Whatever You Say I Am

by Anthony Bozza

  Detroit has exercised a dualistic influence in Eminem’s life. It both nurtured and hurt him; it provided hard times and material to mine from. It held him down creatively, forcing him to innovate to be noticed. He was alienated on both sides of the racial divide and then made race as it relates to his music irrelevant locally and nationally through his talent. Detroit taught Eminem to be humble, but it also fostered a fuck-it attitude. It is the place where he leases a Mercedes but owns a Ford, and where America’s most controversial rapper is beloved by his neighbors in the upper-class, gated community that he now calls home. Detroit is where, when he was arrested for weapons possession in 2000, Eminem found himself signing autographs in jail.

  “I’m in the fucking precinct getting booked, and these cops are askin’ me for autographs while they’re fuckin’ booking me,” Eminem says. “I’m doing it, but I’m like, ‘My life is in fucking shambles right now,’ and they’re looking at me, literally, like I am not a fucking person. I am a walking spectacle.”

  What’s most telling about Detroit—and Eminem—is that for all the bad times, the probation, the boos, the marriage, the divorce, the whuppings, the tears, and the scars, he’ll never leave. “I have a love-hate relationship with Detroit,” he says, “but all my friends are here. I’m used to the pace here, it’s so relaxed. There’s no hustle and bustle. That whole city atmosphere in New York and L.A., I only like to visit it. This is where I’m from.” Eminem can’t leave Detroit, he isn’t that kind. Detroit is in him; in many ways, it is him. Detroit is the creative well that feeds him—mud, blood, and all.

  The only lady he adores, Hailie: Eminem displays his daughter’s portrait on his upper right arm, 2002.

  chapter 7

  if i’m a criminal, how can i raise a little girl? moms, marriage, and the morals of marshall mathers

  Ladies and gentlemen, their story has been told in many ways. In verse, in print, in film, on television, in government papers and judicial transcripts. The two parties adhere to opposing points of view. Through a series of events, I, Anthony Bozza, was privy to said testimony. I present it now to you. My opinion is of no consequence, let the following inform you as it will: Bear witness to the statements and judge, convict, or dismiss as you see fit, governed only by the tenets of your individual law. The court is now in session, all rise. In the matter of Mathers v. Mathers. I enter into evidence exhibits A through D. It is for you to decide if he is a moral man or a monster, a perpetrator or a product.

  Exhibit A: testimony of Marshall Mathers

  DATED MARCH 1999:

  I was born in Kansas City. My mother tells me I was six months old when my father left. He lives in L.A. now. He tried to get in touch with me when I first blew up. I told my mother to tell him to go fuck himself. Fuck that motherfucker, man, not one letter. Not one, all these years. Nothing. I never even saw a picture of my father. I don’t know what he looks like. I don’t even think my mother has one. She probably has pictures, she probably just doesn’t show me and shit. Actually, I saw one picture of him. He was about nineteen but I couldn’t really tell if I look like him or not. The picture was kinda cracked and fucked up.

  My mother had a different boyfriend every day of the week. She used to get her fuckin’ boyfriends to move in with her and bring all their shit. Then she’d kick them out and keep all their shit—couches, TVs, beds, everything. Hardly anything we ever had in our house was ours, ever. My mother never had a job. The only one I can remember her having was at some candy store when I was a little boy. And she was a nursing assistant for a week and a half. She said it hurt her fucking back too much. My mother was lawsuit-happy. She would say she slipped and fell in Kmart, then fake a neck injury and shit. She did whatever she could do to get money that way without fucking working. My mother never had a job, that’s why we was always on welfare, ever since I can fucking remember. I’d hide the welfare cheese under some lettuce or shit when my friends would come over.

  That’s why I dropped out of school. As soon as I turned fifteen, my mother was like, ‘If you don’t get a fucking job and help me out with these bills, your ass is out.’ I ended up getting a factory job while I was still enrolled in school. I wasn’t old enough to drop out yet, so I stayed enrolled and never went. I worked at Gearse Machinery, this little factory about a mile from where we lived. I swept floors and made $140 a week working full-time. My mother would keep the hundred and give me the forty. Then she would fucking kick me out, half the time right after she took the money.

