chris Golya (chris.golya@port.ac.uk)
Mon, 15 Nov 1999 12:15:05 +0000
Sloppy and unpopular.
That's
trailer trash for you
Barbara
Ellen
Sunday
November 14, 1999
Eminem,
London Astoria
Like many
American hip hop artists,
25-year-old Eminem, aka Slim Shady, aka
Marshall
Mathers, seems to place England about
level
with Finland on his list of priority
territories. At Monday's show, he lurches on stage
late and
proceeds to conduct a masterclass in
murdering
one's own material. Forty unmusical
minutes
later, he ends the show, racing for the
wings to
a chorus of loud booing from the crowd.
Well, at
least no one could ever accuse him of
outstaying his welcome.
Eminem
built his reputation on being white
trailer
trash, America's second worst nightmare
after
black ghetto trash. His music invades the
homes of
white suburban teenagers and corrupts
them in a
way that only black gangsta rappers
have ever
managed before. Bearing that in mind,
it's no
real surprise that his stage act is so
lavatorial and shambolic. As can be heard on The
Slim
Shady LP, Eminem is lavatorial and
shambolic. He also describes himself as sexist, a
violent
fantasist, ill-educated, druggy, vengeful
scum, but
apart from that he's a nice young man
who
thinks the world of his mum.
Well, OK,
maybe he isn't and maybe he doesn't
(his
mother is suing for millions for defamation,
following
his depiction of her as a junkie).
Eminem
definitely is the most original, vital,
hilarious
artist to hit hip hop in years. His style
is Jerry
Springer Uncut with breakbeats. A true
scream
from the dysfunctional heartland, he talks
about
impregnating Spice Girls, dumping lovers'
bodies in
oceans and hating just about everybody.
He is at
once the real McCoy, a cultural belch to
be
ignored at your peril and a very funny,
throwaway
cartoon. Carping about Eminem is an
understandable reaction, but about as pointless as
phoning
the RSPCA to complain that Tom is
chasing
Jerry.
I wish
Eminem had been even half as good at the
Astoria
as he is on record. As it is, he's so sloppy,
so
disengaged, that I can hardly make out which
songs
he's playing ('Role Model', 'My Fault', 'Just
Don't
Give A Fuck'). There's a DJ behind him, who
couldn't
scratch his way out of a tray of cat litter.
Another
sidekick is plodding about, dressed as a
magic
mushroom, but it really isn't funny.
Eminem
just stands there, rummaging about in
his
sweatsuit pants and ranting yobbishly. After
the crowd
boo him, he trudges back onstage,
indignant, and bellows his way through his biggest
hit,
'Guilty Conscience'.
On
record, this is a droll t tete-a-tete with his
mentor,
ex-NWA member and mythical producer
Dr Dre.
Tonight, it's reduced to Eminem and his
MC Proof
yomping about, shouting at each other,
like
demented fishwives. The Eminem Live
Experience is without doubt the most pointless
débcle
I've seen all year.
But then,
what did I expect from Detroit trailer
trash -
Vegas-style professionalism? A
housetrained polecat? Maybe not, but after the
white
noise, belly laughs and inspired psychosis
of his
album, I really didn't expect to leave an
Eminem
show disappointed, yawning and heartily
grateful
that I hadn't actually paid.
-- Time is precious. Waste it wisely.Chris Golya Centre for New Media Research School of Art Design & Media University of Portsmouth Lion Gate Building Lion Terrace Portsmouth PO1 3HF
Tel wk: 01705 842297 mobile :07713477543 Fax: 01705 842077
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