This came out in 2004 – or at least that’s when I got it. Here’s what I said about it back then (with some minor editing):
Imagine you are Eminem. You are the biggest, baddest, best-selling rapper in the world. You are as equally loved and loathed by pundits, politicians and the public as any presidential candidate. You have outraged women’s groups, gay rights organizations and the religious right. You have publicly plotted the murder of your estranged wife in song. You have been sued by your own mother. So whaddaya do for an encore?
Easy: You do more.
And more is definitely what you get on the 76-minute Encore, the fourth major-label album from Marshall Mathers. More of mentor and producer Dr. Dre’s sparse Hummer-rocking beats, slinky belly-dance melodies and ominous G-funk grooves. More of Em’s ridiculously nimble, tongue-tripping vocal gymnastics. More frank tales of his tough upbringing in Detroit. More dumping on his mother. More doting on his daughter. More sniping at his deadbeat dad and his critics. More self-analysis about his love-hate relationship with ex-wife Kim (one minute, she makes him vomit; the next, he’s getting another tattoo of her name). More sex. More violence. More scatology. More silliness. More satire. More skewering of pop culture pinheads like Nick and Jessica, Mary-Kate and Ashley, Justin and Britney, Jacko and Triumph the Insult Comic Dog. And plenty more shock value for your entertainment dollar. Which is to say, pretty much everything you expect to hear in an Eminem disc.
But here’s the thing about Slim Shady: He has always been a walking contradiction. He’s the white guy who’s a world-class rapper; the foul-mouthed misanthrope who’s a doting father; the white-trash dropout who’s a gifted artist and millionaire entrepreneur. So no one should be surprised that along with all the usual outrages and outrageousness, Eminem delivers something even more shocking this time: Serious content. The man has never been at a loss for words, but he’s never had as much to say as he does here. Encore finds the normally self-absorbed, self-aggrandizing, self-mythologizing Mathers looking outward and weighing in on issues beyond his own life. Rain Man playfully rags on the hypocrisy of homophobia. Like Toy Soldiers laments the futility of violence and rap wars. Mosh, the disc’s most powerful and pointed track, is a rabble-rousing anthem of hatred against Dubya. “Strap him with an AK47 / Let him go fight his own war / Let him impress daddy that way,” Eminem spits. “No more blood for oil / We got our own battles to fight on our own soil.” Looks like the real Slim Shady has not only stood up — he’s also taken a stand.
It’s about time. For too long, Eminem has been a major talent who too often squandered his incredible abilities on material that was far beneath him. And while he still hasn’t heard a fart joke he doesn’t like, the growth and maturity reflected in many of these 17 songs make it clear Mathers has finally figured out the world doesn’t begin and end with himself and his alter egos. That realization has helped him create the most relevant work of his career.
More, please.
