Published January 2002 in Erasing Clouds

Essay by Matthew Webber

Baby, don't cry, honey, don't get the wrong idea
Momma's too sweepy [sleepy] to hear you screaming in her ear
That's why you can't get her to wake
But don't worry, da-da made a nice bed for mommy at the bottom of the lake
Here, you wanna help dada tie a rope around this rock?
We'll tie it to her footsie and we'll roll her off the dock
Ready now, here we go, on the count of three
One, two, free [three], whee!
--Eminem, "'97 Bonnie & Clyde"

Eminem's decision to feature his baby daughter's, Hailie Jade, cooing and giggling on his original song, "'97 Bonnie & Clyde," on The Slim Shady LP, underscores his desired audience's reaction more than any Dr. Dre beat or Nate Dogg hook could have done. We're not supposed to dance. We're not supposed to bob our heads. Abercrombie and Fitch-ers are not supposed to bump the song from the speakers of their SUVs.

We're all supposed to say, "Oh, that silly Marshall Mathers! Rapping about killing his wife. And he even lets his little girl rap! Whoo-ee!"

Because if his daughter is giggling - if her daughter is giggling - well, then we're supposed to chuckle along.

"Isn't he zany? Dumping his baby's-mamma's body in the sea! What a card!"

I admit I used to think the lyrics were hilarious. I thought his featuring his daughter was artistically bold - in spite of, because of, how offensive it must have been to the woman with whom he lived. Surely (to quote his "The Real Slim Shady"), "he didn't just say what I think he did, did he?" He couldn't really mean he hated his wife. He would never, in real life, slit his wife's throat or stab her. (Right, guys?) And, what a loving father, singing about taking his daughter to the beach with him, and taking her to his work.

It was great escapist poetry. A song with a plot. A fictional tale. A joke to e-mail your friends.

A chance to live vicariously through a rapper, through a killer. To abuse your girlfriend. And to blame it on what she was wearing one night, or for smiling too often at one of your best male friends, or for having an opinion, or for not preparing dinner. And to complain to your buddies about your bloody knuckles afterwards.

Much hilarity ensued.

An artist has the license to exorcise his demons, his fantasies (realities?) of spousicide, if he chooses. Maybe it's the therapy that teenage poets seek. He's admitting his feelings and owning them - that's good. He's filtering them through his humor - that's positive.

It's also a sick joke, more sick than joke.

And other artists have the license, or even the responsibility, to engage, then negate, the punchline.

While other artists have paid tokens to Eminem's first amendment rights (as well they should, that was never the argument) or even (literally) embraced his content (like Elton John), so far, the only artist daring enough to accept her own responsibility on a record has been Tori Amos.

Her decision to re-imagine the song from the viewpoint of the dead baby's momma is as audacious as any artistic choice Eminem has ever made. It may actually be braver, because unlike any of Eminem's sitting ducks - Christina Aguilera; gay people in general; his now ex-wife, Kim Mathers - Tori's target could choose to respond by dissing her in a song, by rapping about killing or raping her or worse. (Which wouldn't be funny at all; Tori's songs, especially the acapella "Me and a Gun," have discussed her actually being raped.)

While Eminem has made a career of downplaying or even poking fun at any artistic responsibility for impressionable listeners who may not be able to distinguish the fiction of a rap video from the reality of Eminem's life or their own (the brilliant "Stan" is his most poignant statement of absolution), Tori holds him accountable. Nowhere - not in her cover song, not in her interviews - does she tell him not to write, say, or rap whatever filth he chooses; what she does is, by choosing to sing his rap back to him, force any listener, if not Eminem himself, to really hear the message.

And the message is there; not at all subtle, not hidden between the lyrics, not when played backwards, but as obvious as fingerprints on a bloody knife in a drawer:

Murdering the mother of my only child is hilarious!

Tori disagrees. The moral of her cover is just as down-your-throat:

You might think spousal abuse, murder, and a misogynistic worldview are comedic. I, however, don't, and I have a right to say so.

Just as you had the right to say it was in the first place.

Tori's "'97 Bonnie & Clyde" is no mere cover song. It's a debate with another songwriter, a discussion of the first amendment. Yes, an artist has the right to offend. Yes, great art can come from anger and hatred. Yes, Eminem is a creative storyteller with more poetry in his lyrics than most. Yes, he just might be disturbed. Yes, we can and should attack his themes.

Tori just happens to be his most creative critic.

While Eminem's version is manic and gleeful, Tori's song is scary, dangerous in its restraint. Whereas Eminem yelps, Tori whispers. She recites his lyrics verbatim, recounting her own (as the woman in the trunk) murder to her once-giggling child.

The new song is effective because of its ambiguity. Eminem simplifies the situation through his thought-out over-explaining in order to protect himself from prosecution, should his daughter be able to glean his true intentions. He also attempts to absolve himself from any blame for his daughter's future psychological illnesses, should she (when she) ever develop them. He vows to be a loving father, now that he's disposed of the major obstacle to his happiness.

Tori, however, euphemizes her murder to protect her daughter. If her ghost of a voice can convince Hailie Jade that she's merely napping in the back of the trunk and that the blood on her shirt is just ketchup (actual lyrics from the song), then the baby can grow up in blissful ignorance of how demonic her father used to be. Maybe she can live whatever constitutes a normal life nowadays, without her mother whom she'll never know; her mother as an angel, guarding and guiding her.

What is truth and what's a lie? Read the following lyrics from both viewpoints:

"Baby, your dada loves you. And I'm always gonna be here for you, no matter what happens. You're all I got in this world. I'd never give you up for nothing. Nobody in this world is ever gonna keep you from me. I love you."

While it's open to debate as to who's the better artist, it's obvious which character is the more loving parent. (As if Slim Shady's wife-killing didn't already preclude him.) The liar vs. the angel. The self-protector vs. the protector of Hailie.

Finally, the ordeal finished, both artists express relief:

"There goes mama splashing in the water. No more fighting with dad, no more restraining order. No more step-da-da, no more brother. Blow her kisses bye-bye, tell mommy you love her."

Eminem sinks his life's biggest burden, his bitch of a wife who dared to stand up to him. Now he can screw any groupie or starlet he chooses, free from a homelife he can't quite control. No more fighting; no more not being able to trust his wife because of what a jealous, petty, boyish man he is. No more her telling him what he should do.

-While the lake swallows Tori, submerges her, numbs her. (It's the ambiguous suicide at the end of Kate Chopin's The Awakening.) No more fighting; no more emotional pain. No more having to live in fear. No more being screamed at. No more hiding the knives. Now, all she knows is wetness and cold and peace. She slips away and under, knowing what awaits her husband is worse. The irony is almost enough to choke you.