The more things change for Eminem, the more he stays the same.

And make no mistake, plenty has changed for Marshall Mathers in the four-plus years since his Encore CD. He's repeatedly battled (and supposedly overcome) an addiction to pills. He suddenly remarried (and just as suddenly redivorced) his ex-wife Kim. And he dealt with the shooting death of his friend and D12 bandmate DeShaun (Proof) Holton in a club brawl.

As you would expect, Eminem fearlessly tackles all these topics (and more) head-on over the 76-minute course of Relapse, his sixth studio album -- and reportedly the first of two releases this year. But if you think all that trauma is going to create a kinder, gentler and wiser Slim Shady, you're in for disappointment. Mathers may have rehabbed, but he hasn't reformed.

True to its title, Relapse is a deliberate return to classic form for the 36-year-old Detroit rapper. Reunited with superstar producer, mentor and ominous beatmaster Dr. Dre, Eminem picks up right where he left off -- rapidly spewing nimble, intricate and hilariously demented (or, depending on your view, disturbingly depraved) rhymes about serial killers, celebrities, drugs and his profoundly dysfunctional family. Sure, a few cuts are clearly the product of his personal struggles -- which can be even more harrowing than his shocking fantasies. And occasionally, moments of sincere reflection surface amid all the murder and mayhem. But when it's all said and done, Relapse holds few surprises for both devotees and detractors.

To wit: The new Slim Shady finally stands up. And he's the old Slim Shady.

3am 5:20

Em wakes from a rehab nightmare -- to find he's slaughtered several people in a pill-induced blackout. Horror-movie strings and piano score the deranged scene.

My Mom 5:20

In his umpteenth song about his mother, Mathers blames her for getting him hooked on pills. Dre's headnodding groove and woozy horns are right on the money.

Insane 3:01

You think his mom was bad? Here, Eminem accuses his stepdad of sexually molesting him as a child. So much for marketing Relapse as a Father's Day gift.

Bagpipes from Baghdad 4:43

What's an Eminem CD without a celebrity feud? This time, he picks a fight with alleged ex Mariah Carey and her husband Nick Cannon. Guess what rhymes with Nick?

Hello 4:08

Over a rubbery stomp-clap beat and a twangy melody, Shady re-introduces himself, and then asks if you have any downers.

Same Song & Dance 4:07

Em adopts a lazy pseudo-Jamaican accent for his latest misogynist serial killer fantasy -- whose victims include Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears.

We Made You 4:48

Jessica Simpson, Kim Kardashian, Sarah Palin and other tabloid targets get a typically tasteless tongue-lashing over a bouncy, brassy track borrowed from Hey Big Spender.

Medicine Ball 3:57

"I guess it's time for you to hate me again," proclaims an unhinged Shady. Why? Well, once he gets to the third verse -- supposedly voiced by Christopher Reeve -- you'll know.

Stay Wide Awake 5:20

More grisly descriptions of slasher-flick carnage -- this time set against a tense framework of chugging guitar, tympani and ghostly synths. Sweet dreams.

Old Time's Sake 4:38

Dre steps up to the mic for this low-rolling, string-fuelled gangsta-rap duet about falling off the wagon. Among other nasty topics.

Must Be the Ganja 4:03

The binge continues on this shadowy, slow-burning weed ode. The tolling bell in the background foreshadows the grim end: Em ODs in graphic detail.

Deja Vu 4:43

Mathers gets truly personal, frankly chronicling his grim cycle of rehab and relapse -- then says, "now you see the reason why (it) has taken four years to just put out an album."

Beautiful 6:33

Marshall hits bottom on this ballad, contemplating the end of his rap career, battling depression and (believe it or not) reminding us that we're all beautiful. No joke.

Crack a Bottle 5:19

What goes down must come up. Dre and 50 Cent show up to share a drink, some dope and plenty of women. Dre's wobbly piano-blues track makes a fine mixer.

Underground 4:56

Thunder crashes. Strings swells. A choir soars. The beat lurches. And Mathers goes out with an apocalyptic bang instead of a whimper.