Whatever You Say I Am: The Life and Times of Eminem

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Overview

Here is the definitive profile of Eminem, by the only journalist ever granted full access to the Eminem camp. Whatever You Say I Am shines a spotlight on one of the most successful yet enigmatic performers of our time, the man behind the multimillion-selling records, the outrageous lyrics, the public battles with his wife and mother, the Grammys and the Oscar, and the blistering rhymes that appeal to fans of many ages and many different backgrounds. Whatever You Say I Am is not a simple biography of a rap artist....
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Overview

Here is the definitive profile of Eminem, by the only journalist ever granted full access to the Eminem camp. Whatever You Say I Am shines a spotlight on one of the most successful yet enigmatic performers of our time, the man behind the multimillion-selling records, the outrageous lyrics, the public battles with his wife and mother, the Grammys and the Oscar, and the blistering rhymes that appeal to fans of many ages and many different backgrounds. Whatever You Say I Am is not a simple biography of a rap artist. Anthony Bozza has created a thought-provoking look at American culture and the impact that the first white rap superstar has made on a public that in quick turn reviled and celebrated him. Using the insights of other well-known hip-hop performers such as Dr. Dre and Andre 3000 and Snoop Dogg-members of Eminem's entourage, sociologists, critics, and the man himself, Whatever You Say I Am shows why Eminem matters, and how his career will evolve and his significance will grow in the years to come.
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Editorial Reviews

USA Today
Bozza's personal insights alone would have given the book credibility, but he digs deeper to put Eminem in the context of hip-hop and his impact on American popular culture. Bozza deftly weaves intimate details about the star's past and his burgeoning celebrity with revelations from those closest to him. — Steve Jones
The New York Times
Although Whatever You Say I Am sometimes bogs down in the minutiae of hip-hop rivalries and cites endless critical yammering about the star's importance, it will still interest anyone seriously impressed with Eminem's abilities and his prospects.Dismissing reflexive invocations of Bob Dylan and the Beatles as fellow musicians who helped shape the lives of their listeners, Mr. Bozza points instead to the more protean and mercurial David Bowie and post-Beatles-breakup John Lennon as forebears. — Janet Maslin
Publishers Weekly
The demand for all things Eminem is big, and rock journalist Bozza aims to fill in the gaps with some personal notes of his own. Culling from his own past interviews with the often-reviled rapper, Bozza's portrait begins four years ago, when he first met and interviewed 27-year-old Marshall Mathers III. He stumbled upon a young man growing into his fame and struggling with the demons of his past life. Eminem's music-propelled by Dr. Dre's beats and Mathers's own controversial lyrics-gave rise to a new era. But it was before this big break, before the awards, movie offers and protests, that Bozza met and connected with Eminem. The two would become irrevocably linked-Bozza gained prominence after writing a remarkable in-depth piece on Em for Rolling Stone, which took the cover and helped catapult the artist to superstardom. It is Bozza's relationship with Eminem that lends credibility to this bio, as well as his ability to fold personal reminiscence into longer analytical sections on Eminem's life, the Detroit rap scene and pop culture. Bozza's unprecedented access to Mathers then and now has given rise to one of the only fully honest accounts of the now brilliant star. (Sept.) Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.
Library Journal
Bozza, a freelance journalist who introduced Eminem to the world with a 1999 cover story in Rolling Stone, offers the first bona fide biography of the bad-boy rapper. He first charts his subject's rags-to-riches rise to superstardom in concert, on CD, and in the film 8 Mile, continuing with the press reaction to his outrageous public persona and a sketchy history of hip-hop. In the strongest sections, Bozza links the melding of black and white cultures so evident throughout rock history to the intricate confluence of race in Eminem (n Marshall Mathers), who created white yet authentic rap in his class-divided and racially tense birthplace of Detroit. The author ends with an examination of Eminem's homophobia and misogyny, the latter exemplified in part by his strained relationships with his mother and ex-wife. Though the book would have benefited from a few more insights from Eminem rather than quotes from the established rock press (Bozza did not interview the rapper for the purposes of this book, but he did gain an audience with his manager and entourage), it nevertheless provides a provocative look into the world of recent rap and the violent, sensationalist, and many times dysfunctional American culture that serves as its bedrock. Recommended for serious music fans and the scores of people interested in America's new pop icon.-Dave Szatmary, Univ. of Washington, Seattle Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Fevered hagiography of the prominent rapper and recent movie star. Former Rolling Stone editor Bozza’s encounters with Marshall Mathers (Eminem) while writing a 1999 RS cover story form the backbone of this extended profile. At that time, Bozza recalls, Eminem was on the verge of stardom, yet still scuffling and more inclined to let his guard down: "He told me as much as he’d told any journalist . . . to the healthy dismay of his eavesdropping manager." During their travels together, he observed an Ecstasy-fueled Eminem win over both white and black audiences in different clubs; beyond these sorts of recollections, the text essentially collects sketches and observations documenting Eminem’s rise from late-’90s regional "battle rapper" to parent-scaring boogeyman "Slim Shady," transformed in 2002 into mainstream media darling by the film 8 Mile. Bozza grasps how Eminem’s mass appeal transcends race and age. The hip-hop community perceives him as having "paid his dues"; the ugly elements of his work resonate with an under-25 generation familiar with promiscuity, substance abuse, and domestic entanglements; and baby boomers embrace him, the author suggests, in order to be associated with youthful hipness. Although Bozza intends this as "an analysis, as much of America as . . . Eminem," his unabashed sycophancy renders it mainly supportive of his opinion that "Eminem is hip-hop’s signpost artist, the one gifted enough to blend black and white musical and cultural elements without compromising the integrity of the music." He supports this stance with the accolades of critics like Shelby Steele, only briefly considering and never really refuting the views of those who consider his hero a bullyor corporate shill. Eventually, Bozza produces shrewd chapters on the music industry and the evolution of hip-hop in decayed, tense locales like Detroit, but only zeitgeist-chasers and youngsters who love Eminem are likely to make it that far. Written from the amen corner, nothing here will perturb the rapper’s worshippers. Agent: Jim Fitzgerald/Carol Mann Agency
From the Publisher
“While most scribes, with eyes closed, have long been pushing pens in hot pursuit of international rap phenom Eminem, Anthony Bozza has wisely devoted his time to exploring the trials and tribulations of Detroit native Marshall Mathers III. And he who understands Mathers understands the fabric of American society—beautiful stitches, stains, rips, and all.”—Sacha Jenkins, former Vibe magazine music editor, writer at large for Spin magazine, and coauthor of Ego Trip’s Big Book of Racism! and Ego Trip’s Book of Rap Lists

