Whatever moved Eminem to actually finish and release his new album, it couldn’t have been the money. It wasn’t to add to his fame, which is already secure. It’s not because he had anything to say, any news to share, any opinions or feelings or (please) ideas.
It’s not even to remind people he’s an amazing performer, since he already did that at the Super Bowl a couple of years ago. No, it’s probably simpler than that — he’s a sensitive soul, and he needs validation. He needs people to slap him on the back every few years and say, Hey, not bad.
You tried. It’s funny how his hyped comeback hit “Houdini” had a joke about participation trophies, since that’s what this album turned out to be. On The Death of Slim Shady (Coup de Grace), he’s a legacy artist who’s turned into a professional collector of participation trophies, so he’s giving himself a new one for his display case.
Not bad. He tried. The Death of Slim Shady is a star with the yips, sweating to reassure everyone — especially himself — he’s still got it.
He remembers how great he was at this when he was young, and he hopes to remind you, by repeating old tricks he’s not necessarily so great at in 2024. “Was just a kid from Detroit who knew how to destroy the booth,” he reminisces in the nostalgic “Habits.” That kid sure wasn’t planning on recycling the same jokes for the rest of his life.
But Eminem can’t even imagine anything else. How the hell did that happen? His alb.