Deep Dive: The Legacy Of Eminem
Eminem on his 2019 Rapture Tour. Credit: Jeremy Deputat
“Oh yeah. That’s the guy that does those songs with Rihanna, right?”
I was asked that question during a 2017 photoshoot, when the topic of music came up, and I told the model I was shooting with that I was a fan of Eminem.
She wasn’t wrong. But she was also very wrong.
It’s understandable. The model was 19 years old at the time, which meant that she was all of 2 years old when Eminem was at the height of his powers; dropping his magnum opus The Marshall Mathers LP in May of 2000, and generally wreaking havoc on the music industry.
In addition to making me feel so old I was genuinely depressed for the rest of the day, it made me realize just how differently Eminem is viewed in today’s cultural climate compared to the way he was back then.
Eminem was a lyrical menace, controversy personified, and a record-breaking commercial machine.
He’s still those things, actually; but it’s different now.
Activist groups would protest his concerts and boycott his records while he outsold pop music giants like NSYNC and The Backstreet Boys singlehandedly.
The model I shot with didn’t grow up listening to that Eminem. She was more familiar with the one unabashedly releasing bona fide pop songs like “Love The Way You Lie” and “The Monster.”
But between the years 1999 and 2003, Eminem was a monster.
Who knew then that he would eventually go on to release songs not all that different from the artists he used to hate getting compared to: Pop stars.
It’s been a weird and confusing career path for a man whom, although is often viewed as corny and irrelevant in today’s world, just broke an attendance record for a concert of his a week ago.
And he’s the only artist to have seven albums reach 1 billion streams on Spotify.
Not bad for someone irrelevant.
Eminem seems to operate in a weird space in which he’s both popular, but ignored. Criticized for being insensitive and downright offensive, while also being criticized for being too soft when he tries to switch things up. An emcee who receives praise, adulation, and respect from fellow rappers, both new school and legends alike, while simultaneously getting ripped on Twitter by hip hop fans anytime he releases new material. He even gets criticized for how he dresses, as well as his recent decision to simply grow a beard. A man who is so obviously a student of the game, who does whatever he can to shine light on the pioneers before him and often geeks out in interviews when discussing old school hip hop, but someone so culturally detached from today’s game even his fans get a bad rap.
"If you still follow Eminem, you drink way too much Mountain Dew and probably need to like, come home from the army,” - Earl Sweatshirt
The image of Eminem’s fanbase being comprised of nothing more than white, angry, teenaged suburbanites who play Call Of Duty has plagued him for years, and those feelings have only grown stronger as the years go by.
What’s ironic (and sad) is that right now, in 2019, there is no better technical rapper than Eminem. He displays such a mastery of the English language it’s comical. His bars are filled with double meanings, triple meanings, his lyricism is top tier, and no one else comes close. He’s in a class all by himself.
Exhibit A: His “Kick Off” freestyle, released this past November.
But the criticisms continue to pour in. He’s too lyrical. He’s trying too hard. He’s forcing lines. He screams. His flows are weird.
Exhibit B: Chris D’Elia mocking Eminem’s freestyles.
Simply put, Eminem is no longer “cool.” And being cool is a huge part of hip hop, and usually a necessary ingredient to becoming (and maintaining the status of) a popular artist. That’s why it’s largely considered a young man’s game. If it ever was about skill, it is no longer. It’s about being fresh and trendy. What songs can we bump in our cars? What songs can you play in the club? Modern rap is all about image and “swag.” Eminem doesn’t have swag. He’s considered the pioneer of a new genre: “Dad rap.”
Yet here he is, 20 years into his career; still selling records, still making headlines. With both undeniable classics and cringe-worthy albums under his belt, it’s worth taking a step back and looking at his career in its entirety, to see why he’s one of the most polarizing, yet commercially successful artists of all time. A deep dive that explores where he slipped up, and why despite those slip-ups, he’s still quite possibly “the illest rapper to hold a cordless.”
