On 1999’s “My Name Is,” Eminem entered the public imagination with a mandate: “God sent me to piss the world off.” From his provocative early work to the redemption narratives of his 2002 Hollywood star vehicle 8 Mile and beyond, he has more or less stayed true to form, holding a mirror to the American psyche—and his own—with an incisiveness rarely matched before or since. Raised in working-class Detroit, the artist born Marshall Mathers in 1972 got his start as a battle rapper, reaching the ears of then-Interscope Records CEO Jimmy Iovine and future mentor Dr. Dre. Only months before, he had been fired from his job as a line cook, where he worked nearly 60 hours a week to support his infant daughter—an origin story that set the tone for his career. Dark, funny, and frequently violent, his breakthrough albums (1999’s The Slim Shady LP and 2000’s The Marshall Mathers LP) established him as pop culture’s premier bogeyman, a bleached-blonde devil traumatized by circumstance who rapped about killing everyone from his mentor to his mother with such ferocity and wit that you’d almost forget he had the wrong idea. The result was a sound that reached beyond hip-hop into the heart of suburban America: rap not as social reportage but as primal-scream therapy. He even delved deep into his personal journey through addiction on 2009’s Relapse and 2010’s Recovery. Yet as he has matured—fame, stability, sobriety, an Oscar for 8 Mile centerpiece “Lose Yourself”—he’s retained his edge, taking shots at politics and society with a frustration that’s bordered on relentless. He even takes square aim at his career-making alter ego on 2024’s The Death of Slim Shady (Coup De Grâce), lamenting his ill-fitting position in a woke cultural landscape. As always, Em reserves his harshest words for himself, refracting his insecurities—about his family, his music, his cultural relevance—into verses that only make him seem more human.