What do ’N Sync’s Chris Kirkpatrick, Atlanta hip-hop mogul Jermaine Dupri, vice-presidential wife Lynne Cheney, techno superstar Moby, and the North American country of Canada all have in common? They’re all the objects of disses, taunts, and general verbal abuse on The Eminem Show (Interscope/Aftermath), the new album from Marshall Mathers, a/k/a Slim Shady, a/k/a that white rapper you love to hate: Eminem. "Guess who’s back, back again/Shady’s back, tell a friend," the anti-hero exclaims on the intro to "Without Me," the bouncy first single. Filled with his trademark mile-a-minute nasal-injected flow, hyper-aware self-criticism, blitzkrieg pop-culture references, and offensive one-liners, "Without Me" is Slim Shady spewing sewage and naming names while snottily reclaiming his throne atop the messy heap of pop music.

The most eagerly awaited album of 2002, The Eminem Show arrives with the hopes of a flagging record industry on its shoulders. So far, so good. Its release date pushed forward twice to slow the flood of bootlegs, the disc went on sale a week ago Sunday, selling around 280,000 copies on that day alone and going straight to the top of the Billboard 200 album chart. By the time you read this, The Eminem Show will have easily pushed past the million mark. But record execs hoping to match or surpass the staggering eight million copies of 2002’s The Marshall Mathers LP shouldn’t expect a repeat.

As "Without Me" points out, Eminem is feeling hemmed in by his own persona: "I’ve created a monster, ’cuz nobody wants to see Marshall no more/They want Shady, I’m chopped liver." So though "Without Me," sustains the Slim Shady franchise, following the formula of his previous two lead-off singles, "My Name Is" and "The Real Slim Shady," the rest of The Eminem Show finds the Detroit MC attempting something quite different. Goodbye Slim Shady, hello Eminem.

Backing away from the vodka-fueled rage, vivid storytelling, and technicolor rants of The Marshall Mathers LP, The Eminem Show finds the Motor City madman more mature, more emotional, and, uh, more vulnerable than in the past. With Dr. Dre producing only a few tracks, the crisp gothic g-funk is mostly sidestepped in favor of abrasive, self-produced beats that fuse rap rhythms with rock flourishes. Even his platinum-hard word flow sounds different; less showy and dense, it’s dotted with pauses that break his stream-of-consciousness rhymes into asymmetrical chunks. The Eminem Show could almost be categorized as emo-rap: heart-baring, self-indulgent, and self-analyzing, it deals largely with the ups and downs of Eminem’s personal life over the past two years.

Fortunately, the immediate past has given the MC plenty of material to work with. Since the May 2000 release of The Marshall Mathers LP, Eminem has split from and divorced his wife, Kim, been charged with assault for two separate incidents in Detroit (one in which he was said to have attacked a man who kissed his estranged wife, the other in which he allegedly pulled a gun on an associate of the Insane Clown Posse), and been sentenced to two years’ probation. On the civil side, he’s been sued by his mother, Debbie (she also recorded a hip-hop album attacking him); a former classmate claimed he was slandered by the song "Brain Damage" and subsequently sued for $1 million; and the French classical/jazz pianist Jacques Loussier claimed his music had been illegally sampled for the song "Kill You" and is now suing for $10 million. Compound all that with the storm of protest from gay and women’s groups following his last album plus the well-publicized feuds with fellow rappers Dilated Peoples, Everlast, and Canibus and it would seem that the peroxide-blond MC has spent the past two years fighting off challengers and dressing for court dates.

Every one of these events and plenty of others (Em’s supposed relationships with Mariah Carey and Kim Basinger, for instance) have been reported and documented by the press. And like a rap version of "The Real World," The Eminem Show details the past two years of his life in excruciating detail — probably to the dismay of his lawyers. The result is a riveting trip through the mind of pop music’s most fascinating personality, complete with the contradictions, skewed logic, and yes, violent nihilism that we’ve come to expect from Eminem. As an album, it’s spotty, and less impressive than its predecessor. As a career move, it’s questionable. But as a soap opera, it’s pure Daytime Emmy gold.

