“You created me to say everything you didn’t have the courage to say,” raps Eminem, or rather his alter ego Slim Shady, on “Guilty Conscience 2,” a track from his 12th album “The Death of Slim Shady (Coup De Grâce).” Over a brooding instrumental, Eminem examines the damage that Slim has inflicted on his career and artistry.
In the end, Eminem seems to have had enough and metaphorically pulls the trigger on the character that represents his darkest impulses. However, the narrative is left ambiguous. “Paul,” he frantically tells his longtime manager Paul Rosenberg over the phone. “I had this dream, it was crazy, it was like the old me came back and the new me took over my brain, making me say all this insane stuff.”
This framing device wraps up an otherwise thought-provoking concept, illustrating how Eminem often becomes his own obstacle even when delivering high-level lyrical content. Much like many of his previous works, “The Death of Slim Shady” revolves around familiar themes and tropes. There are attacks on Caitlyn Jenner and Christopher Reeve, derogatory remarks aimed at various groups, and numerous politically incorrect jokes — all typical of Eminem’s provocative style.
Despite years of criticism and calls for his cancellation — a sentiment echoed by a newscaster on the album’s “Breaking News” interlude — this is familiar territory for the 51-year-old artist. No matter how many controversial jokes he makes, his legacy remains unaffected. However, the album falls into the trap of being predictable. It was promoted as a concept album, meant to offer something fresh in Eminem’s catalog. While it does deliver in some respects, offering moments designed to shock and awe, it often treads old ground.
The predictability of the concept becomes apparent when it seems that Slim isn’t really going anywhere. Who is Eminem without Slim Shady? As evidenced by 2017’s “Revival,” he can become mawkish and reflective. Eminem is caught in a dilemma: lean too much into his explicit and chaotic Slim Shady persona and it becomes low-brow; take a more observational approach and he risks losing his edge.
Therefore, he largely opts for the former in “The Death of Slim Shady,” an album marked by technical brilliance but hampered by crass content. Eminem’s skill as a rapper is unquestionable, but he often struggles to channel it effectively. For every triumph like “Renaissance,” a track that showcases his lyrical dexterity, there’s a misstep like “Brand New Dance,” a track filled with tasteless humor that includes a joke about Christopher Reeve’s paralysis.
Listeners may find themselves either laughing or cringing at the album. The lyrical excellence on tracks like the Dr. Dre co-produced “Lucifer,” one of the album’s highlights, contrasts sharply with outdated references such as those to Amber Heard and Johnny Depp. This duality questions what it means to be politically correct, a recurring theme in Eminem’s work. Yet, this familiar territory has been covered extensively over the years.
Eminem shines in moments of self-reflection, drawing from his own life. “Temporary,” featuring Skylar Grey, is an emotional highlight, an ode to his daughter Hailey, complete with archival audio of her as a baby. “Somebody Save Me,” based on Jelly Roll’s “Save Me,” acts as an apology to his children for past mistakes involving substance abuse.
These songs reflect an emotional depth and self-awareness that Eminem has consistently exhibited throughout his career, contributing to his enduring legacy. He remains a captivating contradiction, fully capable of introspection while interspersing his serious moments with offensive humor. In that sense, “The Death of Slim Shady” offers much of the same — moments of brilliance mingled with moments that fall short.