I cringed a bit when reading Robert Christgau's essay about Eminem in the latest issue of the The Believer. In it, Christgau seems to work much too hard at trying to make the rapper seem more sophisticated, artistic and talented than he is. He is talented, clearly able to make compelling pop music that occasionally has enough substance to lure those of us who haven't listened to (non-public) radio to hear music in a decade or more, and savvy enough to create a persona that taps into the continual need for middle class kids to identify with lower class role models.

The problem with the piece is that Christgau decides that Eminem's use of several names is somehow indicative of the sophistication of his art and not simply an example of the latest in a long line of rappers who have done such a thing. "That I have a right to expect readers to follow the shifts and feints of Marshall Bruce Mathers III'’s triune persona is proof of the respectability that became his lot after 8 Mile," he writes, as if using the word "triune" somehow makes his point more valid. Christgau is an overwriter from way back, so it's no surprise that he'd drop an arcane nugget like that into an essay.

His thinking is this: Marshall Mathers, a poor kid from urban Detroit, created the character of Slim Shady as a "bad-boy projection" of himself. (He also gives Eminem credit for making a John Updike reference by calling his character in "8 Mile" Rabbit. Sure.) Christgau explains that Eminem was part of the D12 crew in Detroit, and, "like rappers since the beginning, each had a handle. Sometimes a handle implies a persona, like the Fresh Prince or Ol'’ Dirty Bastard. Sometimes it doesn't, like MC Run or Jay-Z. And sometimes it falls in between -- try to imagine Chuck D and Rakim, or Big Boi and Lil Jon, with each other's handles. D12's handles -- —Kuniva, Kon Artis, Bizarre -- —suggested characters. But in addition, these characters had alter egos. "Everybody in my clique had an alias. They was like, '‘You can't just be Eminem. You gotta be Eminem aka somebody else.'"

Somehow, Eminem deciding he could use a nickname or two is evidence that he is able to channel multiple personalities through his music, and that as his use of names has evolved, from the sass of Slim Shady through the auto-biographical questioning of the Marshall Mathers LP to the superstar ennui of the Eminem Show, he has shown a growing sophistication and... blah, blah, blah. Perhaps he's just a guy who realizes that if he uses two or three nicknames that's two or three more chances that some junior high school kid in suburban (insert name of city here) will scrawl advertisments for his work on a spiral notebook during history class.

If Christgau wants to like Eminem's music, that's all well and good. But seeing him try so hard to elevate that music into something worthy of the attentions of someone such as himself is painful. Sure, "The Simpsons" is an intertextual delight, Mr. Comp-lit professor, but it's still just a cartoon. Yes, the mystery fiction of Ian Rankin and Michael Connelly offers a fascinating study of social ills not usually addressed in so-called literary fiction, but they're still just potboilers. That's not to disparage any or all of that, for I'm a fan of everything I just mentioned (save for Eminem, for whom I have a bit of respect and even less interest). It's fine to brighten the corners a bit and point out the nuances of things you like as you explain why you like them. But when you start prattling on about the "triune personas" of a pop star, me thinks thou doth protest too much.