50 Cent - Curtis (September 11, 2007)

A quick word before we get started today: regardless of whether this is your first time scrolling through Hip Hop Isn’t Dead or if you’re an occasional reader that checks in every few months or so, if you like what you’re seeing I urge you to check out my two spinoff projects. The Patreon, which is where the majority of the new articles are published, along with some other stuff, is the easiest way to help keep the blog sustainable and to support independent writing and criticism, and for those of you who would rather just hear what I’m talking about, the RandoMax Radio page excises any and all commentary in favor of simply playing great music from a variety of genres, allowing you the opportunity to judge for yourselves. Subscribing to both and telling your friends helps me get the word out, which I would be forever grateful for.

Anyway, now let's go trash another album.

The last time I wrote about Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson, it… um… huh. It appears the last instance of him popping up in the feed was a couple of years ago when I chose to write about an EP instead of actually approaching his catalog, and then prior to that was when I tackled his never-officially-released debut album, Power of the Dollar. But the actual last time I explored Fiddy’s catalog in chronological order was back in 2007, when I went after his sophomore Shady/Aftermath/Interscope solo effort The Massacre, which had been released two years before. Now look, the man is a professional troll, starting fights for his own amusement, a trait that he’s carried throughout his entire career from “How to Rob” up to his work today as the guy responsible for pretty much all of the creative output coming from Starz, so I don’t feel bad about coming across as dickish in a review back then, because that’s how I truly felt, and I also thought it was kind of funny. 2022 Max, however, is much more mature and understanding, if not exactly forgiving, so even though feel rather apprehensive about all of this, why the fuck shouldn’t I continue exploring the man’s work, even if my will to do so ends exactly one moment after this article is published?

Curtis is 50 Cent’s third album, and I suppose it counts as “eponymous” since it’s named after him, although the reasons for this are suspect at best and lazy at worst. It follows The Massacre in that the project follows the exact same blueprint, with hyper-violent gangsta rap comingling with songs recorded for a female audience, a formula Interscope surely had no issue with him repeating, given how well his first two projects for Dr. Dre and Eminem’s respective labels sold while doing the exact same shit. Curtis actually feels like a spiritual sequel to The Massacre in a way, since we’ve long since moved past 50’s need to introduce himself to the general public, as by this point everybody should know what they’re getting into whenever he releases a project. Production is handled by a similar roster as before, Interscope’s deep pockets affording our host A-list names such as Dr. Dre and Timbaland while the man himself also sought beats from lesser-known producers (at the time) such as Jake One and Apex. So far, Curtis reads pretty much exactly like The Massacre: swap out those latter two names with, say, Hi-Tek and the late Disco D and you’d have a very similar listening experience.

Where Curtis deviates from the norm is with its guest list. Fiddy’s previous projects (not just his solo albums but his EPs, mixtapes, group albums, and soundtrack offerings) relied heavily on a little help from his friends from within his G-Unit collective, whose revolving roster featured Lloyd Banks, Tony Yayo, and Young Buck at its core (for the most part). I’m not sure if this was a challenge the man set up for himself, or simply hubris that ultimately bit him in the ass, but Curtis pretty much throws the G-Unit under a bus to make room for Billboard chart standards such as Timbaland, Justin Timberlake, Mary J. Blige, Akon, Robin Thicke, and Nicole Scherzinger. (Yayo and Buck still manage to play a role on Curtis, however, while Banks, likely busy with his own career, never even received a phone call, indicative of the deteriorating relationship between the two, since 50 can’t have anybody around him who is also popular.) This newly-acquired focus on pop stars tips Curtis’s hand, as it becomes plainly obvious that he was more interested in popularity and radio airplay than he was in song quality, and audiences quickly figured this out, as Curtis positively fumbled at the box office, at least when compared to The Massacre, which sold over six million copies in the United States alone.

Speaking of the box office, what most hip hop heads remember about the Curtis promotional rollout is how 50 Cent, the professional troll, called out a still-on-the-rise Kanye West for shifting the release date for his own third album, Graduation, to the same date as his in 2007. 50 decided to make this a competition, a challenge Ye happily accepted as it resulted in free promotion, and even went so far as to claim that he would retire (yeah, right) if Kanye bested him in their opening week, which, of course, he did, because Graduation sold nearly one million copies while Curtis came nowhere close, an outcome many rap critics hailed as a shift in the hip hop narrative, one reflecting the shifting taste of the average music connoisseur who preferred the more positive (lol) messages coming from producer-slash-rapper-slash-showman West over the then-dying art of gangsta rap 50 Cent represented.

Or maybe it was just that Graduation was the better album and Curtis fucking sucked. End of sentence.

1. INTRO
Curtis kicks off with a clip from a movie called Shooters, a film I legitimately had never heard of until today even though it apparently features Gerard Butler, Melanie Lynskey, and the guy that played Mr. Fantastic in the first two Fantastic Four flicks among its cast. None of those names appear in this clip, however, but it doesn’t really matter, since there’s no need for anyone to actually sit through this introductory afterthought.