The Rise (1997-2003)
Credit: Catherine McGann/Getty Images
Marshall Bruce Mathers III came up through the 90s Detroit underground, taking part in rap battles to generate buzz. He released his first ever record, Infinite, in the fall of 1996, to negative reviews - something that would become commonplace for him. Critics said he was biting other peoples’ styles - a mortal sin in the world of hip hop. They compared him to New York artists like AZ and Nas; and not in complimentary fashion.
His album was seen as an unoriginal style-jacking of East Coast lyricism that was a staple of hip hop at the time. Coupled with the frustration of being a broke 25-year-old with a newborn baby, and no backup plan, an alter ego was born.
The Slim Shady EP, released a year after Infinite, would be the world’s introduction to Slim Shady. The physical embodiment of Eminem’s rage, frustration, and darkest thoughts played out in graphic depictions of drug use, murder, torture, and rape. A far cry from his lyrical, but ultimately creatively uninspiring debut album.
With the Slim Shady EP demo in his arsenal, Eminem and his dark side continued battle rapping, and made it as far as 1997’s Rap Olympics, where he would go on to lose the battle, but win the war.
It was his second place finish at the event where his demo would find its way into an Interscope employee’s hands, and ultimately land on Jimmy Iovine’s desk. The rest, as they say, is history.
Eminem would be introduced to Aftermath’s Dr. Dre, of N.W.A. and “The Chronic” fame, and the two formed a connection instantly, crafting Eminem’s first single “My Name Is” during their first meeting.
The track would be featured on the Slim Shady LP - Eminem’s Dre-produced, sensational, major label debut.
While Eminem gained name recognition for both his off-the-wall content and lack of pigmentation - becoming an MTV darling in the process - critics would take aim once again.
They trashed the Slim Shady LP; labeling it vulgar, misogynistic, violent, and downright offensive.
Of course, those kinds of attacks only made him cooler in the eyes of that generation’s teenagers.
It was like criticizing Quentin Tarantino for dropping one too many F-bombs and glorifying violence in his films, or criticizing Kurt Cobain for being too nihilistic. Just as parents kept their young ones from listening to heavy metal back in the 70s and 80s, the parents of millennials now had a new enemy. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed potty mouth from Detroit.
But he couldn’t be stopped. He was funny, he was clever, and from a technical standpoint, his flow was effortless to the point that it felt like he was talking to you, and the words just happened to rhyme. Nothing was forced. Everything was smooth. He would speak in full sentences as opposed to sacrificing certain words to make rhymes fit.
That’s not to say there wasn’t some truth to what critics were saying about his persona overall, though. You don’t have to look too hard to find offensive lyrics in Eminem’s catalog. But it wasn’t unlike politically incorrect, black comedy stand-ups who were putting on a show, and making us laugh at the darkest aspects of humanity. He was like Carlin and Pryor, using irreverence and wit to garner both laughs and gasps.
It was all part of the Slim Shady image he had crafted. Getting someone’s attention, spitting lines that made people react with “oohs”, and overall getting a reaction from a crowd are necessary tools in the world of battle rap, and to a further extent, any artistic medium. It’s not that Eminem was actually homophobic, or misogynistic, or violent. He wasn’t really raping women and cutting them up with chainsaws - he was playing a character, and he knew those lyrics would get people talking. It was that same material that caught the ear of Interscope Records. If he continued down the path he began on with Infinite, there’s little chance he would’ve blown up. The creation of Slim Shady was a last ditch effort from a desperate man to get people to recognize his skills as an emcee.
The critical backlash to his music, along with the ongoing drama in his personal life regarding his ex-wife and mother, would serve as the rocket fuel for his greatest work, and one of the greatest hip hop albums of all time, with 2000’s The Marshall Mathers LP.
The record would boast tracks like “Stan,” perhaps the greatest song he’s ever written, and one whose title is now part of our cultural vernacular. When you “stan” someone or something, you’re referring to the obsessed fan in the song who took Eminem’s lyrics a little too seriously. It was a four-verse epic that showcased one of the many downfalls of fame (not being able to control who listens to you or who you end up influencing) through painfully vivid storytelling.