Although he’d never admit it, the constant criticism and protesting that followed The Marshall Mathers LP has affected Eminem’s work. The homicidal violence and extreme homophobia that marked "Kim" and "Kill You" is no longer present. The Eminem Show features a few toss-away "faggot" comments, a couple of tired misogynist sex raps ("Drips" and "Superman"), and some more vitriol directed toward his ex-wife, but apart from a few sharp one-liners ("How can one Chandra be so Levy?"), little here feels like shock for shock’s sake.

Beyond attempting some kind of moral conversion, however, Eminem just seems tired of the persona he’s constructed for himself. The cartoonish sociopath he portrayed on "The Real Slim Shady" — funny enough for TRL, offensive enough for the Bizkit mook-rock crowd, and virtuoso enough for hip-hop heads — has disappeared in favor of a less marketable character. Stripped of the smoke and mirrors of the Slim/Marshall/Eminem persona switching, it’s a dark trip into the impulses of his inner life: the angry son, jealous husband, lonely bachelor, caring father, and boastful MC all come crashing together.

"Cleaning Out My Closet" is a grief-powered missile directed straight at his mother. "I’m sorry mama, I never meant to hurt you," he wails over a guitar riff on the chorus before cutting out her heart with a few choice lines: "Hailie’s getting so big now, you should see her . . . but you’ll never see her, she won’t even be at your funeral." Poor wife Kim, already murdered once on " ’97" Bonnie & Clyde" and "Kim," gets verbally abused and accused on a handful of tracks that portray her as a drug-abusing, cheating, no-good wife. "What did I stick my penis up in?" he asks on "Hailie’s Song," "Wouldn’t have ripped the pre-nup up if I’d a-seen what she was fuckin’."

Apart from Dr. Dre, the only person Eminem has praise for is his daughter, Hailie Jade, who does a hilarious guest vocal on the album’s closer, "My Dad’s Gone Crazy." She’s also the subject of "Hailie’s Song," Eminem’s first singing attempt. In a weak but surprisingly light voice, he croons like a proud papa over a gentle R&B groove that sounds snagged from a Jill Scott record. Hard to imagine, but the man who once proudly rapped "Shady will fucking kill you" is singing tender lines about the joys of raising a toddler. Wait until she turns into a teenager.

The inevitable sex raps and guest appearances by his Detroit crew D12 are strictly for the hardcore fans. Plus, the remake of Aerosmith’s "Dream On," titled "Sing for the Moment," is a soggy dud. And good luck to the Interscope employee who’s charged with finding a second single.

But Eminem’s battle raps are still filled with astonishing look-ma-no-breath verses and punch lines sharp enough to rattle Jason Kidd. The limitless braggadocio and Batman-inspired groove of "Business" is Eminem finding joy in the simple pleasure of syllable play. Dr. Dre and Eminem save their best battle rhymes for "Say What You Say," where the pair tear into Atlanta producer Jermaine Dupri over a ghoulishly stalking beat. Plus, the chorus has Eminem spitting one of his wonderfully twisted aphorisms: " ’Cuz what you say is what you say, say what you say how you say it whenever you sayin’ it/Just remember how you said it when you was sprayin’ it, so who you playin’ with, huh?" Got that?

Even Eminem’s off-handed one-liners find him answering critics with a wit and awareness that few pop artists can match. "Let’s do the math/If I was black I would’ve sold half," he proclaims over the guitar-laced stomp of "White America." Midway through the album, he’s answering the inevitable Elvis criticism with a smirk: "I am the worst thing since Elvis Presley, to do black music so selfishly/And use it to get myself wealthy."

The rest of The Eminem Show seems to veer between melodramatic pathos and declarations of strength. "If I could swallow a bottle of Tylenol I would and end it for good," he rhymes on "Say Goodbye Hollywood." Later on in the same song, he says, "It’s like the boy in the bubble, who never could adapt, I’m trapped, If I could go back, I never woulda rapped." Not since Kurt Cobain has there been a mainstream pop star so ambivalent about his success. But a few tracks farther into the album, on "Soldier," Eminem’s boasting: "Even if my collar bones crush or crumble, I will never slip or stumble."

So, which is the real Eminem? The lonely, paranoid, suicidal star who’s been emotionally wounded by relationships gone awry? Or the bold, resilient artist who uses his amazing talent as a life-support system? In his typical convoluted way, Eminem gives no direct answers, contradicting, commenting, and criticizing his own lyrics even as he delivers them. The truth lies somewhere in between; searching for it has become a national pastime.