  I stayed with my mom until I was eighteen, but I kept getting kicked out. I was only there full-time really when I was thirteen and fourteen. My mother did a lot of fucking dope and shit, so she had mood swings. She took a lot of pills. She took two or three naps a day. She’d go to sleep cool and wake up and start yelling, ‘What the fuck’s wrong with this fucking house? This house is a fucking mess! Motherfucker, get the fuck out!’ My room was upstairs, so she’d come up and throw open the door and flip on me. I used to record her. I’ve got those tapes somewhere. I’d play them for my grandmother. She’s actually my great-grandmother—my mother’s grandmother. Those two never got along, but I liked her. I used to go over there when my mother would kick me out. She’s real old now, like ninety-two, I think.

  Exhibit B: testimony of Deborah Mathers-Briggs

  DATED MARCH 1999:

  I put a lot of effort into Marshall and a lot of time as a single parent. I’m over forty now and Marshall’s twenty-four. I live in St. Joseph, Missouri, right outside of Kansas City. Jesse James is from here, and it was the home of the Pony Express. All of my friends from grade school call all the time, my doctor and lawyer friends all see the video, but they say they don’t like the part where Marshall says, ‘I just found out that my mom does more dope than I do.’ Well, that’s just a joke. At first I was really hurt, but then Marshall said, ‘Mom, it doesn’t mean anything. Don’t take it personally.’ I felt a little intimidated by it because Marshall was raised in a drug- and alcohol-free environment. If I were like that, he would have turned out to be a loser. I worked hard to raise him. I went through beauty school after high school and divorced his dad when Marshall was two. He’s never even seen his real father, but he’s got his name—he’s the third. His father lives in L.A. When I had Marshall, I had toxemia poisoning and went into a coma. So his father named him after himself. We had talked about it, but while I was out, he signed all the papers. Then he had nothing to do with Marshall, even while we were together for those few years. He was very jealous of Marshall. I got married at fifteen and had Marsh at seventeen. Bruce, his dad’s nickname was Bruce, was twenty-one or twenty-two. I left a message with Grandmother Mathers a few months ago about all of the stuff happening with Marshall’s career and told her to tell his dad to give him a holler and she asked me why. I said forget it. That’s their mentality.

  Me and his father were in a band, Robbing the Satellites and Daddy Warbucks. His dad was the drummer and I was the backup singer. Our management had a deal for us to play at every Ramada and Holiday Inn. We traveled over Montana and South Dakota for two years. Marshall was with us at the time, I knew he’d end up doing something musical.

  I left Marshall’s father because he became abusive. He drank and was heavily into drugs, and I didn’t want to raise my son that way. In 1976, I had taken my last beating and left everything behind and headed to Missouri. I even had a Buick Skylark almost paid off. I haven’t been in touch with Marshall’s dad since. He never paid child support. Well, we saw one check but nothing else. He was a mommy’s boy. He and his mom moved to California. He’s been married five or six times. [Though he has not directly refuted these assertions, Eminem’s father has responded in the tabloid press that Debbie’s claims are lies.]

  Marshall used to write to him, and the letters would come back “return to sender.” He got one letter in 1982 with two pictures, one of his dad with a surfboard and one at a birthday party with a note that said, “Call me sometime.” It was too ha
rd for Marshall at that point.

  He just shoved it away and said he didn’t want anything to do with the guy.

  His dad never affected Marshall because he didn’t miss having a father. I was always there for him and we were very tight. I would just go to the Father’s Day at school. He thought that was neat. Or one of my friends who was male might go with him. I was very selective about who I had my children around, as I am today. Marshall was always very sheltered.