2. MY GUN GO OFF
That intro does manage to dovetail decently into “My Gun Go Off”, the first musical offering of the evening, but you still don’t need to listen to it to understand what Curtis is talking about here. Our host continues to position himself as the most gangsta of all the gangsta rappers on “My Gun Go Off”, threatening to shoot holes into absolutely anybody that even looks at him sideways, which has to be a very lonely way to live one’s life, but that’s just me. Producers Adam Deitch and Eric Krasno, of the collective The Fyre Department, present the listener with a pretty engaging instrumental that sounds like the byproduct of a domestic partnership between Dr. Dre and Eminem, with your typical gun-related sound effects (shots being fired, hammer being cocked, etc.) weaved into the landscape, and it’s pretty good, although as a caveat I offer that the song only lasts for two verses (and a hook), so it doesn’t stick around long enough to grow tiresome anyway. Curtis is in full-on aggressive shit talking mode here, but while he’s mostly serious about how badly he wants to murder his enemies here, he still manages to find some pretty dark humor at the beginning of his second stanza, where, after mirroring the chorus from his boy-slash-label boss Eminem’s “Lose Yourself”, he threatens to “fire back / At your hat, your back, your ass crack, your nutsack / Your Cadillac, if you make it to that, I’m hitting that,” which is already silly imagery that becomes even more absurd with 50’s line delivery. The hook is overlong for the type of track this is, but overall it wasn’t bad. No, seriously, it wasn’t.

3. MAN DOWN (CENSORED)
Possibly the only instance in recorded history where an edited rap song lets the word “cocksucking” fly while censoring the word immediately following. Such is the strange existence of “Man Down”, a track that Interscope’s Standards and Practices team ripped to shreds in order to remove any and all references to the police, which just so happened to be the threat Curtis was taking down throughout the song. It’s even labeled as “Man Down (Censored)” on the back cover, as though even the fine folks that designed the album’s artwork needed the consumer to be fully aware that they were purchasing an edited song that was featured on a project with a Parental Advisory sticker on its cover. The Interscope censor’s heavy hand renders large swaths of 50’s first verse damn near incomprehensible (although a quick Google can help you locate the director’s cut, which helps), to such a degree that it’s confusing to me why the label even included the song on Curtis to begin with – why not just trim it from the tracklist? Was it that vital to the story Curtis Jackson was trying to tell. Honestly, no. Detroit Red and Don Cannon’s instrumental , like “My Gun Go Off” before it, plays like Dr. Dre-lite, except this time around it’s pretty goddamned boring, leaving 50 stranded on a desert island with all of the cops he allegedly bodies within the track. The man himself sounds fairly subdued, his smart-ass remarks tempered by the slower tempo the instrumental restrains him to, although the adoption of a weird accent throughout is entirely his own doing. Our host sticks with the violent street shit for the vast majority of the runtime, which makes sense considering who we’re listening to, although I will admit he made me laugh with a throwaway handful of lines that he likely only included to amuse himself (“I’m down to do the sticking when it come to the orgy / Conventional methods of sex totally bore me / Wait, I’m getting sidetracked”), but I couldn’t bring myself to care about this shit overall, and that’s coming from someone who should be incensed that this song is censored so fucking much. Just didn’t do it for me. Including the word “censored” on the tracklist implies that what 50 Cent actually said was so shocking that Interscope clutched their pearls and marked it up with their red pen, but the reality is that there isn’t anything said on “Man Down” that hasn’t been spoken on other, better rap songs.

4. I’LL STILL KILL (FEAT. AKON)
Perched atop the exact beat you would hear in your head if I told you to imagine a DJ Khalil beat where he’s copying Dr. Dre again, “I’ll Still Kill” (or “Still Will,” for those of you only familiar with the radio edit, called that because the sentence “I’ll Still Will” doesn’t make any grammatical sense) is a collaboration between 50 Cent and the crooner-slash-city developer Aliaume “Akon” Thiam that continues the album’s tilt toward the more violent end of the hip hop spectrum. Why Curtis felt the need for this reminder to immediately follow two also-incredibly violent songs tracks perfectly with what he believed his audience wanted from him in 2007 (he was off the mark a bit there, but that’s another story). 50’s two verses are technically proficient, but you’ve all heard him talk this talk before, and “I’ll Still Kill” barely registers among even the man’s most mid-range work, so the real story here is Akon, who acts as a true collaborator and not just a guy doing a hook-for-hire arrangement. Akon has the third verse all to himself, and wile he fails to get just as dirty as our host, he still manages to let off some grim details about what could potentially happen if one were to fuck with him or his. None of this ever becomes convincing in the least bit, however, especially after one hears Akon threatening to murder “if n----s get to fucking around”, which is still a bizarre choice of phrase to sing during a song chorus, regardless of said song’s lyrical content. Pass.