“Anthony Bozza was granted an access to Eminem that no journalist is likely to see again soon—and so Whatever You Say I Am offers the most intimate glimpses yet of the most towering, complicated figure of our culture.”
—Alan Light, former editor in chief of Vibe and Spin magazines, and editor of The Vibe History of Hip-Hop.

From the Hardcover edition.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781400050598
  • Publisher: Crown Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 10/21/2003
  • Pages: 278
  • Product dimensions: 6.40 (w) x 9.49 (h) x 0.94 (d)

Meet the Author

ANTHONY BOZZA worked as a writer and editor at Rolling Stone from 1995 to 2002, where he wrote several major stories on Eminem as well as cover stories on a range of artists, from Jennifer Lopez to Nine Inch Nails. His writing has appeared in Maxim, Paper, Elle, Allure, Arena (UK), and The Face (UK). This is his first book. He lives in New York City.

From the Hardcover edition.

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Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1

this looks like a job for me: the evolution of eminem

It is March 1999 and it is cold in Detroit, the kind of cold that freeze-dries sound. Snow piled in banks frames the sides of the road and grows higher the farther the avenues ripple out from the center of the city. The roads here are small highways, just two lanes each way. Far from downtown, off the interstate, the roads narrow. The lights are fewer and the trees are taller. Standing not far from one of these byways, ankle deep in snow, I hear the woosh of a lone passing car. Behind me, the trailer park is silent and as still as a morgue. It is two in the morning. In front of me, a blond guy in baggy clothes trudges up the stairs of a trailer and reads the eviction notice on his front door.

"We took care of that one," Paul Rosenberg says. "Don't worry about it."

The blond guy doesn't answer, he just rips it down and opens the unlocked door.

"He doesn't lock it?" I ask.

"No," Paul says. "They've had so much shit stolen over the years, he doesn't give a fuck anymore."

