Eminem recovery album producers
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(Which reminds me: how are all the guest spots on Recovery this awful? I mean Pink’s always been terrible but Marshall somehow gets Rihanna and Lil Wayne to suck themselves into an endless vortex of awful Eminem hooks.) Eminem may not be as tuned into the zeitgeist as he once was, but we can forgive him because at least on these tracks he’s spitting lightning instead of getting caught up in some other bullsh it like battle-rapping about something as inane as stealing an anonymous rapper’s girlfriend with his skillz (“Seduction”). Fox (twice)? Really?), the songs where he’s in attack mode land better because they’re reminiscent of an Em who used to sh it on chart topping pop stars instead of collaborate with them. Even if his targets are a little stale (Elton John? Michael Vick? Michael J. Not that Recovery truly masks the Shady half of Slim the old, vitally mad Eminem still pops out, eyes bulging, ready to bring down the world. Still, this is the new Em, post drugs, a hair more sane (though really, with “Warning” and “Despicable” released as pre- Recovery teasers, we know he’s still crazy as fu ck) and ready to love. But self-deprecation is a horrible color on Eminem, and it certainly doesn’t suit him as well as, say, pissing on B-list celebrities and beating the s hit out of Kim. It’s not that he’s being fake about it Em’s conviction on the forgiveness and pity-grabbing tracks is fierce, like he’s desperately trying to make amends for Encore and Relapse, the latter of which he admits on “Not Afraid” to be a steaming pile of donkey sh it (though I think he uses the term “ehh”). The soap opera that runs throughout the rest of the album lands as overkill, pleas for us to pay attention against insufficient reason to. It’s the verses on “Cold Wind Blows,” “Won’t Back Down,” and “On Fire” that are why you should care again. Actually, strike that: It’s a reason for us to give Eminem a chance again. It’s a track that gives us a reason to care about Eminem again. That’s why “Not Afraid,” though a pretty crappy single even by Em’s slipping standards, had to be the first single. I’m not trying to fault Eminem for apologizing, because sh it, we needed an “I’m sorry” to take him seriously after Encore and Relapse. We’re not getting Marshall Mathers: The Character here, but Marshall Mathers: The Somewhat Normal, Post-Prime Middle-Aged Man whose myriad complexes are about as interesting as any other post-prime middle-aged man’s. But Recovery also features Em working the demons out of his system, which means all of Em’s dirty laundry: not just the drug use, but the domestic strife, the well-tread conflict over being a ho-stabbing rapper and a father, the grief over Proof’s death.
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EMINEM RECOVERY ALBUM PRODUCERS HOW TO
First off, yes, Eminem doesn’t suck anymore, so rejoice! Eminem has relearned how to spit fire, and it’s easy to declare Recovery a fully successful comeback for Em when he leads with some of his most jaw-dropping verses since Eminem Show on “Cold Wind Blows.” For precious moments on Recovery, Eminem sounds like the mischievous little zit we remember from the Marshall Mathers LP, only with the supersized production that’s characterized his latest stuff. It’s literally a recovery, with all the good and bad implications a recovery entails. This album is audible therapy, complete with several cuts of Eminem apologizing, taking responsibility for being a terrible rapper, and promising to get better. Recovery is easily Eminem’s most important album, not just for his career, but also for himself. See, as much as pop culture needs Marshall, Marshall needs pop culture. We’ve missed the Shady who always seemed a hair away from going apes hit and missed even more the Shady who actually went apeshit. We’ve missed the Shady who mocked pop culture from the pedestal he built for himself. And it’s no overstatement to say that, hell, we’ve missed him. For a good six years, the real Slim Shady’s been floundering in a pill-addicted stupor. For a good six years, there’s been a Slim-shaped hole in our hearts, torn open when Eminem shat out Encore. To a legion of angsty suburban kids otherwise unschooled in anything hip-hop, Eminem was it: the cultural antichrist just nonthreatening enough to be idolized. And who the fu ck is Drake, anyway? Eminem once believed himself to be the most important figure in hip hop, which, for white people, was probably true. Kanye West, sh it-hot “Power” notwithstanding, is still a disgraced punch line. The game needs Eminem, and needs him in prime form. In 2002, Marshall Mathers boasted: “can’t leave rap alone, the game needs me!” It came with the same offhanded cadence he used to use to slam Britney and the FCC, but now it’s 2010, and suddenly… yeah. Review Summary: Guess who's back? Back again? Shady's back! Do with that what you will.