![]() Not wack, exactly, but certainly wearying, his wordplay often so overwrought it devolved into word salad. You could marvel at the kid’s abrasive charisma, and maybe even laugh at his dopiest it-came-from-the-third-grade punch lines (“You couldn’t flip shit playin’ in toilets with a spatula”), but still find young Em far too dense, too clever, too Nas-worshiping earnest, too fixated on rhyming for rhyming’s sake. The song is called “Open Mic” and sounds like it, gloomy and brash but not a little amateurish. “You wanna feel the full effect of me, hand a TEC to me / Intellectually superior, I’ll make the wack wearier / Inferior, deteriorate, like bacteria.” “You bitches get a hysterectomy disrespectin’ me,” boasted the Detroit rapper known semi-professionally as Eminem on his very independent 1996 debut album, Infinite. But at first, almost everyone managed to resist Marshall Mathers. He was so young, so raw, so angry, so hungry, so irresistibly crass.
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