The double-wide trailer is warm, and I sit on the couch. Before me, on the floor in front of the TV, is a much smaller couch. A groggy, swirly-haired little girl curls up on it while her mother readies her bed. Above her on the wall are glossy photos in black frames: two of Eminem and Dr. Dre dressed as patient and analyst for the "My Name Is" video shoot, the other a solo shot of Dr. Dre with a scrawled note that reads, "Dear Marshall, Thanks for the support, asshole" (mimicking Slim Shady's autograph to a fan working at White Castle in "My Name Is"). The CD rack holds Tupac Shakur, Snoop Dogg, Mase, Babyface, Luther Vandross, and Esthero. On a wall by the kitchen hangs a photocopied list titled "Commitments for Parents." The first line reads, "I will give my child space to grow, dream, succeed, and sometimes fail."

"My mother moved back to Kansas City, so I bought this trailer from her," Eminem says, sitting on the couch. "Hailie feels really comfortable here, so I took over the payments. I'm paying rent for no reason because I'm never here anymore. But when I am, I need a place to stay."

Kim Scott lifts their daughter from her nest and takes her into the second bedroom. Hailie's bed is dwarfed by a mountain of toys, clothes, and boxes. Kim soothes her in hushed tones. It has been a long day that began tonight; a driving tour not sanctioned by the city's board of tourism, through the Detroit streets and neighborhoods where Marshall Mathers spent the better part of the past twenty-six years.

"Man, driving through town tonight brought back a lot of memories," Marshall says, lowering his voice. "I've been through a lot of shit, man. If I sit and think back on it, it's really fucked up. I mean, all my life has been fucked up."

"Now that you're out of that life, how much does the past bother you? Do you feel sorry that you grew up that way or just unlucky?" I ask.

"No, man," he says. "It's just my life, that's it. When you're living in some fucked-up shit, it doesn't really seem that fucked up to you when you're in it. All you think is 'What am I gonna do now?' Day to day, I'd have to think about what I was gonna do. Even though I had a job for three years, I wasn't making enough money to pay any bills. Me and my girl would get a house with my daughter; we could never stay more than three months. I would try to pay rent, always get behind, and we'd get evicted."

He walks to the kitchen to throw the eviction notice, still crumpled in his hand, into the trash. "The only houses I was able to afford were in the gutter slums of Detroit," he says. "I lived on Fairport on this shitty block and we had this crackhead that kept breaking in. Me and Kim and Hailie caught him one time. Just after Hailie was born, we walked in the house and there was a crackhead in there and all of our shit was gone. We had got robbed at the house we had been in before this one-cleaned out. So when we walked in and I see the TV gone and I'm like, 'What the fuck!' I start screaming, I set Hailie down, and then I hear all these footsteps coming down the stairs. Oh fuck! So I grab Hailie and run outside and Kim runs out. I shut the door and we're out on the lawn, wondering what to do. It was only one dude, but he was coming so fast he sounded like a bunch of people."

He rubs his eyes at the memory. "The guy walks out the back door holding a wrench or something and he sees us out there and he's like, 'I seen 'em! They went that way.' So I didn't run after him directly, I ran through the house and grabbed the first thing I could find, a frying pan off the stove, and I came through the back door after him. He ran, and I tell you, man, this motherfucker was so cracked out, he hopped over this fucking fence that was huge. He just hopped right over it, and I couldn't get up anywhere near the top. That whole time was fucked."

Kim closes Hailie's bedroom door and sits beside her boyfriend on the couch. He looks at her sidelong. "Remember the crackhead?" he says through a smirk at the recollection.

"He left ashes all over the fucking floor, had lunch, and left," she says with the kind of annoyance reserved for inefficient salesclerks.

"Yo, this guy felt so comfortable stealing there," he says, shaking his head. "He broke in three times, and the last time he did, he made a sandwich and left the fucking peanut butter and bread on the counter. And he left his coat there."

"Marshall pissed on it and I took one of Hailie's shitty diapers and wiped it all over it and left it on the porch," she says.

"And he fucking came back," he says. "We could never catch that guy. By the time he was done, he'd taken every fucking thing we had except the couches and the beds. This motherfucker took the pillows, pillowcases, clothes, everything you can imagine. He even cleaned out our silverware."

