15, 2016

my wife is out of town

 

May 15, 2016

First I recently read your write up of....3peat?... for the tha carter 3 joint review -- rly reminded what a top level writer you are. I know you guard your privacy wisely for the most part/have a real life, but you should def consider doing this more.. For real outlets.

Hard to disagree with your individual takes here. I think your assessment of eminems career arc is on point re: encore, the over correction etc. I'd grade recovery a little less harshly maybe -- C- effort, maybe a C. Forced album... soft and confused. But might might the best formula for em at this bit, considering he seems petrified to evolve in a way many of his contemporary have (if Kid Rock has lapped you musically, there's a problem)

Haven't played it in awhile but at least initially I enjoyed seduction, no love, and talkin 2 myself

 

May 15, 2016

 

May 15, 2016

On 25 To Life, ghost-written by The Village-era M. Night Shyamalan


With the Dre-produced So Bad, over some celebratory “I’ve-had-sex-recently” horns, he pretends that he’s had sex recently

God damnit

 

May 15, 2016

Not Afraid, the inspirational anthem for janitors everywhere who feel a commanding jolt of rage every time they remember that Mom recently started asking for rent money.
brilliant review