  Marshall called any men friends I had boyfriends. I would try to explain the difference between boyfriends and friends. Sometimes they might stay on the couch or something if they didn’t want to drive all the way home. I’m an affectionate, huggy person, always have been, and he took that the wrong way. I give everybody a kiss. It was a jealousy thing—“How come you hugged him?” Marsh was the man of the house.

  For a single parent, I did well. I’m tiny, five foot, two, and ninety-eight pounds soaking wet. Everyone tells me I look like a blonde Cher. First it was Heather Locklear, now it’s Cher. I like Cher.

  Exhibit C: testimony of Marshall Mathers

  DATED MARCH 1999:

  I hated Kim so fucking bad for like a year because I thought she was fucking her boss at work. It devastated me. I had my deal! I got engaged to her, bought her a ring, went out on a limb for that girl. I took some of the advance and flew her and Hailie out to L.A., flew ’em back. I had bought us both, but really for her and Hailie, a car. I came back from L.A. a day earlier than I should’ve and I went to her house, and since she left the door unlocked, I went upstairs in her room and found my engagement ring in the box. I’m like, what the fuck is going on. I wait outside her house until four in the morning. She’s gone with my car and never came back—she stayed the night somewhere. I go to her job the next day to a pay phone right next to her job and call and say I’m in L.A. still. I’m like, so where were you at last night. She’s like, “Oh, where did we go, Dawn?” That’s her sister, they work in the same place. “What time did we come home?” She’s like, oh, about 12:30. I was like, oh, that’s cool because I waited until four o’clock in the fucking morning outside your house, you fucking bitch! You’re fucking busted, I’m right next door, I want the keys to my fucking car! Walked one block, she came out of her work and just gave me the keys. Didn’t say nothing. She still denies it to this day.

  Exhibit D: testimony of Kim Mathers, as it appeared in

  the Detroit Free Press

  DATED JUNE 2001.

  [In a letter to the paper following the altercation outside the Hot Rocks Cafe, Kim Mathers presented her point of view on the incident and the role of the press and public in her personal life. Mathers stated that although her husband is an entertainer, their personal life is not public property, but since the world views it that way she had, this once, decided to step forward to set the record straight. Mathers claimed that she was out with a group of friends that night, not being unfaithful as her husband assumed, and that if she was going to be unfaithful she would not do so at the neighborhood bar at which she told him she would be. Below is an excerpt from the letter:]

  I would also like to state, since my husband has had no problem trying to make me look like an unfaithful wife, that every time I find a picture of him with other women, or read in magazines that he’s involved with “groupies,” I don’t go and show up where he is, making a huge scene and getting our faces put all over the TV and papers. I have always taken his word on things and stood by his side. Even after the whole situation up at Hot Rocks, I tried to defend him.

  Sincerely,

  Kim Mathers

  IN THE ALPHABETIC “DIRECTORY” of Eminem’s lyrical issues, under “W,” after weed and white, the rest of the book is filled with entries on women. At the center of Eminem’s lyrical drama are some of the more cinematic misogynistic fantasies ever plucked from the depths of the male psyche, yet today he is admired as an artist, sex symbol, or both, by women of all ages. It was just a few years ago that Eminem was a cause for protest by the National Organization for Women, and his onstage routine included battering an inflatable sex doll that represented his wife while arenas full of fans chanted “Kill Kim.” In 2002, middle-aged women such as Maureen Dowd of the New York Times, who are of the feminist generation, were as titillated by Eminem’s new macho paradigm as pubescent girls at an *NSYNC concert. Perhaps Eminem’s elevation to icon by the mainstream epitomizes the mood of both sexes in millennial America. Real-life issues such as employment and independence have replaced more politicized goals, while antifeminist attitudes are tolerated because unbridled maleness is celebrated. But there is more to Eminem’s significance than his having achieved the magic media formula: He is both the man whom men respect and whom women want. As a thirty-something-year-old product of a single-parent home, where his mother was supreme ruler, he resonates deeper as the product of this ongoing blight. The forthcoming chronicle of his life in his lyrics, in addition to the lawsuits between them, leaves little doubt that Eminem and his mother have a difficult relationship, one that has been echoed in Eminem’s marriage; and one that, in the examination of his music, illuminates the roots of a common pathology.