I look around at the brand-new television, VCR, and the couch we are sitting on, all obviously bought in the past six months, and I realize that Marshall already lives the entertainer's life. He won't feel afloat existing in hotels and out of suitcases from now on. He has only known flux for the past twenty years, moving from home to home, living in different cities, changing schools, and working more than he didn't, at one job or another, since he was at fifteen. His anchors in this world are here in his mother's double-wide: his daughter, Detroit, Kim, and the pen and pad on the counter. There are no mementos of Marshall's childhood here; they exist in his mind, caught in the chaos he churns into words. Those mental pictures have sold 500,000 albums in just two weeks.

It is later than late now and time for me to go. Kim gets up drowsily and Marshall puts his arm around her. I look around the trailer once more, knowing I'll never see it again. Soon enough, neither will they. A few weeks later, they will move in with Kim's mother; some of her neighbors, excited to see Eminem on their block, won't realize he is actually Marshall, Kim's boyfriend, the one who has been stopping by of and on since he was sixteen. Just two weeks after the release of a debut that will go on to sell three million copies in one year, garner two Grammys, and inspire a call to censorship by the editor in chief of Billboard, that Marshall, the one who cooked and cleaned at Gilbert's Lodge for his minimum wage, is already gone.

The cold air wakes me as I crunch through the snow on the stairs. Marshall stands in the doorway, Kim at his side, one of Hailie's blankets in his hand. He nods a good-bye. Standing there, the next rap superstar doesn't look dazzling. He looks weary, wary, and content. He's as home as he can be.

In 1996, Marshall Bruce Mathers III had already changed his stage name from his initials, M & M, to their phonetic synonym, Eminem, for obvious legal reasons. If M&M/Mars had sued him, it would have been hilarious: He was barely getting by on the five-bucks-and-change minimum wage he received hourly for washing dishes and cooking at Gilbert's Lodge in St. Claire Shores, a suburb of Detroit. At the time, he took home in a month what a top corporate lawyer makes in half an hour. That amount wasn't even enough to cover the costs of pressing Infinite, his first independent release. Yet his rap career was under way. Mathers had been signed to an outfit called FBT Productions for four years. He still is, more out of kinship than contract, and as of 2003, FBT claims production credits on thirty of the fifty-eight songs on Eminem's three major-label albums; his mentor Dr. Dre's count is twelve. FBT is the Detroit production duo Mark and Jeff Bass, two brothers from Oak Park, one of Detroit's more racially integrated areas. The Basses had been playing music and writing songs together since they were kids, their first paid gig coming when they were only seven (Mark) and eleven (Jeff), recording a Greyhound Lines jingle. The Basses grew up tough white kids who felt more at home in black social circles. They've seen their share of street fights-one of which claimed Mark's right eye, necessitating a glass one. As they tried to establish a name for themselves as producers, the pair worked as inexpensive remixers for hire in the late eighties and early nineties, on cuts like the B-52's' "Love Shack" and Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Give It Away." By this time, Mark was well into hip-hop, but his brother remained skeptical. His opinion didn't change when he met the fifteen-year-old white kid his brother was eager to work with. Mark had found this new muse while in his car listening to a group of teens rapping on the radio, on an open-mike show hosted by a DJ called Lisa Lisa. One of them was Marshall Mathers, the one Mark ended up speaking to when he later phoned the studio. Bass invited Mathers down to the brothers' modest basement studio that night. When Mathers arrived at 4:00 a.m., he freestyled with a pair of friends. It was the first time he'd ever seen a studio. The Basses then started cutting tracks with Mathers, watching him experiment with rhyme styles, from laid back to rapid-fire, until he found himself.

Mathers lived with his mother on the East Side of Detroit at the time and spent his nights after work writing rhymes until the early morning. He honed an even-flowing style laced with a gift of rhythm and a preference for intricate vocabulary inspired more by the joy of rhyming words than weaving a narrative. He began writing songs for an album called Infinite, one of the first recorded in the Bass brothers' new studio, the Bassment, in 1996. The Bass brothers borrowed $1,500 from their mom to press 500 copies of the album, signing Mathers to the label they had created, WEB Entertainment. The record landed in local Detroit stores and in the hands of hip-hop radio programmers-and was unanimously ignored.