Songs like “Who Knew” and “The Way I Am” addressed critics head-on; and served as a response to the claim parents and politicians alike made that musicians like Eminem and Marilyn Manson were partially to blame for the Columbine school shooting. A cringe-worthy take looking back at it, since we now have an epidemic of gun violence in this country, and it has nothing to do with music or violent video games and everything to do with Republicans being in bed with the NRA. But I digress.
The track also features “Kim;” perhaps the rawest, most disturbing, visceral, and at times nearly unlistenable song in Eminem’s catalog. Like “Stan,” it was another masterclass in lyrical storytelling; only in a deeply unsettling way.
The album broke sales records at the time. And in a blink, Eminem was the biggest artist on the planet. You couldn’t go anywhere in the summer of 2000 without hearing a single from the album. MTV gave him the reigns for an entire episode of TRL, appropriately titled EMtv; and with an army of Slim Shady clones at his side, he shut down Times Square for his VMA performance that year, in what would be one of the highlights of his career.
A year later he’d add an even bigger highlight to the reel, when he performed “Stan” with Elton John at the 2001 Grammys. A move that was made intentionally to quell the claims of homophobia leveled against him.
To date, The Marshall Mathers LP has sold over 35 million copies worldwide. It was a moment in time that will never be replicated, despite Eminem confessing this year that he’s still chasing the glory of the record.
How did he follow up an album that successful?
With one just as commercially successful, and one that cemented his legacy as one of the greatest emcees of all time.
As was routine for Eminem; every album was a response to the critical reaction of it predecessor.
2002’s Eminem Show was a more mature and vulnerable Eminem. He was political (“White America,” “Square Dance,”), he was personal (“Cleanin’ Out My Closet,” “Hailie’s Song”), and he discovered a new production style that blended rock and rap to craft a signature sound. Songs like “Sing For The Moment” and “Till I Collapse” were stadium anthems that had an arena rock-like feel to them.
That settled it. He wasn’t a sideshow act. He wasn’t going to fade into obscurity after one giant album. He proved he was more than an attention-seeking shock rapper. He was a legitimate artist, with real songs. That was it. Eminem was the real deal.
In addition to the album, he would go onto star in the semi-autobiographical film 8 Mile, win an Oscar for the film’s original song “Lose Yourself,” sign rapper 50 Cent to his label, who would go onto release one of the greatest debut albums of all time and a certified classic in its own right in Get Rich Or Die Tryin’, and win a comically one-sided beef against both The Source, and Ja Rule and company’s Murder Inc. record label.
Truth be told, the reason Eminem still has a career, is because people remember him for the one-two-three-four punch of The Slim Shady LP, The Marshall Mathers LP, The Eminem Show, and 8 Mile.
He was the golden boy. He couldn’t fail. He was indestructible. He was rap’s Superman. Unfortunately, that era would be the last time Superman put the cape on.
When you’re that high up, there’s only one direction you can go in.
The Fall (2004-2009)
MYCHAL WATTS/WIREIMAGE VIA GETTY IMAGES
Towards the end of 2003, in a last ditch effort to land a punch in their beef, The Source released a tape of Eminem back in the early 90s in which he’s heard using the N-word and insulting black women in a song.
In today’s social media world, it would’ve probably ended his career.
But because Eminem was immensely popular and Twitter was not yet a thing, the incident barely made a dent in his armor. Especially since anyone who had spent any time with the man knew he wasn’t a racist, and recognized the move by The Source was partially made in bad faith.
He also explains the origin of the tape and apologizes for the remarks he made on it in a song titled “Yellow Brick Road” on Eminem Show’s follow up - 2004’s Encore.
However, it was the release of that album that did more damage to his career than any problematic tape ever could.
Maybe it was exhaustion.
Releasing three classic albums, touring the world, starring in movies, and winning both Oscars and highly-publicized beefs alike; all within the span of 4 years.
Maybe it was drugs.
He was known to dabble in some illegal substances. Maybe he took it too far.
Maybe it was ego.
The belief that he really was Superman, and anything he put out would be a commercial success.
Whatever it was, Encore was an incoherent, disturbing journey into the mind of a man burned out.
