Review: Music to Be Murdered By - Eminem
By Luke Robinson
“I don’t like rap except for Eminem” has become the new white power slogan. The crown prince of controversy is well into the late stages of his career. Since 2010, he’s been consistently mediocre to pathetic, and has struggled to adapt to the times, amping up the anger (and cringe) while spouting off horrid staccato bars that are as much ill-advised edge as they are juvenile. 2017’s Revival, the laziest, cobbled-together attempt at pop rap of his career, resulted in Em becoming horrifically emotional after critics and audiences alike despised it. In the eight months that followed, he decided to pick a fight with MGK - which is like trying to rob a soup kitchen - and released Kamikaze, his big “fuck you” to the world in an attempt to prove he could still rap intensely. To no surprise, the album was tragically dated, lacked innovation, and was compressed to shit. But even as he keeps illustrating how awful he is to women, he continues to be a higher deity for every white, libertarian loser in America. There’s no reason for him to grow up.
“Premonition,” the intro to the abysmal Music To Be Murdered By, begins with a woman screaming, the sounds of stabbing and digging underlying the assault (you know, the way any Eminem album could start). From his first words, he is miffed that people think he’s falling off, or that they think his lyrical style hasn't aged well. He continues to illustrate exactly why his recent output has failed, burying deeper into his own grave: “Revival flopped, came back and I scared the crap out ’em/But Rolling Stone stars, I get two and a half outta five and I’ll laugh out loud/‘Cause that’s what they gave BAD back in the day.” Discussing a review in one of your songs could not seem more butthurt, but when comparing your subpar releases to one of your favorite albums (LL Cool J’s infinitely better Bigger and Deffer), it presents itself more as sadly close-minded. One would think criticism like this wouldn’t bother a man worth millions of dollars, but I suppose not...
As the album progresses, Eminem continues to employ the worst “[Insert Contemporary Rapper] Type Beat” selection. Young M.A., who could have saved “Unaccommodating,” sounds like they are dissociating, as Eminem rips off the J.I.D flow while joking about the Ariana Grande concert bombing in a desperate attempt to stir up controversy (this time, everyone is just rolling their eyes). On “Those Kinda Nights,” Ed Sheeran - who would have been Em’s biggest target 15 years ago - gets sexual, inciting the listener’s genitalia to shrivel into their abdomen. Despite bringing back his old flow, the song is just another commercial, unfunny eye roll. When he’s singing, Eminem either sounds like a 4th grade chorus exercise (as on “In Too Deep”), or an imitation of his peers (as on “Never Love Again”).
To ensure that Logic doesn’t forget he can rap fast, Eminem brings the rapid flows wherever he can, from the Juice WRLD featuring “Godzilla” - a track with a beat straight off a 2003 Lil Jon B-Side - to the posse cut “Yah Yah,” a track that’s only saving grace is Black Thought’s verse. When he’s not mamma-llama-dooma-dahing through his verses, he’s exercising lack of thought or judgement. “Leaving Heaving,” in an attempt to showcase his struggles and victimhood, noticeably lacks any conception of institutional racism or white privilege. “Farewell” chalks up to yet another suckquake of a love song from the mind of Marshall Mathers, and “No Regrets,” while reflective on past accusations of homophobia, reveals more insecurity than any listener would want to be subjected to. For someone whose publishing company sued a streaming giant, the album is exceptionally bloated with throwaways to pad numbers.
Even as he subverts himself, Eminem at least displays some grasp of introspection and conscious. “Stepdad,” while lacking in execution, nonetheless details the child abuse he received when young, and could prove to be a therepeutic and beneficial listen to those currently enduring it. “Darkness” delivers a well-constructed message about gun violence over a not-so-well-constructed beat. “Never Love Again” even displays vulnerability and self-awareness, as Em admits and outlines how awful of a partner he has been, from being codependent to manipulative. But it’s too good to be true, as he retracts it all by screaming at the women of subject for “fucking him over” (the easiest cop out known to men).
The best moments on the entire album come from Anderson .Paak, where his slick pimp raps and lush background vocals save whatever effort went into “Lock It Up.” But when a guest feature is the best aspect of your dreadful crapshoot of a record, you would think something is terribly wrong. Alas, Music To Be Murdered By is another retread of bloated, dated and butthurt assaults from the proclaimed "Rap God." As he continues to fade away, hopefully our collective efforts will be aimed at replacing the attention we give him with providing necessary help. Be warned: you’ll need to purge your ears with some “lo-fi chill beats to study to” after giving this record a run-through.
THE CREAM OF THE CRINGE...
BOPS: "Lock It Up"
DUDS: "Premonition," "Those Kinda Nights," "Leaving Heaven," "Never Love Again"