Infinite chronicles Eminem's early days, his dreams of rap superstardom that flourished while he tried to pay the bills. While he was writing his first record, Mathers's longtime girlfriend, Kim Scott, became pregnant and gave birth to Hailie Jade Scott on Christmas in 1995. The album is laced, in skits and lyrics, with his anxiety about raising his daughter on limited funds, his hope to leave her with half a million dollars, and a fantasy future full of national tours and airplay. Though prophetic, Infinite yielded finite results.

"There was a year after Infinite where every rhyme I started writing got angrier and angrier," Eminem recalls. "That was from the feedback I got off that album. Motherfuckers was like, 'You sound like Nas and AZ,' 'You're a white boy, what the fuck are you rapping for? Why don't you go into rock and roll.' All types of shit like that started pissing me off." Eminem's frustration at being taken for a poser enraged him. He'd become a staple at open-mike nights at local institutions like designer Maurice Malone's Hip-Hop Shop, a weekly scene in Detroit where MCs battled or just passed the mike. With nothing left to lose, Eminem's battle riffs grew darker, grittier, more nihilistic. His rhymes grew crazed, drug obsessed, and more belligerent than ever. He began to win competitions consistently and became a fixture, someone to beat, as local MCs started coming to the open-mike nights to battle the white boy and make a name for themselves, whether they won or lost to him.

In 1996, just before Christmas and Hailie's first birthday, Eminem was fired from his job at Gilbert's Lodge. He was rehired six months later, this time for a few months, and then fired again, almost exactly to the year. In those interims, he worked where he could, mostly at a Little Caesars Pizza chain. It became so tough to make ends meet while raising Hailie that Eminem stopped rapping and writing for a time. Kim and Marshall fought bitterly, breaking up and making up with schizophrenic regularity. Eventually she moved back in with her family, who had long disapproved of Marshall and made it difficult for him to see his daughter. It was his lowest point, a time when Marshall Mathers saw suicide as a viable option, nearly ending his journey before it began.

From the Hardcover edition.

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Table of Contents

Acknowledgments ix
Introduction: I'd like to welcome y'all to the eminem show 1
1 This looks like a job for me the evolution of eminem 9
2 I only cuss to make your mom upset a lot of truth is said in jest 41
3 Damn! how much damage can you do with a pen? marshall and the media-from pans to fans 77
4 This rap game from kool herc to kool keith-a brief history of hip-hop 117
5 Became a commodity because l'm w-h-i-t-e caucasion persuasion-flipping the race rap 159
6 We call it amityville that's the mentality here, that's the reality here-to live and thrive in detroit 201
7 If I'm a criminal, how can i raise a little girl? moms, marriage, and the morals of marshall mathers 229
Conclusion: watch me, 'cause you thinkin' you got me in the hot seat from a sinner to a saint 259
Bibliography 271
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First Chapter

Chapter 1

this looks like a job for me: the evolution of eminem



It is March 1999 and it is cold in Detroit, the kind of cold that freeze-dries sound. Snow piled in banks frames the sides of the road and grows higher the farther the avenues ripple out from the center of the city. The roads here are small highways, just two lanes each way. Far from downtown, off the interstate, the roads narrow. The lights are fewer and the trees are taller. Standing not far from one of these byways, ankle deep in snow, I hear the woosh of a lone passing car. Behind me, the trailer park is silent and as still as a morgue. It is two in the morning. In front of me, a blond guy in baggy clothes trudges up the stairs of a trailer and reads the eviction notice on his front door.

"We took care of that one," Paul Rosenberg says. "Don't worry about it."

The blond guy doesn't answer, he just rips it down and opens the unlocked door.

"He doesn't lock it?" I ask.

"No," Paul says. "They've had so much shit stolen over the years, he doesn't give a fuck anymore."

The double-wide trailer is warm, and I sit on the couch. Before me, on the floor in front of the TV, is a much smaller couch. A groggy, swirly-haired little girl curls up on it while her mother readies her bed. Above her on the wall are glossy photos in black frames: two of Eminem and Dr. Dre dressed as patient and analyst for the "My Name Is" video shoot, the other a solo shot of Dr. Dre with a scrawled note that reads, "Dear Marshall, Thanks for the support, asshole" (mimicking Slim Shady's autograph to a fan working at White Castle in "My Name Is"). The CD rack holds Tupac Shakur, Snoop Dogg, Mase,Babyface, Luther Vandross, and Esthero. On a wall by the kitchen hangs a photocopied list titled "Commitments for Parents." The first line reads, "I will give my child space to grow, dream, succeed, and sometimes fail."