It was almost performance art in the way its creator took a dive. In the booklet itself, there’s several images with suicidal implications (writing a note with stray bullets near the notepad, and a picture of him putting a gun in his mouth), perhaps it was Em’s way of saying “I’m done.”
The album’s first single, “Just Lose It” was a failed attempt at making another radio-friendly single a la “The Real Slim Shady” or “Without Me.” It came across as played out, formulaic, and uninspired. Songs like “Puke,” “Big Weenie,” and “Ass Like That,” songs that are just as bad as their titles suggest, dominated the tone of the album, along with all sorts of sophomoric dick jokes and complimentary sound effects, like farts and burps.
This was the man who wrote “Lose Yourself?” “Till I Collapse?” “Stan?”
None of it made sense.
The whole album played out like one big joke that only Eminem himself found funny.
Spoiled fans, used to seeing their hero drop one classic after another, immediately left in droves.
Critics and haters alike finally had legitimate ammo to use against him.
To make things eerily worse, the album features a song and subsequent music video titled “Like Toy Soldiers,” in which his best friend Proof (Deshaun Holton) is shown fighting for his life on an operating table after getting shot as a result of a rap beef gone too far.
This would send Eminem into a depression, which in turn had him gaining a significant amount of weight, and pushed him further and further towards prescription pills; which he’d almost lose his own life to after an overdose in 2007.
At this point, everything was up in the air.
Curtain Call: The Hits, a greatest hits compilation, was released during this chapter of his career (2005), and called into question whether or not Eminem would retire. It definitely felt premature and overly dramatic, given that his reign had only lasted 4 years; but that’s how dark it got for him.
Aside from a side project (Eminem Presents: The Re-Up) and a few guest verses, Em largely stayed under the radar, going on a five year solo album hiatus.
He would return in 2009 (totally shredded, and without the blonde hair) to mixed reviews.
2009’s Relapse was an uneven effort, to say the least. The production on the album (almost entirely all Dre beats) is probably the best production he’s ever rapped on; even to this day. His flow was sharper than it was on Encore, and he stepped up his lyrical proficiency, even though he didn’t have to. Lyrics were never his problem.
The problem, was that he decided, for no reason at all, to rap most of the songs in an accent that can only be described as “Bad Borat.” Using the accent, he was able to bend words to make them rhyme with words they had no business rhyming with. But it wasn’t clever, or artistic; it was weird.
Not to mention the bulk of the album was a darker, more graphic depiction of serial killing and rape, that many thought he had outgrown after The Marshall Mathers LP.
The first single, yet again, was a tone deaf, failed attempt at recreating early career magic. “We Made You” had him dressing up as various celebrities and rapping about topical subjects in a cringe-worthy, corny way.
With two bad albums in a row, Em was down to his last strike. Luckily, he hit one over the fence.
The Comeback (2010-2013)
Kevin Mazur/EM/WireImage
While Relapse is appropriately billed as his comeback album, it’s 2010’s followup Recovery that’s widely considered the true owner of that title.
The plan was for Eminem to release Relapse 2. He had saved up so much material during his hiatus, he had enough to make two albums. But he (smartly, and rightly) scrapped that idea when he saw the reception to the first album.
Instead of making another album with weird accents and disturbing imagery (on dope beats, to be fair), he decided to release an album similar in tone to 2002’s Eminem Show.
“Fuck my last CD, that shit’s in my trash,” he says on “Cinderella Man.”
“My last two albums didn’t count. Encore I was on drugs, Relapse I was flushing them out,” he explains on “Talkin’ 2 Myself”
“That last Relapse CD was ‘ehh.’ Perhaps I ran them accents into the ground,” he confesses on the album’s first single “Not Afraid.”
He was clean again. He was self-aware again. He was personal again (“You’re Never Over” is a heartfelt tribute to his friend Proof). He showed glimpses of the man a lot of us thought had died back in 2003.
“Bruce Banner’s back in the booth,” he raps on the album’s opening track “Cold Wind Blows,” and it’s on that track that we realize he was never Superman - he’s The Incredible Hulk.
He does his best work when he’s motivated and angry, and despite taking a few haymakers along the way, he was still standing.
