[Retro-Review] Revival, Eminem's album 2017. 🎤

The criticism burned, from that fire he formed his alter ego, Slim Shady. A manifestation of Marshall Mathers’ inner turmoil, the persona served as a vehicle for his darkest, most violent thoughts and helped him step out from the shadow of his forebears to channel the darkest parts of himself. On 1998’s The Slim Shady EP, he found his unique and disturbing voice. It caught the ear of Jimmy Iovine and Dr. Dre, who spent the next five years molding him into one of the biggest pop stars in the world.

For all the controversy his lyrics caused, Slim Shady helped Mathers focus his energy, a cathartic outlet that was both messy and intensely fascinating. But after more than two decades, he’s older, well-fed, and in possession of pretty much every accolade there is to acquire.

On Revival, his ninth studio LP, Eminem is largely fueled by his own self-doubt, a creeping fear that we might forget he was once one of the best to ever hold a mic. The only thing the battle-tested, Oscar-winning, best-selling hip-hop artist of all time has to prove is that he’s got another classic in him, the one thing that he hasn’t proven since the curtains closed on 2002’s The Eminem Show. On the records that followed, Eminem struggled to reconcile with the aftermath of his rapid ascent to stardom. The confessional nature of his storytelling, often featuring his mother, his daughter, and her mother, laid bare his deepest insecurities and most twisted fantasies. By the time a sober Marshall Mathers dropped the sequel to his defining work, he seemed desperate to prove he still had the ability to shock, disturb, and amaze with his skills on the mic. But by then, it was already apparent that he’d run out of stories to tell. Having freed himself of substance abuse, he reconciled his toxic relationship with the mother of his child and the effects of incorporating his daughter into his art. He’d matured into a more evolved human. But the music didn’t grow with him.

Eminem has been stuck in a feedback loop, revisiting different versions of his former self. Musically, Revival is no different, chock full of piano ballads and pop-star features that echo the most cynically commercial corners of his catalog. The shock value comes not from the album’s overwhelmingly bland hooks or cringe-worthy humor (of which there is plenty), but from the moments where his growth as a human is most apparent. Much of early single “Untouchable” is indeed unlistenable, but how many other rappers are reminding us of KRS-One’s teachings that “there can never be justice on stolen land?” And did the man who once mocked Lady Gaga with the lyric, “She can quit her job at the post office, she’s still a male lady,” really just diss the 45th president’s ban on transgender service members?

That being said, Eminem is due no accolades for having thumbed through a copy of Between the World and Me or for finally acknowledging the humanity of non-binary people. Nor should he be deified for mackling about the privileges of whiteness and how hard it is to be black in America.

But while the long tracklist and equally protracted verses make for an exhausting listen, there are rewards for those that endure. The eponymous interlude features a short verse from the late Alice and the Glass Lake that sounds like a sketch for something potentially great. And on an album full of poorly matched beats and verses, the delicately morose guitar melody and heavy fuzz of the Cranberries “Zombie” suits his flow on “In Your Head” perfectly—even if the hook was pretty much cut and pasted from the original.

This is the contradiction of Eminem in 2017. The brat who once boasted how he “Just Don’t Give a Fuck” now has an abundance of fucks to give. He’s still firing off juvenile sex jokes, but he’s clearly still tortured by his love for his child’s mother. He decries the president’s racism, then admits he agrees with his stance on pussy grabbing. These multitudes might be reconcilable were his considerable technical gifts not consistently wasted on tired themes and lame attempts to revive an irrelevant persona he outgrew years ago.

These fears are relatable if not necessarily interesting. But Revival is ultimately plagued by the same pitfalls as Infinite, which found him shadowboxing against ghosts, unable to land any punches. This time he’s competing with a version of himself that no longer exists. And though it’s easy to empathize with his creeping self-doubt, it’s tougher to swallow in the context of an album that ultimately proves that those doubts are correct.