"My mother moved back to Kansas City, so I bought this trailer from her," Eminem says, sitting on the couch. "Hailie feels really comfortable here, so I took over the payments. I'm paying rent for no reason because I'm never here anymore. But when I am, I need a place to stay."

Kim Scott lifts their daughter from her nest and takes her into the second bedroom. Hailie's bed is dwarfed by a mountain of toys, clothes, and boxes. Kim soothes her in hushed tones. It has been a long day that began tonight; a driving tour not sanctioned by the city's board of tourism, through the Detroit streets and neighborhoods where Marshall Mathers spent the better part of the past twenty-six years.

"Man, driving through town tonight brought back a lot of memories," Marshall says, lowering his voice. "I've been through a lot of shit, man. If I sit and think back on it, it's really fucked up. I mean, all my life has been fucked up."

"Now that you're out of that life, how much does the past bother you? Do you feel sorry that you grew up that way or just unlucky?" I ask.

"No, man," he says. "It's just my life, that's it. When you're living in some fucked-up shit, it doesn't really seem that fucked up to you when you're in it. All you think is 'What am I gonna do now?' Day to day, I'd have to think about what I was gonna do. Even though I had a job for three years, I wasn't making enough money to pay any bills. Me and my girl would get a house with my daughter; we could never stay more than three months. I would try to pay rent, always get behind, and we'd get evicted."

He walks to the kitchen to throw the eviction notice, still crumpled in his hand, into the trash. "The only houses I was able to afford were in the gutter slums of Detroit," he says. "I lived on Fairport on this shitty block and we had this crackhead that kept breaking in. Me and Kim and Hailie caught him one time. Just after Hailie was born, we walked in the house and there was a crackhead in there and all of our shit was gone. We had got robbed at the house we had been in before this one-cleaned out. So when we walked in and I see the TV gone and I'm like, 'What the fuck!' I start screaming, I set Hailie down, and then I hear all these footsteps coming down the stairs. Oh fuck! So I grab Hailie and run outside and Kim runs out. I shut the door and we're out on the lawn, wondering what to do. It was only one dude, but he was coming so fast he sounded like a bunch of people."

He rubs his eyes at the memory. "The guy walks out the back door holding a wrench or something and he sees us out there and he's like, 'I seen 'em! They went that way.' So I didn't run after him directly, I ran through the house and grabbed the first thing I could find, a frying pan off the stove, and I came through the back door after him. He ran, and I tell you, man, this motherfucker was so cracked out, he hopped over this fucking fence that was huge. He just hopped right over it, and I couldn't get up anywhere near the top. That whole time was fucked."

Kim closes Hailie's bedroom door and sits beside her boyfriend on the couch. He looks at her sidelong. "Remember the crackhead?" he says through a smirk at the recollection.

"He left ashes all over the fucking floor, had lunch, and left," she says with the kind of annoyance reserved for inefficient salesclerks.

"Yo, this guy felt so comfortable stealing there," he says, shaking his head. "He broke in three times, and the last time he did, he made a sandwich and left the fucking peanut butter and bread on the counter. And he left his coat there."

"Marshall pissed on it and I took one of Hailie's shitty diapers and wiped it all over it and left it on the porch," she says.

"And he fucking came back," he says. "We could never catch that guy. By the time he was done, he'd taken every fucking thing we had except the couches and the beds. This motherfucker took the pillows, pillowcases, clothes, everything you can imagine. He even cleaned out our silverware."

I look around at the brand-new television, VCR, and the couch we are sitting on, all obviously bought in the past six months, and I realize that Marshall already lives the entertainer's life. He won't feel afloat existing in hotels and out of suitcases from now on. He has only known flux for the past twenty years, moving from home to home, living in different cities, changing schools, and working more than he didn't, at one job or another, since he was at fifteen. His anchors in this world are here in his mother's double-wide: his daughter, Detroit, Kim, and the pen and pad on the counter. There are no mementos of Marshall's childhood here; they exist in his mind, caught in the chaos he churns into words. Those mental pictures have sold 500,000 albums in just two weeks.