Regardless of how you feel about Recovery (it’s not without its flaws), most people admit it was the album he needed to make at that time. Had he gone forward with another Relapse, this article wouldn’t exist because his career would’ve ended nine years ago.
2010 helped put him back on track. Sure, some of the production and features on the album were pop-like, and he forced a few punchlines, but it saved his career nonetheless.
Couple that with 2011’s signing of juggernaut rap group Slaughterhouse, and his side project with longtime friend and lyrical sparring partner Royce Da 5’9 in Hell: The Sequel under their Bad Meets Evil moniker, things were looking up for Slim Shady.
It would be short lived, though.
2013’s Recovery follow up, boldly (and wrongfully) titled The Marshall Mathers LP 2, began to show new cracks in an already damaged suit of armor.
It’s not that The Marshall Mathers LP 2 is bad, it’s just that there was no way it could ever compare to the first one, so calling attention to it was futile. It was a suicide mission.
To be fair, the album showcases some of the best technical rapping of Eminem’s career (“Rap God,” anyone?), but most of those raps are fluff. They’re rhymes for the sake of rhymes. Though the album does feature one of Eminem’s greatest, most painfully self-aware and deepest verses he’s ever written (the last verse of “Bad Guy,” a song which served as a continuation of the story told in “Stan”).
There are several humorous callbacks to the first album, and jokes about his age and his fading star that provide some entertainment; but for the most part, those were cosmetic additions to an album that otherwise sounded nothing like the first. Not sonically, and not in its overall tone.
The album feels more like a less successful version of Recovery. He uses a similar formula, but to watered down results.
The album didn’t hurt his legacy, but it didn’t add to it either. It just kind of was. It stands alone in that regard. Every other album in his catalog either helped or hurt his image. This one stays grounded in between those two extremes.
But for the first time in his career, he becomes too technical for his own good. His raps are complex, densely-packed tongue-twisters, spit at lightning fast speed; and you’re forced to read Rap Genius to pick up on the punchlines and references. He also no longer speaks in full sentences and elects instead to sacrifice effortless coherence for more lyricism.
It felt like, for some reason, he thought the criticisms of his recent work were because he wasn’t lyrical enough; so he was trying to win back favorability by going for style points as opposed to substance. Lyrical overcompensation.
Hearing him spit made every verse come across as “Maybe if I rap super technical, they’ll like me again.”
The Setback (2014-2017)
BET
His guest verses, cyphers, and an assortment of side projects would set the narrative for the next few years.
Critics and rap fans alike would pick apart every aspect of his game. His flow was choppy. The beats he picked were trash. His punchlines were corny. He rapped too fast. He was too lyrical. He was trying too hard. He had nothing to rap about. He was washed.
It’s in this era that he finds himself competing with a new generation of formidable heavyweights. Artists like Kendrick Lamar who’s considered to have three classics under his belt, and a quality movie soundtrack to his name. Just like the blonde one, circa 2002.
Artists that are shaping the sound and dictating where the culture is going.
He generated some positive buzz after his BET Awards cypher in 2017 that saw him take aim at Donald Trump, but it also divided his fan base. A fan base that largely consisted of those previously mentioned white, angry, suburbanite teens who were now Trump-supporting adults. Still though, the move itself was a necessary one, and one that did do more good than harm. It certainly got people talking again, and in a positive light.
But instead of building on that positive energy, Em followed up 2013’s The Marshall Mathers LP 2 with 2017’s colossally misguided and ill-advised Revival.
Revival was a train wreck from the start, with the album’s first single “Walk On Water” being a flop even with Beyonce singing the chorus. Even the promotional rollout for the album was shoddy, with the track list being released ahead of time and getting universally shitted on by all corners of the raposphere, and a wasted opportunity to perform new music on SNL; where Em performed a medley of hits that were decades-old instead. It was a head-scratching move, and it didn’t let up once the actual album was released.
Revival, like The Marshall Mathers LP 2 before it, tried to recapture Recovery’s lightning in a bottle by using the same formula; only this time it was even more tired.
