Eminem’s Revival is a 19-song glimpse into what this highly complicated, insanely talented, singularly legitimate force in the genre is feeling in this crazy-ass world these days—and the overwhelming takeaway from the album is its maturity.

It’s interesting to observe this effort alongside Jay-Z’s latter-chapter album 4:44, not just because it involves two talents who are still at the very pinnacle of respect and ability in terms of the hip-hop art form, but also because these are the works of artists in middle age. On top of that, they are now releasing music inside the new context of streaming—the domain of youth, which democratically levels the playing field in terms of how music is accepted and consumed.

There are no more gatekeepers to guard the illusions of dominance or polish the sheen on fragile superstar follow-ups. Nowadays, your music blows up on its own merits and connectivity—you’re either fire or nah. In this climate—and we can say this about so many things going on at once in our culture—it’s best to come from a place of TRUTH. The truth shall set you free.

In that regard, both Eminem and Jay-Z have risen to the occasion with albums that are deeply reflective. While Jay’s confessional centers on the relationship breakdown with his wife, Em’s is all about the trappings of being white and the privilege that’s attached; yet he’s aware and fought back, on at least three different tracks. Meanwhile, Sean Carter’s now a billionaire and sees the stratospheres of new wealth, noticing he’s the sole black face anywhere—s` o this is real knowledge being dealt.

The human experience is quite different from the vantage point of 45 than it is at 25—that’s just life. On Revival, Em is in the feels from song one, questioning himself and answering eloquently, from dealing with the pressure of his own precedents (“Walk on Water”) to going through an abortion (“River”); from wrestling with white privilege (“Untouchable”) and Trump (“Like Home”) to feeling the yearning of being needed in a relationship (“Need Me”) and the irritation and frustration that result from being a hip-hop elder (“Chloraseptic”).

Specifically, “River” is a one-listen smash and a raw nerve of devastating honesty; Ed Sheeran is everything on the chorus, and this song has the makings of a heart-wrenching mega-anthem like Wiz Khalifa’s “See You Again”—it’s a fucking enormous pop earworm.

The same can be said for the Alicia Keys-featuring “Like Home,” as Eminem’s moment with this like-minded activist soul echoes the last massive rallying cry led by her: the iconic 2009 duet with Jay-Z, “Empire State of Mind,” about that “concrete jungle where dreams are made of/there’s nothing you can’t do.” I damn near teared up hearing this song, and repeated it five times before I could even go on with the album, because Alicia in our culture is the Rise Up voice; her very presence is a rallying cry, and the chorus she’s given Eminem is another timeless gem.

Meanwhile, Em’s relentless verbal disintegrations of Trump’s persona, agenda and effect in the verses are also inspiring, because we absolutely need vocal soldiers. It’s the artist’s job to speak to power for us in a way we don’t know how to verbalize ourselves—and he has consistently answered the call with this album, which shows us exactly where his heart is—with the people.

What also comes with maturity is the need to be about grown-folks things—and like most adults, Em chooses to give the kids a little spanking for the wackness on “Chloraseptic,” which is sort of the equivalent of Ma washing your mouth out with soap. This lashing comes right on the heels of Roots stalwart Black Thought’s instantly legendary, lead-by-example NINE-MINUTE freestyle on Funkmaster Flex’s show this past Wednesday night, which is in the process of going viral. There’s a conversation in progress between generations of hip-hop heads having to do with what constitutes capable verses. (That we are even debating it in the era of Kendrick Lamar is odd, but OK.)

Hip-hop’s foundation was lyrical, and the expectation is for the MC to ride the beat, not to lay all over it like a sloppy wet-tongue kiss—a comment specifically directed at the perceived lyrical laziness of trap and mumble rap. (The old folks should take into consideration how high on lean everybody's been at the trap house; then maybe the shit’ll make sense—prolly not far from the scene in The Wolf of Wall Street with Leo DiCaprio on Quaaludes; there’s no lyrical dexterity going on in that environment.)

We should also observe the unspoken statement Eminem is making just by virtue of the women he’s selected as collaborators on this album—all the females here are strong, kick-ass women, each of whom represents real female empowerment in her own unique way. Beyoncé’s voice on “Walk on Water” is apt, since the prevailing opinion about her is that she DOES, while looping Activist Alicia into the chorus of “Like Home” speaks volumes. Same with co-signing the openly gay powerhouse singer Kehlani, who soars on “Nowhere Fast.” And resident badass P!nk is never one to shy from delivering emotional beatdowns of truth in her songs; her performance on “Need Me” was the other moment I couldn’t get past without repeating it five times—what a smash!

That Eminem partnered creatively with these incredible women says so much, particularly as we finally begin to emerge from a pervasive climate in which so many voices have been silenced. Bravo, Marshall.

Interestingly, Revival is Eminem’s ninth album, and in numerology the number nine represents “Endings and Completions.” That sentiment is certainly present here, in the sense that Slim Shady has emerged on the other side of adulthood as a fully formed, emotionally intelligent soul who still has some muthafucking bars for your ass.