It is later than late now and time for me to go. Kim gets up drowsily and Marshall puts his arm around her. I look around the trailer once more, knowing I'll never see it again. Soon enough, neither will they. A few weeks later, they will move in with Kim's mother; some of her neighbors, excited to see Eminem on their block, won't realize he is actually Marshall, Kim's boyfriend, the one who has been stopping by of and on since he was sixteen. Just two weeks after the release of a debut that will go on to sell three million copies in one year, garner two Grammys, and inspire a call to censorship by the editor in chief of Billboard, that Marshall, the one who cooked and cleaned at Gilbert's Lodge for his minimum wage, is already gone.

The cold air wakes me as I crunch through the snow on the stairs. Marshall stands in the doorway, Kim at his side, one of Hailie's blankets in his hand. He nods a good-bye. Standing there, the next rap superstar doesn't look dazzling. He looks weary, wary, and content. He's as home as he can be.

In 1996, Marshall Bruce Mathers III had already changed his stage name from his initials, M & M, to their phonetic synonym, Eminem, for obvious legal reasons. If M&M/Mars had sued him, it would have been hilarious: He was barely getting by on the five-bucks-and-change minimum wage he received hourly for washing dishes and cooking at Gilbert's Lodge in St. Claire Shores, a suburb of Detroit. At the time, he took home in a month what a top corporate lawyer makes in half an hour. That amount wasn't even enough to cover the costs of pressing Infinite, his first independent release. Yet his rap career was under way. Mathers had been signed to an outfit called FBT Productions for four years. He still is, more out of kinship than contract, and as of 2003, FBT claims production credits on thirty of the fifty-eight songs on Eminem's three major-label albums; his mentor Dr. Dre's count is twelve. FBT is the Detroit production duo Mark and Jeff Bass, two brothers from Oak Park, one of Detroit's more racially integrated areas. The Basses had been playing music and writing songs together since they were kids, their first paid gig coming when they were only seven (Mark) and eleven (Jeff), recording a Greyhound Lines jingle. The Basses grew up tough white kids who felt more at home in black social circles. They've seen their share of street fights-one of which claimed Mark's right eye, necessitating a glass one. As they tried to establish a name for themselves as producers, the pair worked as inexpensive remixers for hire in the late eighties and early nineties, on cuts like the B-52's' "Love Shack" and Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Give It Away." By this time, Mark was well into hip-hop, but his brother remained skeptical. His opinion didn't change when he met the fifteen-year-old white kid his brother was eager to work with. Mark had found this new muse while in his car listening to a group of teens rapping on the radio, on an open-mike show hosted by a DJ called Lisa Lisa. One of them was Marshall Mathers, the one Mark ended up speaking to when he later phoned the studio. Bass invited Mathers down to the brothers' modest basement studio that night. When Mathers arrived at 4:00 a.m., he freestyled with a pair of friends. It was the first time he'd ever seen a studio. The Basses then started cutting tracks with Mathers, watching him experiment with rhyme styles, from laid back to rapid-fire, until he found himself.

Mathers lived with his mother on the East Side of Detroit at the time and spent his nights after work writing rhymes until the early morning. He honed an even-flowing style laced with a gift of rhythm and a preference for intricate vocabulary inspired more by the joy of rhyming words than weaving a narrative. He began writing songs for an album called Infinite, one of the first recorded in the Bass brothers' new studio, the Bassment, in 1996. The Bass brothers borrowed $1,500 from their mom to press 500 copies of the album, signing Mathers to the label they had created, WEB Entertainment. The record landed in local Detroit stores and in the hands of hip-hop radio programmers-and was unanimously ignored.

Infinite chronicles Eminem's early days, his dreams of rap superstardom that flourished while he tried to pay the bills. While he was writing his first record, Mathers's longtime girlfriend, Kim Scott, became pregnant and gave birth to Hailie Jade Scott on Christmas in 1995. The album is laced, in skits and lyrics, with his anxiety about raising his daughter on limited funds, his hope to leave her with half a million dollars, and a fantasy future full of national tours and airplay. Though prophetic, Infinite yielded finite results.