It was too diverse for its own good. There were pop songs like “Nowhere Fast” and “Need Me” (A song with a P!nk feature that gets my vote for the worst song he’s ever put on an album), serial killer songs (he brought back the accent) like “Framed” (which has the best flow and beat on the album, but still, I thought we were past this), a political song in the Alicia Keys-accompanied “Like Home,” and forced emotional songs like “Bad Husband” and “In Your Head.”
It was a mishmash of Eminem’s worst instincts. Only this time he had no excuse. No drugs, no depression. So where did he go wrong?
He tried to please everyone and ended up pleasing no one. The album felt disjointed and more like a collage of songs than an actual coherent album. There are no deep cuts on this album. Every song sounds like it’s trying to become a single. The Slim Shady LP has deep cuts. The Marshall Mathers LP has deep cuts. The Eminem Show has deep cuts. Deep cuts are vital to an album, because while they may not be particularly outstanding or memorable, they add consistency and overall mood to an album. It helps push the narrative forward. Think of it like an action movie. Of course the action sequences are what we’re going to remember, but you need filler scenes to set those sequences up. It can’t just be a montage of explosions with no backstory. Because of this, you can’t really settle into the album. It jumps all over the place and never finds a comfortable position.
This was it.
How could a man so self-aware, so in tune with what critics said about him, so familiar with rap’s current crop of heavyweights and a keen understanding of what made them heavyweights, release this album? He’s heard Kendrick, right? He’s seen Drake, Kanye, and Jay-Z continue to strike gold with critically successful projects, right?
There was no way to understand or defend it. Maybe this was who he wanted to be. Somewhere down the line, he had given up trying to be early 2000s Eminem, and was shamelessly going to push forward as this new Eminem. An Eminem that was culturally tone deaf and who would sit back and watch as his contemporaries released critically acclaimed records and visual albums; often secretly, without promotion, while he’d continue down the same old road of releasing a single, doing a press junket, and releasing an album on a pre-announced date. Playing it safe and using the same formula he had used for the last three albums.
Maybe critics were right. Maybe he really was dad rap.
The Bounce Back (2018-2019)
FilmMagic for Bonnaroo Arts And Music Festival/Jeff Kravitz
Until a funny thing happened one summer night, a mere 8 months after Revivai.
“Bitch, you just lit the fuse,” he confidently announces on “The Ringer,” the opening track of Kamikaze; his 9th major studio album. An album that was dropped without warning at midnight, August 31st, and which sent shockwaves throughout the rap world.
“Motherfuckers talkin’ crazy, saying I should quit. I fuckin’ tell ‘em ‘Make me, eat a fucking dick’,” he continues on the next track, titled “Greatest.”
Looks like someone was listening.
Kamikaze, like Recovery, was a career-defining, career-saving moment. Although, unlike Recovery, it was a nonstop, blistering assault on rappers (Machine Gun Kelly, Tyler The Creator, mumble rappers), critics (Charlamagne The God, DJ Akademiks), and rappers-turned-critics (Joe Budden, Lord Jamar).
The beats knocked, the flows were impeccable, and the lyrics were hard-hitting and clever.
This should’ve been titled The Marshall Mathers LP 2. It’s certainly the spiritual successor to the first one that dropped nearly 20 years ago (Fuck, I’m old).
It was a much needed return to form, put Em back in the good graces of hip hop fans, and spawned some fresh beef for good measure.
Machine Gun Kelly responded to Eminem’s attacks on the album (which were made in response to Kelly’s previous subliminals) with “Rap Devil” (a name that mocks Em’s “Rap God”). On it, Kelly runs the gamut of all the recent criticisms of Eminem. He’s old, he screams, he tries too hard, etc. Funnily enough, he also concedes that Eminem is one of the greatest rappers ever. Something all of his recent critics concede. The consensus seems to be “Yes, he’s top 5, but he’s garbage now and he should hang it up.” It’s confusing to say the least, but most things are when discussing Eminem’s career.
Eminem responded to Kelly with “Killshot,” which is a 4 minute exercise in lyrical demolition.
He was (obviously) crowned the victor of a beef that was admittedly one-sided (all of his beefs are), and along with his recent social media hijinks, he’s once again in the good graces of the fickle, unforgiving world of hip hop (mostly…for now).
