Pitchfork

Frankly, I don't want to hear these songs anymore. Nothing personal, but are there people who think "Without Me" has resonance? Eminem has even worn himself out. It shows in interviews, and as he watches hard-won respect slip through his fingers whenever he shits out another scatological invective like "Just Lose It". He's been swindling his audience for some time now, milking stardom for all its goopy dairy: D12, the 2Pac album, the outrageously overrated 8 Mile, a cartoon, radio station, DVDs, and books. His most recent LP, Encore, was a shell, full of flow-fuckery and canny hooks, signifying nothing. Eminem's rise, in all its Great White Hope glory, paralleled the rise of modern hip-hop as America's dominant musical form. But it also happened mostly in conjunction with Em dipping into the pop well. It's a sad state of affairs now for someone who could have been the premier musical artist of the last decade.

For all intents and purposes, Eminem's position as globo-mega-star and intriguing personality began to wane after the release of his second album, The Marshall Mathers LP, a record regarded by most as his masterpiece. But his 1999 debut The Slim Shady LP marked his creative zenith. Only two songs from that album are included here: the hits. "My Name Is" remains blissful and more complex than the novelty it was written off as-- it's funny and bizarre, and each punchline could have been a chorus. "Guilty Conscience", the role-playing jaunt between Eminem and mentor Dr. Dre, also holds up, especially when Em puts his producer on blast as "somebody who slapped Dee Barnes." Eminem's strengths-- verbal elasticity, the ability to write thunderous hooks, chameleon-ism, being white-- have hamstrung him psychologically, but in these early days, before fame, 65 million albums sold, and media persecution, his joy for rapping shone hard.

From the moment Dre and Interscope CEO Jimmy Iovine forced Eminem back into the booth to record "The Real Slim Shady", the cake icing on his colossally important second album, his fate was sealed. The songs Curtain Call culls from that album are fine, but had little to do with the outrage he caught from parents, GLAAD, and the conservative right. "The Real Slim Shady" made him profitable; songs like "Kim" and "Kill You" made him interesting. "Stan", however, still stands out as an exception. Overplayed as it may sound today, it remains a cultural milestone-- throngs of people, fans and not, flipped upon first hearing it, essentially forcing the label to release it as a single. All didn't end well, though: Dido has a career now.

Third album The Eminem Show is repped here by two songs: "Without Me", and the underrated "Cleanin' Out My Closet", which contributed as much to the confusing Freudian glints in Em's persona as anything else he's done. Which leaves the compilation's four new throw-ins: the Nate Dogg collaboration "Shake That", the ridiculously inane "FACK", and new single "When I'm Gone" are all desolate placeholders-- lesser versions of Eminem songs that already piss me off. "Gone" is the worst offender, yet another love letter from Em to daughter Hailie, it, like Encore's "Mockingbird", is heavy-handed and saccharine. The final new track is the live version of "Stan", performed with Elton John at the 2001 Grammys. Its inclusion is pointless.

Eminem has always had a self-loathing streak. He still comes across as uncomfortable with both stardom and his standing as a white rapper, and in a recent MTV interview seemed unhappy with this compilation's tracklist. This isn't his art-- it's his commerce. That's partly alleviated by Curtain Call's seven-track bonus CD, which contains five of the 10 best songs he's recorded. Included are two incredible album cuts from his debut, "Role Model" and "Just Don't Give a Fuck", one of his earliest, funniest thrillers. "Kill You", from his second LP, is psychotic mania but it's also hilarious and paramount to his dichotomy. Also featured are tracks he recorded with two giants: The first, "Renagade", comes from Jay-Z's The Blueprint, and finds each MC handling two liquid verses apiece. It's also a rare occasion in which Eminem's funeral dirge production doesn't sound overwrought. The other, Notorious B.I.G.'s posthumous "Dead Wrong", is about as vicious and beguiling a thing as I've ever heard, featuring both men pulling the razors out from under their tongues. The fact that Em stands toe-to-toe in the face of two potent Biggie verses was a sort of unofficial "okay, we can all fuck with this dude" moment for hardcore fans.

Eminem was a battle rapper first, then a backpacker, then a hook-slinger, now a tortured artiste-- the last bastion of the overexposed. He's still a star, but he no longer seems nearly as fascinating as we've been made to think. And Curtain Call, an inevitable and adequate document of his hitmaking, allows him the opportunity to remain in the spotlight while also receding from it. And with that, he's back into hiding for the forseeable future, building mystique: His next album is unscheduled, and, promo for this collection aside, his profile never seems to rise above churning out goth-rap backing tracks for lesser artists. Which, of course, is all probably intended to get me wishing the guy who once pleaded, "Some people only see that I'm white, ignoring skill," would come back around once in a while.