Marshall Mathers is now 41 years old, and on his new album, he sounds every single one of them. The Detroit artist has been rapping about the end of his career for so long that it’s easy to forget that his erratic discography spans almost two decades. But on his most recent album, “The Marshall Mathers LP 2,” Eminem sounds burdened rather than empowered by his verteran status.

Nobody knows this better than Eminem himself—on “The Marshall Mathers LP 2,” he seems even more obsessed with his own career’s demise than ever before, even going as far as to name the album after his critically acclaimed “The Marshall Mathers LP” of 13 years ago in a bid to recapture his more potent years. But like many rappers before him (most famously Nas, who titled one of his many mediocre albums “Stillmatic”), Eminem comes off as desperate rather than experienced. The album opens with “Bad Guy,” a song that immediately pays tribute to his achingly tragic “Stan.” But instead of pulling at the heartstrings, Eminem fuses the storyline of “Stan” with his characteristic proclivity for shock humor, shouting, “Slim, this is for him and Frank Ocean, oh, I hope you can swim good, now say you hate homos again!” to the sound of a car driving off of a bridge.

As always, Eminem is furious and unforgiving, taking pride in his willingness to spit lines that other rappers wouldn’t dare say. But on “The Marshall Mathers LP 2,” he begins to move away from lyricism in exchange for wordy tripe and shock value. Eminem can still rap, as he proves on “Rap God,” on which he shifts into hyperdrive, at one point spitting lines at a mind-numbing 6.5 words per second. But tracks such as these, which are supposed to be the coronation tracks of “The Marshall Mathers LP 2,” are cheapened with empty lines like “You like normal? / Fuck being normal.” “So Much Better” comes to a juvenile climax when Eminem confides, “A woman broke my ha-art, I say ha-art cause she ripped it into pa-arts and threw it in the garbage.” He then insists that he will not say the “L-word” anymore, following up with a primitive scream, “I lo-lo-lo-lo-lesbian!”

This lyrical deficiency is most bothersome on deeply personal tracks like “Headlights,” on which Eminem forgives his mother for his neglected childhood. Eminem’s delivery is powerful, his voice growing into a passionate scream as he offers lines such as “Ma! I forgive you, so does Nathan, yo! / All you did, all you said, you did your best to raise us both!” Unfortunately, his clumsy lyricism once again comes in between Eminem and his intent, turning “Headlights” into a flimsy and comical testimonial reminiscent of the Backstreet Boys’ “The Perfect Fan.”

“The Marshall Mathers LP 2” almost redeems itself, however, on “Love Game,” which inventively samples the surf rock-influenced “Game of Love” by Wayne Fontana & The Mindbenders. An adroit and bipolar Kendrick Lamar sounds like he actually belongs on the track, something that a featured artist hasn’t been able to do throughout Eminem’s discography (Lil Wayne’s cringe-worthy feature on 2010’s “No Love” included). Eminem responds positively to this injection of Lamar, sounding younger and lighter on his feet as he follows the young rapper with his most impressive verse on the album. Eminem grows more and more psychotic until he suddenly drops a casual delivery of the line, “Snatch the bitch out her car through the window, she screaming / I body slam her on the cement, until the concrete gave and created a sinkhole.” He goes on to turn his own shock value on its head and address some of the most honest topics on the entire album.

However, the few bright spots on “The Marshall Mathers LP 2” don’t buoy the entire album. Ultimately, what the album lacks most is believability—it falls too short in too many ways to live up to its hype. Unlike other rappers, Eminem does not shy away from addressing his dying career, but his obsession with the topic turns an interesting merit into a point of criticism. With Eminem not growing any younger, “The Marshall Mathers LP 2” unfortunately proves more about his chops than it does about his art.

—Staff writer Se-Ho B. Kim can be reached at sehokim@thecrimson.com.