A part of being the opera world’s “greatest living tenor” involves you actually being alive.
No disrespect to the late Luciano Pavarotti, but his old title proves more than anything that music is an ever-changing creature and certain players cannot always be on top.
Dominating Detroit rapper Eminem may not have died, but he certainly got close, according to his reports of a pain-killer addiction and overdose. After all this, it’s questionable whether his new album, Recovery, can truly return him to the trend-setting powerhouse he used to be instead of riding his own tired coattails into arbitrary success.
Eminem’s (real name: Marshall Mathers) last record, 2009’s Relapse, found the rapper understandably weary and downtrodden — a fact that was reflected a bit too strongly in the music — leading to an album that wasn’t quite what it should have been.
Recovery aims to not only fix Eminem but also fortify his musical catalogue. From the very start, his lyrics are sharper, his flow is tighter, and it seems clear that Mathers hasn’t given up on acrobatically insulting everyone with a great deal of gusto.
Recovery really is an immense album, though not so much because of the music’s quality. The record is just large, clocking in at around 77 minutes. For most musical acts, that really is too long, and Eminem is no exception.
The worst is that the LP isn’t too much of a good thing but rather just too much of Mathers. Don’t take it too negatively — there are plenty of great tracks, but it seems one of the things Mathers didn’t return from rehab with was an ability to edit himself.
Throughout the tracks, Eminem releases an angry delivery style that makes him sound very standoffish. It doesn’t make him sound like a person anyone would be willing to spend 77 minutes with, particularly on repeat listens.
Dividing the songs up, the delivery style certainly works in contained situations, such as in “On Fire,” where a throaty Eminem relays, “Listen dog, Christmas is off, this is as soft as it gets/ This isn’t gob, this is a blister in the salt/ Those are your wounds, this is the salt/ So get lost … Grab the scissors and saws and/ Cut out your livers, gizzards and balls/ Throw you in the middle of the ocean in the blizzard with Jaws.”
His delivery has more in common with the deep rasp of underground artist MF Doom, but his content is the same old thing: a little humor and a lot of violence.
Most of the lyrics are even more grotesque than those of fellow Detroit rappers Insane Clown Posse, though the group’s recent “Miracles” isn’t a fair example. Sure, Eminem’s words can be hilarious, but a joke is only funny so many times. When audiences start listening to the rest of the music, they will only be only vaguely impressed.
The album’s main failure is its beats, which are repeatedly uninspiring. Eminem’s voice takes center stage, of course, but a song is nothing without the music. And here, the powerful, catchy beats just aren’t there.
Many beats either sound forced or simply create an aura of disinterest, and in certain places, listeners will likely find themselves holding on through the entirety of a track only because of Eminem’s lines.
In a ridiculous twist, “No Love” is perhaps the weirdest — if not most unnecessary track — of the year. Eminem, Lil’ Wayne and a Just Blaze sample of “What is Love” by Haddaway are the basis for the composition, a mix so forced it might cause listeners to literally choke.
The beats on the second half of the record blow the first half out of the water, featuring stronger samples and more interesting structures. They are often catchier than the earlier radio-ready fodder, such as the laughable “W.T.P.” and the lyrically poignant but rather boring “Not Afraid.”
The marching stomp of “Almost Famous” is one of those late-LP accomplishments, Eminem in classic braggadocio form firing jagged punch lines that are sure to upset Tipper Gore. The sampled chorus is a strange delight, as are the timbres of the all the material on the track.
Some songs don’t work out quite as well, such as “Love the Way You Lie,” featuring Rihanna, a painful combination of all things Kid Rock and Colbie Caillat. At the very least, Mathers has a better flow.
Recovery won’t change any minds about Eminem or refresh jaded listeners who have lost interest after the long hiatus and the subpar Relapse. However, it does prove Eminem still has some vocal prowess, even if he does still feel it necessary to use his telltale gimmickry.
So perhaps Eminem won’t ever make it back to the top, but then again, no one can be on top forever. Recovery is no great opera; instead, it’s an amateur painting in a modern museum — give it a cursory look and move on.
RATING: 3 stars out of 5
diversions@umdbk.com
