CityLife

50 Cent

50 Cent
MEN Arena
March 25, 2010

A half-empty standing area and packed lower tiers suggest that something strange has happened to 50 Cent’s fanbase.

In 2003, he was the biggest selling rapper around. But in 2010 he’s a sex god with a fortune in his pocket and a fanbase of dolly birds ready to scream at every flash of his famous six pack.

The towering heels sported by the 30-something ‘laydeez’ that now go in for Fifty’s gangster rap is sufficient explanation as to why the seating tickets have sold well.

True enough, he still commands a fair share of homies and urban urchins – and the number of celebs and footballers that fight their way through the waiting paparazzi is confirmation that this is still the gig to be seen at –  but Curtis ’50 Cent’ Jackson’s core audience now loves his look as much as his rhymes.

The value of his image is one he’s not afraid to cash in on either; there’s the constant sound of gunfire and scenes of scantily-clad girls bumping and grinding, even though this hardly sits well with Fifty’s wholesome mile-high smile of gleaming white tooth enamel.

Still, the old gangster image dominates. A backdrop depicting Fifty lurching over a burning New York skyline (reminiscent of a scene out of Attack Of The 50 Foot Woman) reminds us that he’s still the daddy, while his constant strip teases and costume changes – there’s more here than in Kylie Minogue’s last stage extravaganza, albeit it involving fewer tail feathers – evoke deafening howls of lusty admiration.

And it’s in this spirit that he spits his way though opener The Invitation, turns the sweetness of Baby By Me on its head and reels off a relentless stream of aggression through What’s Up Gangsta?, Crime Wave, Strong Enough, Psycho and Do You Think About Me.

Fifty’s delivery ultimately remains his biggest talent. There’s a whole Encyclopaedia Britannica’s-worth of words to tackle even before he runs off stage for his first costume change. That he can get these verbose compositions dead right is impressive enough; that he can do it while mashing in parts of other tunes mid-track is really outstanding.

On paper, the Before I Self Destruct tour should be a masterpiece. There’s a phenomenal stage set that pulses with a fit-inducing light show throughout and, unusually for a hip-hop gig, there’s even a full band (hidden for the first six or so songs to suggest it’s just Jackson, his G-Unit co-rappers and his MC making the glorious noise).

When these able players are revealed and audible, they make a remarkable sound. But nine tunes out of ten, including on the Calypso-inspired P.I.M.P., they’re fighting against such a huge wall of bass noise that they might as well be playing in a different room.

Hook up a PA to a couple of cranked up car stereos and stand Fifty and G-Unit out there waving their arms in unison like a trio of aerobics teachers and there’d probably be very little difference.

The signatures of his style – the constant sound of gun fire and the lurid gestures he makes at the girls who struggle onto the front row – are tiresome, too. Segueing Candy Shop into 21 Questions sets up the moment that spells this out loudest when a big screen close up of Fifty as he indulges in a little onanism with his microphone takes the show to a new low.

Then when you’ve just about given up him, he’ll pull you back on side with a storming trio. Straight To The Bank, OK You’re Right and In Da Club set up the show’s finale nicely and prove Fifty really is more than just a pin-up.
 

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