In the first house I lived in we had a video games console that we fed cassette tapes. An educational puzzle game would blink on to the big, bulky TV set’s screen. An Uncle twice my age would set up his childhood console when I visited him at my Nan’s house. It was even more basic. He sat with a pamphlet and inputted code for half an hour before I could play a black and white Ping Pong game that entertained me for hours.

I’ll always be interested in a new Eminem album, ever since his early stuff appealed to my suburban teenage days in High Barnet around the time that I wrote awful raps in notebooks about the people at school I didn’t like.

I’m a huge fan, can roll off most of his lyrics to this day and am quick off the mark to download his latest leaked efforts (before purchasing on release day to keep the collection complete – something few artists have the ability to make me do these days).

When The Marshall Mathers LP dropped and the red tops had a field day over his ecstasy pill (bits of old chewing gum) taking on stage, I was in the audience. When The Times ran a double page spread about his wordplay and his song’s lyrical techniques, I enthusiastically ripped out the page and showed my English Literature teacher. I got hold of and still listen to the pre-major label album Infinite. I can tell you in great detail and passion about how Eminem destroyed the careers of Benzino and Ja Rule and it’s fair to call me a bit of a Stan.

I love the way the words roll off his tongue like no other rapper (I’ve listened to quite a few – www.rapnews.co.uk), his unmatched range of styles in delivery, the sharpness of his one liners and the depths of subject matter he dives to. So enthralled by the thrill it can be to listen to him when he’s on form on album tracks and non released treats on the ‘digital underground’, I unashamedly tell people ‘I’m into Eminem’ regardless of whatever the inevitable sugar coated pop single he’s most recently released might be and how that’s influenced the Radio One listening average Joe’s perception.

The Slim Shady LP had an immensely fresh, cartoon quality. The Marshall Mathers LP is a text book example of creating and playing to a media circus. The Eminem Show showed that there’s more to the cake than an icing of jokes and filling of stunts. Then came Encore, the going through the motions, ‘I’ve got nothing to say right now’ release, an output of various well documented things going on in his life around that time.

With late last year’s Relapse CD, fans were treated to a showcase of what Eminem does best. It had refreshing, non synth soaked beats unlike what many were using (Bagpipes From Baghdad), concept songs (3 AM) and his freshest, hungriest penmanship in years (Underground). Received by his public well, sales and chart positions were good. Encore was forgotten and in twenty tracks, the hiphop world was reminded of who’s the best at it. That said, it was an album that people have referred to as having little playback value.

On Recovery and in its marketing, Eminem discredits Relapse as being good, but not all that, echoing those views that it wasn’t a body of work you can listen to time again, blaming its content. However, the issue wasn’t the content at all – it was the most imaginative, consistently entertaining and varied effort since The Eminem Show.

There were no desperate attempts at humour such as the bathroom sounds from Encore – those sounds were so far from what online communities of fans expected and wanted that upon initial internet leaks, conspiracies formed claiming them to be a record label trick to confuse and deter file sharing ahead of release date though they were no joke.

It was just that Relapse came 12 years after Eminem waked up the universe of MTV with My Name Is that the world domination of ‘The Way I Am‘ and ‘The Real Slim Shady‘ wasn’t repeated. People now know everything there is to know about the man, are accustomed to the horror raps and expect the jokes and jibes at pop stars. Whether Eminem’s going through the motions or doing his greatest work ever, people aren’t going to be as up on it as if it were a debut effort and it’s not going to provide as much impact.

So what of Recovery, besides the rather confusing title and marketing angle that’s all got a bit muddled and confused? Relapse‘s narrative is of a drugs fuelled Eminem though all the press was about how he was clean and was on the straight and narrow. Is Recovery then, a less autobiographical title and more an indication of quality, and does it provide the playback value that the twist of Stan, sickness of Kim and childishness of My Dad’s Gone Crazy provided years prior?

