What'd be nice, after the umpteenth Eminem album about Eminem, would be a record that stands on its own legs and addresses the world beyond.
Something to remind us the reason for the fuss in the first place. On his seventh effort, a sequel of sorts to 2009's Relapse, he wheels out the cameos (Pink, Rihanna, Lil' Wayne), and scatters familiar samples (Ozzy, Haddaway) over landfill hip-hop beats. And once again, only wants to talk about himself. Well, the chances of anything else were always slim and shady.
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