His Legacy
So what’s his legacy? What will be his legacy? Obviously, he’s still very much active; but it’s worth debating where he stands currently.
Me personally? I think he’s been unfairly held to a higher standard. I think the first three albums he released were both a gift and a curse in that while they were incredible pieces of hip hop history, they also created an unrealistic expectation he can never again meet.
He’s not an angry, desperate, hungry 26-year-old anymore. He’s a 46-year-old financially-secure man who’s been to the summit of hip hop multiple times. He’s not in the same head space, so he can’t rap from the same head space. His life is different now; as all of our lives are different, compared to where we were twenty years ago. He simply can’t be that guy anymore.
Yes, he’s made a handful of duds, but so has every artist that’s had a career long enough to do so.
But artists like him and Jay-Z are navigating through uncharted water at the moment.
Hip hop, as I stated before, is typically seen as a young man’s (or woman’s) game. It’s made for the youth, by the youth.
Big name hip hop artists haven’t seen long careers, as the two biggest artists of the game (Tupac, Biggie) had their careers cut short. It’s on people like Em, Jay, and Nas to see how long they can maintain their careers.
How old is too old to rap? When does it get embarrassing? Can making music of any kind really be considered “embarrassing?” Art is art, isn’t it? Even one as strongly tied to youth culture as hip hop.
What about passion - is that factored into the equation? At this point, it’s clear Eminem is rapping just for the respect and love of the game. He has nothing tangible to gain. He’s made his money, he’s won his awards, he’s broken his records. He can call it quits right now and ride off into the sunset; but he continues to fight. He refuses to fade away. How many other artists from 2000 are both selling records and breaking records? Doesn’t he get points for his longevity, especially when he’s taken some serious blows to his reputation?
Maybe Eminem is dad rap. Maybe his best days are behind him. But few people have reached the levels he’s reached. He’s not competing against other rappers at this point. He’s competing against his ghost, and he knows it. As I mentioned earlier, he’s in a class all by himself. He’s both a frontrunner, and an underdog.
If that doesn’t tell you where he stands in this game, I’m not sure what will.
Eminem’s Major Label Albums Ranked
I’m excluding Infinite and Slim Shady EP and sticking with the albums most people are familiar with.
9.) Encore
Most fans agree that this is his worst album. Especially when you take into account that he released The Eminem Show two years prior to this, it continues to be the biggest head-scratcher of his career. What was he thinking when he made this thing? My morbid curiosity is dying to know.
8.) Revival
Where Encore is totally unlistenable in a fascinating way, this album is mostly unlistenable in a disappointing way. There’s no reason this album should exist. It was misstep that simply didn’t have to happen.
7.) Relapse
As mentioned before, the production is great, and his flows are on point. But the subject matter and accents seal its fate. However, this album has a cult following for a segment of his fan base.
6.) The Marshall Mathers LP 2
It was a lukewarm album overall. There were definitely some bright spots, but a handful of low points as well. As a result, it breaks even.
5.) Kamikaze
My only real gripe with this album is that it was too short, and had two unnecessary tracks (“Good Guy,” “Nice Guy”), but the rest is fantastic and the best Eminem has been in a decade.
4.) Recovery
The album that kept his career alive. Despite claims of it being soft, there’s some hard-hitting tracks on this album. “Cold Wind Blows,” “On Fire,” “Seduction,” “No Love,” “Almost Famous,” and “Untitled” all showcase the aggressive lyricism that’s a Slim Shady staple.
3.) The Slim Shady LP
Hands down his funniest album. It has so many clever one liners, you lose count. You can also feel the hunger in these songs, particularly on “Rock Bottom.”
2.) The Eminem Show
His most mature, most accessible album. This would be any artist’s best album, had he not released one that was even better.
1.) The Marshall Mathers LP
As good as advertised. Not overrated, and certainly not underrated. The hype is real. It was a moment in time that few artists ever get to experience. A masterpiece within the genre and one of the greatest albums ever made period. If you’re 19 years old and disagree, well; I guess you had to be there.