Don't let 50 Cent fool you, the making of Curtis was no happy-drunk time, not a fleeting pleasure, or a gracious exit strategy, as he's suggested. The emotion, on here, sounds scripted, the threats even a bit bashful and the urgency all but gone.
Rehashed Recipe
There's been no laughing straight to the bank or any laughing, for that matter--it's been bitter business for the most critically crucified rapper. The hits haven't been coming, atypically, his audience has even wisened for their buck (Kanye's projected to win the great sales battle this week) and well 50 just seems like a disgruntled rapping employee, not unlike the type he has a liking to lash at, unmercifully. But that's not the problem with Curtis, it's a symptom.
As far as music, 50's cashed out, from rapping, and what is left is an overblown, overwrought exercise in the same violent exploits, female territory (he still abhors morally-abiding women, by the way) and contorted emotion. It's a formula that has worked through rote technique and average singles. The album distills down to emotionally-dishonest forays into listeners' fantasy.
Straight to the Bin
The album begins, unapologetically, with "My Gun Go Off" and includes other numbers such as "I'll still Kill" feat Akon and "Man Down", a song memorable for its hook (I'll murder them). All unbelievably aggressive tracks committed more to effect than interested with cause. It's anguish simply buried in melody and crap, really. You'll bop your head, then stop, and go to the next track. Repeat. "Straight to the Bank" and Amusement Park" still sound robbed of beefy grit, just some lifeless pop over a beat. What becomes apparent is a man tired and possible relieved to be tired.
A Diminishing Career
It's hard to believe 50 still gets a thrill over shooting people's faces off. This seems like the logical letdown of rap's biggest star crawling back into his hole, cradling his gun and his career. There's temporary solace; "All I Need" feat Mary J Blige is indisputably the most genuine and by consequence the most enjoyable collaboration. The return of Dre and 50 culminates as a masochistic deviant record called "Come and Go" with haunting, scorching synth streaks lying beneath. There's also "I Get Money," vintage quick-witted, brash-talking 50 Cent. And maybe that's a clue that he's completely mastered getting money, in spite of rap and in spite of his diminishing career.
