When Donald Trump began his disgraceful rise in American politics, it seemed like the era of Eminem had ended. How can Eminem—a man whose fame was defined by becoming a pariah of conservatives for his naughty language and rhetoric—exist when their president does the same shit, but without the protection of artistic expression? An artist whose career was built upon shock value, Eminem had been out-Eminemed by Donald Trump. Shock has no value anymore, which makes early-2000s Eminem pretty tame compared to having a president who has bragged about assaulting women.
That's why this year seemed like a bold pivot for Eminem. Long defined as the genius aggregator shaking up the pop music establishment, Eminem took the moral high ground, calling out Donald Trump in an unexpected cypher during the BET Awards. It was the most viral moment in Eminem's recent career. While he used to make headlines for controversial (and often problematic) lyrics, he was now calling for basic human decency. He called out racist Trump supporters, and even the president's love of drama—which is absolutely hilarious coming from someone like Eminem, who back in the day would tell Christians to fuck off just to see what happened.
And so going into his long-awaited new album, this seemed like Eminem's most relevant time in years.
Unfortunately, Eminem absolutely wasted it on Revival.
Any political statement Eminem could have brought to this album is overshadowed by obnoxious and absolutely clueless production. It's an album that plays like dad rap in the worst possible way—like Eminem is trying and failing to hang with the kids. He brings in completely embarrassing features from X Ambassadors (ugh) and Ed Sheeran (wtf?). Those read less like unexpected guests and more like a studio trying to cheat the streaming system with artists that people are actually listening to.
The album's one highlight feature-wise is its opening track. "Walk on Water," with Beyoncé, was Eminem's first single from the album, and it seemed extremely promising when it was released a few weeks ago. Eminem is introspective, emotionally honest, and writes down his best ballad performance since "Stan." It seemed like this album could be his version of Jay-Z's 4:44. That album, which came out this summer, reinvented how a massive rapper can create art late in his career. Zane Lowe explained it best when I spoke with him earlier this month, saying of Jay-Z's album, "It made a strong statement for rap music: If you're an artist in your 40s, don’t be afraid to say what’s in your heart and in your mind, and don’t dress it up in a way that sounds like it’s chasing the current trends."
In many ways, Eminem has done the exact opposite here, with an overstuffed collection of pandering beats and features.
And yes, he goes after Trump. "This chump barely even sleeps / All he does is watch Fox News like a parrot and repeats / While he looks like a canary with a beak / Why you think he banned transgenders from the military with a tweet?" he raps on "Like Home," which is at once a good critique of the president and a little confusing given Eminem's noted history of anti-LGBTQ language. But for every good burn there's also another downright shitty lyric, like this baffling garbage from "Heat": “Grab you by the meow, hope it’s not a problem, in fact / About the only thing I agree on with Donald is that / So when I put this palm on your cat / Don’t snap, it’s supposed to be grabbed.”
If that seems bad, it's nothing compared to "Remind Me." Produced Rick Rubin, it uses Joan Jett & the Blackhearts' "I Love Rock & Roll" as a crutch for Eminem to unleash some of his most misogynistic lyrics in years. Written in first person, the song follows a scumbag horny dude hitting on women in a bar, "In search of a chick who stacked them so thick / And implants are so big / She can hang me up on that rack, big ol' tits / Like Anna Nicole Smith / Body's bananas and sass to go wit' / I spot you at first glance and go, "shit!" / You wearin' those pants that don't fit / That butt won't ever give up." If Eminem is using this track as a way of getting inside the mind of toxic men, he's not pulling it off here. Instead, it comes across as nothing but a celebration of alpha lust, which only uses women as sexual objects. There's no resolve other than the narrator's failure (and once getting kicked in the balls). And if it is a critique, it's a weak one that comes at the worst possible time, during an uprising against the patriarchy and toxic masculinity.
It's at once disappointing and cringeworthy. Eminem had a chance to make a powerful statement—to lead an era of bold protest in pop music. Instead, he's provided some worthy fodder for conservative critics and some of the laziest, most tepid work of his career.
Matt Miller is a Brooklyn-based culture/lifestyle writer and music critic whose work has appeared in Esquire, Forbes, The Denver Post, and documentaries.