Well for starters, it’s very solid and more along the lines of The Eminem Show than Encore or Relapse with a focus on well rounded songs of chorus and structure, less plotted humour and more statement than story line. It’s a welcome change to hear an Eminem album not dominated by now predictable and dated Dr. Dre beats in favour of something more reflective of what’s happening in the charts (though he’ll do well not to develop Busta Rhymes syndrome and see out his career trying to hook on to whatever is hot). They sound bold and will provide a lot of club and radio coverage.

Then there’s the vocals. There’s a hunger and energy in Eminem’s voice, he’s rapping like he did on Till I Collapse, the faintly Arabic accent of Relapse is gone, there’s a ridiculous pound to the punch that transpires further with each listen and there’s a mix of straight to the point ‘I’m better than you’ rap tracks to those on romance, mind sets and relatives. References to his kids and ex wife immediately grab your attention as would a series premier of a soap opera you’ve been following for years might. For the first time ever, he doesn’t reference his Mother. Heart felt and honest references to his late friend and rap partner Proof are moving.

Not Afraid offers a similar stadium anthem mood to Lose Yourself. No Love features a strong guest spot by Lil Wayne that Eminem feeds off to drop one of his strongest vocals on the CD (similar to how appearing alongside Jay Z saw Eminem record his greatest ever verse) and Rihanna provides a well sequenced reflective vibe over piano and guitar rolls. With each listen, rhymes within rhymes within rhymes become more easily picked up on and the statement that nobody else of Eminem’s stature is doing anything remotely as close to this in terms of skill rings truer.

Several tips of the hat references to Kanye West wet the appetite for what that collaboration could one day offer and will perhaps remind and leave fans wondering as to what became of DJ Premier and Just Blaze link ups spoken vaguely of by involved parties throughout interviews in the past few years. TV and radio show performances with producer Alchemist on DJ duties also raises questions as to why few collaborations have been attempted or surfaced between those two.

So where next for Eminem? With a more stable, settled home life there will be decreasing opportunities to capture listeners imaginations with confessionals such as Cleaning Out My Closet and if there is to be another big personal period of upheaval, would listeners have any thirst left to follow it?

Shuns of engagement with battle tracks by Canibus and Pace Won would suggest competitive tracks aren’t high on Eminem’s agenda and now that Relapse and Recovery have exhausted the ‘I was poorly, now I’m well’ story line, what’s left to be said? Has the glass ceiling of what can be done within hiphop in terms of scale been met?

It’s been a long time since Bob Dylan’s 34 studio albums long career has had a u-turn in creative direction though with each release he gains critical acclaim and pleases fans as he sticks to formulas that he and they both know work best, though that route’s rather contrary to hiphop’s culture of artists aiming to rule charts and strive to maintain mass exposure.

With all things said and done, after their initial catapult to greatness, coked up dips in the middle and re-considered last efforts, Oasis’ own recovery was an apt moment to push out a singles box set and call it a day but again, that model’s not appropriate in hiphop which sooner sees careers halted by gunshot or scandal amongst younger generations of listeners. (It says a lot of Eminem’s career to look beyond hiphop for predictions of his next move).

To elder statesmen of hiphop for another ‘what next?’ possibility, there is of course Jay Z who’s remained current with efforts such as full length studio albums sound tracking movies and albums produced by a who’s who of big beat makers. Another option could be a reincarnation of yester-year’s Bad Meets Evil project with reunited friend Royce Da 5’9. The pair sound good together and the shared alias opens up a new area of concepts and characters to explore.

Regardless of what happens, I’ll be there listening and discussing as that’s the real nugget of Eminem’s act. People connect with what he puts out, for better or worse, and find with him a point of debate and analysis that no other hiphop artist musters and that after over 12 years, shows little sign of quieting down anytime soon.

A Twitter feed and blog is a writer’s friend as it promotes opinion over perspective. It allows an author the liberation from weekly newspaper columns where they’d have to stick to one specialist subject or the categorised fanzine focused on a particular theme.

The Twitter and blogging sphere allows writers with variety, to drift from a poem about their goldfish to a warzone commentary or curry house reviews, enabling the masses not to tune in to topic but subscribe to tone of tongue.

