To say Eminem has Tourettes, in the expected sense, would just be plain ridiculous. Obscenities are obviously neither a curse nor embarrassment to Marshall Mathers. They’re a career choice. They’re probably written in his passport. But he is nonetheless cursed by another form of seemingly uncontrollable ‘spontaneity’. Namely shooting himself (and particularly the quick-witted socially-intuitive foundation he’s so often laid) in the foot whenever he’s ahead, in order to present himself as some kind of sadly-populist, goofy, misogynistic meat-head with all the lowest common denominator understanding of anarchy that being like reeeeeeally wasted on like 6 bottles of Bud duuuuuuuuude can muster. But with a quick tongue – to give him his dues. Though his strengths lie elsewhere he never really seems happier than when gimping around, attempting to bring down authority, or something, by first annoying your mum.
He can of course play opposing factions within the same personality to perfection, not least on the intense black-comedy duet ‘Guilty Conscience’, Em and Dre playing the devil and slightly less impulsive devil on a young gunslinger’s shoulders with a tricky decision to make. That’s here, on this is-he-retiring-is-he-not-retiring-huh greatest hits collection, because it had to be. Along with numerous others that had to be too – his name’s now as imprinted into pop music’s fabric as Madonna’s. But while 4 exclusive tracks for the collection might seem generous, they’re its biggest problem.
A hyper paean to inanity, ‘Fack’ (huh-huh), inexplicably opens the record, ahead of the aggressively-wound and infinitely more notable ‘The Way I Am’. ‘Shake That’ is little more than an unremarkably sexist R&B non-event featuring Nate Dogg, and ‘Stan’ featuring Elton John from the Grammies is still just as painfully forced and probably says more about Elton’s undiminished ambitions than it does any important move on Eminem’s part anyway. Whatever, it may have been worth it if it hadn’t sounded like it was performed in a hotel foyer.
‘When I’m Gone’ is the only new track that sticks, pitched between ‘Lose Yourself’ and ‘Cleanin Out My Closet’, another hoarse, battled monologue over the future of his daughter that continues to survive as a subject because of so many well-placed words and the passion. As a collection of songs ‘Curtain Call’ is certainly satisfying, ‘My Name Is’, ‘The Real Slim Shady’, ‘Guilty Conscience’ and the original jaw-dropping ‘Stan’ (worth the price of launching a whole new bland career just for those sublimely affecting 6 minutes and 45 seconds) can be heard time and time again, along with the peaks of his clowning around – ‘Without Me’ and ‘Just Lose It’. But it feels like half a job, easy money – too much is missing, too much doesn’t focus hard enough. No more encores. Give us a new act. And we certainly don’t mean 50 Cent.