He got shot, you know. Not that he likes to talk about it – except in every interview, video and record. And now here he is in person, emerging from a model of the New York skyline to the sound of gunshots, face bandaged in homage to his injury – it’s the ‘I Got Shot’ stage show.
Within a couple of numbers the rapper has stripped down to his vest, which just happens to be of the bullet proof variety – perhaps intended as proof (along with the burly minders who scan the audience for would-be assassins) that just by being here to entertain us 50 is taking his very life in his hands.
Not that it would be easy to tell if someone were to let off a round tonight, such is the proliferation of mock gunfire that emanates from the stage. Every track, every video, every move is accompanied by a round or two. It would seem that 50 Cent can’t even fart without someone letting off a couple of barrels.
At times it’s all very surreal. He tells us that he was stopped at customs for five hours and questioned about guns, yet all he wants to do is come here and have a good time (BANG!). We’re invited to hold up our hands in memory of Biggie Smalls (BANG! BANG!) and Tupac (BANG! BANG! BANG!). The screens play looped footage of the latter, with each image countered by one of 50 in a similar pose, getting his bid for hip-hop martyrdom in early.
The video screens also intersperse close ups of his toned, tattooed frame with images of violent street life and adverts for a new brand of trainers that 50 Cent had been endorsing (earlier, there has been a confused attempt to raffle off one pair amongst the eight thousand ticket holders).
Oh, and amongst all this there is the music. It’s mostly pretty crap, dull and uninspired, a booming set of backing tracks over which 50 and his two cohorts rap indistinctly.
This doesn’t stop him being given a hero’s welcome, each thuggish, sluggish turn greeted by thousands of waving hands and bobbing heads. That this is a distinctly inner-city, urban audience (as well as being 99% white) leaves you with a distinct feeling of unease, a sense that for some of them the alluring fantasies he’s spinning are becoming more of a reality every day.
50 Cent can walk away from it in his gleaming new trainers, jump on his tour bus and head for the next hotel. Others might not be so lucky, and where’s the glamour in that?