Operating loosely throughout this publishing landscape, a writer’s mandate is to produce gripping sequences of a consistent standard, challenging themselves, evolving their craft to greater heights and providing a stronger service to their audiences.

Today began in a near empty Boots pharmacy which routinely deceived me in thinking my shop would be a simple in, out job. Nothing’s ever that straight forward in there and as I approached the counter, a suit from the city leaked in front of my prime position.

‘How can I help you?’ asked a cashier. I held high hopes that the businessman knew what he was after, that it’d be a quick ‘here you go’ and ‘thank you’ routine ahead of a two minute turnaround of my needs. Yeah, right.

The man proceeded to describe a ‘severe’ muscle pain on his shoulder and enquired as to what pain killers he’d need to get through the next couple of days. To be fair to her, the cashier, or was she a nurse – I can never differentiate nor trust, offered something pretty swiftly.

‘Right, and how strong are these? I need to be able to raise my arm this high for a few hours tomorrow.’

As if the nuclear orange tone of his fake tan that I couldn’t help but reposition myself to get a double take on wasn’t shocking enough, what came next was.

In the middle of the shop floor, to an audience now of four more ‘in, out’ optimists turned melt downs, the guy placed his briefcase down, took his jacket off, passed it to the nurse, or was she a cashier – I can never differentiate nor trust, and gave a five minute, repetitive demonstration of the actions that together, comprise a golf swing.

Quite surprised herself, which is saying something for someone that deals with a constant stream of skin troubles and gammy gums each day, the young lady handed back the man’s jacket and presented something from the array of pills behind her. ‘This should do the trick Sir.’

The man studied the tiny print of the small cardboard box for around two minutes, then looked up to the lady now even more eager to take the money and close the deal. He play acted out some pain in reaching into his inside pocket and pulled out a mobile phone come portable office tower.

‘One second. Let me just ring my Physio.’

As I’m typing, the BBC’s half way through running the Conservative’s latest party political broadcast creatively entitled ‘Queen’s Speech Response’. David Cameron’s sitting on a train much blurred out, though you can’t help but focus on the annoyingly inauthentic ‘passenger’ (unimaginative press agent) behind him, reading a notepad and checking her phone like an extra straight out of The Thick Of It.

When the fuzzy background gets too much and your dismay returns to his rosy cheeks bordered face, you’ll be forgiven for thinking you’ve accidently switched over to ITV and are watching one of those thirty seconds too long confused.com adverts with the pretend customers talking down their “web cams” about how great the new website is. (They’ve been running for over a year. When does new become old? And since when would anyone have the time or inclination to record an ode to a bloody website?).

That’s because the Tory leader and the ‘Cameron Direct’ road show his package is glossing on about, has to be the most contrived piece of television I’ve seen since a fight in a playground acted out by stage school overflow on Waterloo Road. EG, One of the kids is a pot smoking runaway who’s sold his pit-bull to another kid from the estate in exchange for permission to get his underage girlfriend pregnant. Only, she doesn’t get pregnant but catches herpes that the head teacher then has to hold a school assembly about before rolling credits book end a ‘We’re so young. We’ve got so much to learn’ sickly sweet truce between the two boys.

But I digress, for there aren’t any council estate types in the audience of a ‘Cameron Direct’ town hall happening. A sea of grey haired or bald, middle to elderly aged upper class white people is a truer description, for in all of the 101 ‘I’m not even aware the camera is on me and am solely smiling because of the comfort this man offers’ snap shots, there’s not one person that resembles anything of the typical person in my neighbourhood. You know, someone with their own teeth and hair.

To be as fair as his social circle’s diversity for a minute though, the broadcast does follow the BBC News and precedes The One Show and it’s daily fix of American granny favourites that are thinking ‘What am I doing here?’ as much as the audience are wondering when Emmerdale will be over so they can watch it back on the Sky Plus recording underway, because they got in five minutes late from a game of bowls on the ‘whites only’ green.