Eminem

Curtain Call: The Hits

Dude's kind of obnoxious, huh? I guess we get the superstars we deserve. Truth: I haven't been able to take Em/Marshall/ Slim very seriously even as a joke (always the most serious of literary forms, just ask David Mamet) since sitting through 8 Mile, which I was hoping would be fun and pulpy like King Creole. But the shit wasn't even Clambake, which at least offered Bill Bixby in a speedboat. Nowadays, listening to these songs (or at least the early ones, before Mathers's self-aggrandizement became the givenest of givens) feels like sorting through snapshots of an asteroid-spackled beach: kinda arbitrarily magnificent, sure, but so fucking OVER. Which may well be the point, but still.

 
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