"There was a year after Infinite where every rhyme I started writing got angrier and angrier," Eminem recalls. "That was from the feedback I got off that album. Motherfuckers was like, 'You sound like Nas and AZ,' 'You're a white boy, what the fuck are you rapping for? Why don't you go into rock and roll.' All types of shit like that started pissing me off." Eminem's frustration at being taken for a poser enraged him. He'd become a staple at open-mike nights at local institutions like designer Maurice Malone's Hip-Hop Shop, a weekly scene in Detroit where MCs battled or just passed the mike. With nothing left to lose, Eminem's battle riffs grew darker, grittier, more nihilistic. His rhymes grew crazed, drug obsessed, and more belligerent than ever. He began to win competitions consistently and became a fixture, someone to beat, as local MCs started coming to the open-mike nights to battle the white boy and make a name for themselves, whether they won or lost to him.

In 1996, just before Christmas and Hailie's first birthday, Eminem was fired from his job at Gilbert's Lodge. He was rehired six months later, this time for a few months, and then fired again, almost exactly to the year. In those interims, he worked where he could, mostly at a Little Caesars Pizza chain. It became so tough to make ends meet while raising Hailie that Eminem stopped rapping and writing for a time. Kim and Marshall fought bitterly, breaking up and making up with schizophrenic regularity. Eventually she moved back in with her family, who had long disapproved of Marshall and made it difficult for him to see his daughter. It was his lowest point, a time when Marshall Mathers saw suicide as a viable option, nearly ending his journey before it began.

Copyright© 2003 by Anthony Bozza
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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 58 )
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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 58 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 20, 2013

    He spreads what it feels like to be him when he was a kid. being

    He spreads what it feels like to be him when he was a kid. being the only white rapper. he showed what happend and he shows that dreams can come true.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 4, 2013

    0-0

    Whoa

    2 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 15, 2012

    So amazing

    The geatest

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted June 16, 2012

    MY FAVS

    Not afraid love the way you lie

    2 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 28, 2012

    Joni

    Eminem is so hot. I wish i could marry him so bad.

    2 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted December 29, 2003

    Who didn't know this?

    Being a HUGE Eminem fan reading this book...I am sooo disappointed! Everything written in the pages I've known for months. Anthony Bozza is a very articulate writer and this book would have held my attention if the title would have been 'How much I know about rap and the history of rap' But considering I wanted to read about Eminem I was sadly disappionted! I finished the book only because Em truly is one of the greatest artists ever but I will be looking elsewhere for better info on him. If you already don't know alot of the history of Marshall Mathers and every other rap/r&b/hip-hop artist ever to make a song this is a good starter book.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 3, 2013

    Outstanding

    It really show the life of eminem. It shows his struggle and hard work it took come out on top. He is very admirable. And he is the best rapper of all time.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 28, 2013

    Awesome

    Eminem is the man. He a legit lyricist.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 26, 2012

    Cool

    He is so sexy am swoon

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 13, 2012

    So Good

    Love it

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 13, 2012

    Omg

    I love eminem i have a poster of him and.... i will sit there and listen to eminem !!!! I love you eminem !!

    1 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 11, 2012

    AHHHHHH!!!!!! <3

    I looooooooooove eminem he i the best rapper ever i own both of hiz bookz and they r alllll amazing so yah totally bye it it sooo worth it!!!!!!!!
    My favorite song is beutifull and just lose it
    Wutz urz

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 5, 2012

    Cool

    Only one chance do not let it go

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted May 1, 2014

    Perfect

    <33

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted March 23, 2014

    Nook sex

    Suck my juicy dick and txt me if u wann hve mook sex

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted November 24, 2013

    To: same as below

    U phony i know almost half of ceminems songs and im not a rapper. Including rap god. I learned love the ay u lie by heart the whole song not just the first verse three years ago. Listen to mmlp2 not songs from 2010

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 23, 2013

    Below

    You should do mockingbird indtead

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 12, 2013

    HELP WANTED

    Can someone post song lyrics to live the way you lie by eminem? PLEASE I REALY NEED IT FOR A GIRL. Thnx

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 30, 2012

    Eminm to all dem haters

    Go get a f u c k i n g life you all suck i aint garbage

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 9, 2011

    Yay

    Aeesome whats your favorite dong by eminem mines him with dena rae well it features eminem but i never heard of dina rae

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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