  LEFT: A tale of two Marshalls: Marshall Mathers II holding Marshall Mathers III during the two years he was in Eminem’s life (1972).

  RIGHT: I never meant to hurt you: Debbie Mathers holding her infant son, Marshall (1972).

  Eminem’s attitude toward women in his canon is split between focused anger at specific women and unfocused disdain and distrust for women he doesn’t know. Eminem’s more general antifemale sentiments, regardless of their degree of truth, are standard in hardcore rap and are reflective of today’s harshest popular music. Male mistrust of women or gleeful objectification of women is an age-old theme in music, and all art for that matter, from bluesmen done wrong by their lovers and country crooners driving lonely back roads, pining for the one that got away, to the Rolling Stones’ dissection of the pros and cons of their female admirers in 1978’s “Some Girls.” Both Jay-Z and Mötley Crüe offered similar dissertations, both in songs called “Girls, Girls, Girls.” American culture is in a state in which objectification of women is an accepted aesthetic. The feminist-identity politics of the late eighties and early nineties that drove the issues of date rape and sexual harassment into the national dialogue are gone. But the antifeminist attitudes popular today are not new, either. In the 1980s, as the efforts of politicized feminists of the 1970s began to pay off, women enjoyed more power in the workforce than ever before, and pop stars such as Madonna and Cyndi Lauper embodied a young, vibrant, sexy brand of self-aware woman. But by the second half of the decade, a popular male-driven backlash began to color pop culture.

  “The angry white male became a sort of emblem of a new Republican party that integrated sexual issues into their politics in the eighties which really helped them a lot,” says Richard Goldstein, executive editor of the Village Voice, and political and cultural critic since 1966. “All of these pop-cultural changes are very related to political issues. At the same time that the angry white male arose as an icon in politics, it arose in heavy metal, hip-hop, and comedy, too. It was a backlash against feminism and a male paranoia that was an issue in culture at the time. Sam Kinison and Andrew Dice Clay spewed the most violent misogyny on televison, Saturday Night Live was another bastion of it—it was what you might call ‘hip macho.’ Shock-jocks did the same thing; Howard Stern did it with a more bohemian edge.”

  Perhaps in reaction to the growth of the “angry white male” figure in the first half of the 1990s women’s issues were center stage in national awareness, culturally and legally. Women’s rights were hotly debated in the national media, as the legality of date rape as well as sexual harassment in the workplace, following Anita Hill’s allegations against Clarence Thomas during his 1991 Supreme Court confirmation hearings, were navigated. An overriding mood of identity politics pushed America into the mores of political correctness that changed the policies of corp
orations, universities, and the government. During the Clinton administration’s eight years in office, women held more positions on Capitol Hill than ever before and celebrated a still higher profile in corporate America. In music, led by the success of Sarah McLachlan’s ethereal folk-pop smash Fumbling Towards Ecstasy in 1993, women such as Jewel, Joan Osborne, Shania Twain, and even one-hit wonders such as Meredith Brooks began a run on the pop charts. The all-female Lilith Fair was one of the summer’s top-grossing outings for three years running, from 1996 to 1999, until a desire for and corporate push toward more dance-oriented and harder-edged pop squelched the popularity of these sensitive and introspective female singer-songwriters. Then, sassier women such as Pink, Britney Spears, and Destiny’s Child came into vogue, personifying a liberated and sexually aggressive woman, while Lilith Fair figures such as Tori Amos represented as outdated a paradigm as traditionalist feminist theory. The male response to this cultural estrogen surge was immediate and compensatory, buoyed by the oppression of an increasingly middle-class economy: The transfer of wealth into the hands of a smaller percentage of the population assured that generations coming of age would not reach the same level of success as their parents had. The angry white male of the late eighties was back, this time in a whole new incarnation.