Ask any teenager who cites rap as being their favourite thang who their favourite artist is and five'll get you ten they'll name Eminem as the man. Those self-same people who embraced Marshall Mathers' debut and follow up albums will doubtless gain much satisfaction from his new album, but for those looking for some progress - creatively, at least - will be a tad disappointed.

Encore - the word effectively means repetition, after all - revisits well-trodden subjects with the same efficiency Eminem's earlier work did. His anger is still palpable, his view of those who seek to criticise him - who misunderstand him - as vitriolic. The lyrical twists and turns are occasionally breathtaking, and again the hand of executive producer Dr Dre is hovering to ensure all is well in Eminem's creative world. The only problem is that we've heard it all before. Songs like Puke - which begins with the most graphic opening of any rap track you're likely to hear - and Evil Deeds - a lament about being the son his mother never wanted - are good but familiar territory; some people might prefer new tyres in future, rather than re-treads. If Eminem is still dealing with his anger through his records, it clearly isn't working.