The arguments over Eminem generally have resolved themselves in two unsatisfactory ways. There’s the camp that claims everything in his music is outweighed by the homophobic and misogynist content. This argument dismisses or avoids the question of what you do with the ugly elements in great art–say, the anti-Semitism in T.S. Eliot or Ezra Pound, or the racism in “The Birth of a Nation.” And there’s the implicit or explicit contention that the pop audience is such sheep they will adopt the rapper’s attitudes–still not an argument ever made against “high art.”
The other argument, from the pro-Eminem camp, makes the claim that he’s simply reporting attitudes, reflecting his reality. This argument glosses over the question of what–if any–distance an artist is obliged to bring to his material.
Eminem is simply too mercurial, contradictory and troubling a performer for either argument to wash. The people who are appalled by him tend to ignore the shifting voices and layers of irony in his music. And those who celebrate him would like to ignore the vociferousness (what they call the sincerity) of the ugliest elements in his rap.
If there is a common fallacy to both sides, it’s the misbegotten belief that art can’t hurt you. It’s impossible to imagine that some kid listening to Eminem won’t come to the conclusion that homophobia and misogyny are cool. Which only raises another question: Are artists culpable for the less intelligent members of their audience? These arguments will not be settled by the new “White Noise: The Eminem Collection,” edited by Hilton Als and Darryl A. Turner. What readers may find either frustrating or invigorating in this collection of essays is that nearly every contributor falls into some variant of the traps Eminem invites. There is no wholly satisfactory essay in the book and very few that manage not to contradict themselves.
One of the recurring strains in “White Noise,” argued by Eminem’s supporters as well as his detractors, is that he is the rap Elvis, the white boy who made a black art palatable for the mass audience. The real trouble that Eminem causes has to do with what’s been perceived as the anti-gay, anti-woman content of his music.
Nothing in “White Noise” has repelled me from listening to Eminem, who, for better or worse, is one of the most vital and talented and disturbing performers in contemporary music. And nothing has smoothed over the revulsion that parts of his music evoke in me. It’s not enough to say that art should be uncomfortable or challenging. And it’s not enough to resist the work of examining the art that is. Sadly, those are the poses most often struck in “White Noise.”
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Edited by Cara DiPasquale (cdipasquale@tribune.com) and Victoria Rodriguez (vrodriguez@tribune.com)
