It is an incredible CD!

With the glorious stupidity, fantastic humor and gut-wrenching horror that are his trademark, Eminem shares his “Encore” today – and this most anticipated album of 2004 doesn’t disappoint.
Eggheads trying to fathom how deep rap’s favorite Caucasian is will find plenty to analyze in the introspective “Yellow Brick Road” and the devotional lullaby to his daughter Hailie, “Mockingbird.”
Thin-skinned prudes will cringe at his love songs “Spend Some Time” and “Ass Like That.”
The politically correct will be outraged by his provocative homophobic and misogynistic rants.
And those who just love the soap opera of Em’s life will be relieved that mommy dearest and his ex-wife, Kim, are still – as always – the villains.
The man does do something he has never done before – apologize – but don’t think this is a kinder, gentler Eminem.
This disc is a clear continuation of his Grammy-grabbing “The Eminem Show”; that’s why it’s called “Encore.” Vented rage, violence as the solution and broken-home whines and poses are the heart and soul of this record.
The disc draws first blood with “Evil Deeds,” a semi-autobiographical track on which hip-hop’s Motor City madman spills his guts about hard feelings for a father who wasn’t there.
The bitterness of a dysfunctional family and a misunderstood youth twisted him into an angst-ridden, alienated adult, he says, and the song leaves Eminem stripped naked and flushed with anger.
The self-absorbed rapper then swipes at his detractors with “Never Enough,” grumbling with pal 50 Cent that he never gets his due from his peers or the press.
Even though it is invisible, the racial boundary of being a white rapper is the undercurrent of “Never Enough.” It’s why everyone looks at his lyrics so closely; why he often feels that he gets no respect.
In fact, it’s why, on the song “Yellow Brick Road,” he says he’s sorry for a tape he made as a kid slagging African-American women after he was dumped by a black girlfriend. The 32-year-old chalks it up to the ignorance of youth.
Thankfully, that defensiveness doesn’t flood every track on the disc.
On the wide-ranging raps, he takes a whack at political discourse in “Mosh,” the record’s anti-Bush, anti-war piece. There’s a plea to stop the violence in rap on the song “Like Toy Soldiers.”
But he’s at his best when he lets his inner juvenile delinquent loose, belching into the mike and poking fun at Michael Jackson, Britney Spears, Pee-wee Herman and pop’s power couple, Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey.
Take “Puke,” for instance.
Here, Eminem is fantastic as he writes the next chapter of loathing for his ex, Kim. It’s familiar territory, and the hilarious comic-book tirade transcends his apparent hatred.
That’s the key to understanding Eminem.
His raps are guilty pleasures. He’s ironic, witty and a prankster at heart. Humor boils under his deadpan gangsta smirk and hard words.
This is also his biggest problem: Sometimes it’s difficult to tell whether he’s parodying life or himself – or, worse, that he’s serious.