Eminem - Revival Album Review

The album opens with Eminem admitting doubt about his legacy, a vulnerable starting point undermined by overwritten verses that circle the same insecurity for five minutes. Beyoncé's hook does the emotional work while Eminem's bars feel more like a thinkpiece about writer's block than a song experiencing it. Rick Rubin and Skylar Grey's production is spare and reverent, which only highlights how little the verses have to say beyond "I'm not sure I'm still great." It is a confessional that talks about confession rather than confessing, and it sets the tone for an album that will spend seventy-seven minutes proving it has nothing left to prove.

A technical showcase over minimal Mr. Porter production, with Eminem stacking syllables and internal rhymes at a pace that proves his flow is still sharp. The problem is that the subject, overcoming doubt through sheer determination, is generic motivational-poster material dressed up in complex wordplay. The verses are impressive as an exercise but empty as a statement.

The EPMD sample gives this track a boom-bap foundation that sounds closer to Eminem's roots, but the writing devolves into self-conscious bars about how good his bars are. Phresher's hook adds nothing. This is competent battle-rap with no real target and no stakes.

A six-minute attempt at addressing racism and police brutality that fails on almost every level. The two-part structure, with a sung hook in the first half and Eminem rapping from a Black perspective in the second, feels clumsy and didactic. The Cheech & Chong sample is an odd choice for a song about systemic oppression, and the lyrics, while well-intentioned, lecture rather than illuminate. Lines about Republicans and bootstrap philosophy hit their targets but with no subtlety and no insight beyond what you would find in a think piece. The production from Eminem, Mark Batson, Emile Haynie and Mr. Porter is noisy and overstuffed, matching the overwritten verses.

The most successful pop crossover on the album, pairing Ed Sheeran's melancholy hook with a narrative about an affair and an abortion that has real emotional specificity. Emile Haynie's production is restrained and the writing is focused, with Eminem sketching a story rather than circling his own technical prowess. It is still a formula track designed for radio, but at least the formula is executed well enough to justify its existence.

A twenty-six-second snippet that serves no purpose.

Rick Rubin lifts Joan Jett's "I Love Rock 'n' Roll" and Eminem responds with a sex-joke track that sounds like a parody of his own worst instincts. The wordplay is technically proficient but the humor is dated and graceless, recycling shock-rap bits from 1999 that were not funny then and are even less funny now. The rock sample overwhelms Eminem's flow rather than supporting it, and the result is a track that fails both as a showcase for rapping and as a song you would ever choose to hear again.

A fifty-one-second sample of Regina Spektor with no clear purpose.

A flag-waving anthem with Alicia Keys that calls for a "brand new America" without Trump in lines that sound written for a campaign ad. Just Blaze's production is competent but the writing is vague and sentimental, with none of the specificity or bite needed to make political rap land. This is well-intentioned and toothless.

An apology to his ex-wife over sentimental Alex da Kid production that flattens every verse into a feel-good pop moment. The writing has real specificity about guilt and co-parenting, but the production telegraphs redemption so heavily that the apology feels performed rather than lived. X Ambassadors deliver a competent hook that could fit on any pop record from 2015, which is exactly the problem.

Another Alex da Kid ballad with Skylar Grey, this time about a toxic relationship. The production is sentimental piano-and-strings and the writing is overwrought, with Eminem circling the same points about dysfunction without adding insight or narrative. This is filler.

The best pure rap track on the album, with Fredwreck delivering horror-movie production that matches Eminem's Slim Shady persona at its most unhinged. The verses are vivid and technically sharp, stacking gruesome imagery with the same precision that made "97 Bonnie & Clyde" and "Kim" so unsettling. The problem is that "Framed" arrives after thirteen tracks of tonal whiplash and sounds like it belongs on Relapse, not here. It is a strong track orphaned by the sequencing, proof that Eminem can still execute this mode but no justification for why he is executing it in 2017.

A gun-violence track with Kehlani that names the National Rifle Association but offers no insight beyond "violence is bad." Rock Mafia and Hit-Boy's production is mechanical and Kehlani's hook is serviceable but anonymous. This is another well-intentioned track that says nothing.

A sex-joke track over Boogie Nights samples and Run-DMC/Beastie Boys loops that fails as both humor and as rap. The production is cluttered, the punchlines are graceless, and the decision to joke about grabbing women "by the pussy" in 2017 is tone-deaf. Rick Rubin's approach here is heavy-handed and the writing is embarrassing.

A bravura display of technical skill, with Eminem cramming polysyllabic runs into pockets most rappers would not attempt. The breath control and rhythmic precision are undeniable, but the subject is Eminem explaining why his wordplay makes him great, which is not a subject that needs five minutes. This is impressive as an exercise and empty as a song.

A pop ballad with Pink over more Alex da Kid production that sounds designed for adult contemporary radio. The writing is generic and the production is sentimental, with no edge or specificity to justify its existence. This is filler aimed at a demographic that was never going to care about Revival.

The Cranberries' "Zombie" sample is obvious and heavy-handed, and Eminem's verses about regretting past Slim Shady lyrics feel more like damage control than genuine introspection. Scram Jones's production does nothing with the sample beyond looping it, and the result is a track that announces its seriousness without earning it. This is clumsy and overwrought.

A series of letters to Hailie structured around key moments in Eminem's life, climaxing in the 2007 overdose. DJ Khalil's production is moody and restrained, with darkened guitars and minimal drums that give the verses space to breathe. The writing is specific and focused, tracing Eminem's struggle with fame and addiction without overexplaining or sentimentalizing. This is one of the two tracks on Revival that justifies its existence, a reminder that Eminem can still write with clarity and emotional weight when the production and sequencing support it rather than fight it.

A continuation of "Castle" that rewinds the overdose and imagines a different outcome, with Eminem rapping from his deathbed perspective before pulling back and committing to sobriety. Rick Rubin's production samples Barry White and Bette Midler, which should be cloying but somehow works because the writing is specific and earned. This is the album's other essential track, a conceptual gambit that pays off because the verses do the work rather than relying on the concept to carry them. The problem is that "Arose" arrives after seventy-three minutes of bloat, and by the time it gets here the listener is too exhausted to fully appreciate what it accomplishes.