5. I GET MONEY
Surprisingly, “I Get Money” was merely the third single from Curtis. I say “surprisingly” because this is literally the only track from the project I ever remember hearing on the radio prior to the album’s release. I suppose that means our host’s first two promotional attempts, “Amusement Park” and “Straight to the Bank”, didn’t exactly hit the way Interscope had hoped. (Apparently “I Get Money” began life as a twelve-inch remix-slash-sequel of “Straight to the Bank,” one that was granted a life of its own (and a better song title) after it began blowing up. The more you know.) “I Get Money” breaks the curse of Dr. Dre’s influence on 50 Cent’s career up to this point, as producer Apex turns in a banger of a beat that bears zero resemblance to any prescription the good Doctor may have scribbled, his use of vocal samples lifted from Audio Two’s “Top Billin’” punctuating the synth notes and drums pretty damn perfectly. For his part, Curtis sounds like he’s actually enjoying himself here, proclaiming his hip hop dominance and talking his shit (his line reading of the bar, “I’m stanky rich”, remains memorable today, even though it is very dumb, although his “hit a head in a hat” bar still sounds Tommy Wiseau-levels of terrible) without the need to follow any of it up with threats. “I Get Money” is successful despite 50’s involvement, not because of it: while the man’s two verses and goofy hook certainly sound refreshing against the darker, one-note material we’d been presented with thus far on Curtis, Apex’s production is the type of mixtape freestyle-ready beat that could have made nearly any New York-based artist a one-hit wonder (see also: Lumidee, Bobby Shmurda, Young M.A., you get it), its party vibe and contagious sound a stark contrast to everything we believed Curtis Jackson was about in 2007. This still sounds fun today, much more so than its official remix that featured Puff Daddy and Jay-Z (a remix of a song originally recorded to be a remix itself? What a time to be alive), although I’m basing that on memory, I don’t remember what that track sounds like, and I don’t really feel like looking it up right now. Sue me.

6. COME AND GO (FEAT. DR. DRE)
Andre Young may have helped make 50 Cent a household name, but “Come and Go” is proof that he wasn’t necessarily sending our host his best work. Finally chiming in (both vocally and production-wise) after a slew of imitations, the good Doctor turns in a thoroughly boring loop that hardly ever deviates from its meal plan, one that, ironically, makes him sound more like Kirkland Signature Dr. Dre than any of the producers behind the first three songs on Curtis (“I Get Money” being the obvious outlier, of course). I wouldn’t get too excited about that feature credit, either – Andre’s voice barely registers during the chorus, the legendary producer having been fooled by our host into co-signing the asinine proposition “Come and Go”, a song about kicking women out after having had your way with them, albeit one where Curtis spends much more time talking about how great he is, offers to the audience. (Some heads believe that 50 Cent is specifically calling out former G-Unit member-slash-current rapper in search of an editor The Game on said hook, but unless Andre has suddenly taken issue with how often Jayceon drops his name, usually in a genuflecting manner, I can’t imagine him going along with the beef, as it wouldn’t benefit him at all.) “I topped ‘In the Club’, I’m still sipping the bub,” Curtis says as he opens his first verse, and no, no he has not. At least when it comes to mainstream popularity, anyway – ask any of your mothers, “In the Club” is still the first song that pops in their head whenever somebody mentions the creator of Power. Well, not so much the song title as the opening lines (you know, the “go shorty, it’s your birthday” shit). Speaking of the sex talk that “Come and Go” is supposedly talking about, our host decided that now would be the most opportune time to give us, “I’m pissing on grown women, R. K*lly do it to children,” which, ew. This was enthusiastically horrible.

7. AYO TECHNOLOGY (FEAT. JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE & TIMBALAND)
There are songs where you don’t understand how they became hits, but you concede that they’re popular because of the proof you see and hear around you, i.e., constant radio airplay, your friends rapping along at the bar or at a party, etc. Then there are songs where, no matter what the world tries to pass along, you simply refuse to believe that they were ever hit records, because literally nobody in the real world ever talks about it. “Ayo Technology” is an example of the latter. Released when the combined powers of producer Timbaland and the problematic boy band-er Justin Timberlake were at their height (read: when Timberlake’s sophomore solo album FutureSex/LoveSounds was still generating buzz and hit singles), “Ayo Technology” is an ode to strippers, one where a surprisingly chaste 50 Cent fantasizes about taking exotic dancers home to have some fun, as opposed to getting some right there and then. (Who knew Curtis Jackson had respect for the workplace guidelines of strip club proprietors?) Timbaland’s instrumental, co-produced by his protegee Danja which means Danja did most of the work, is a godawful mess, a cacophony of various synth noises seemingly lifted from other, better Timbo productions, and Timberlake’s hook alludes to a pornography addiction that never gets treated, and also, it’s fucking terrible. 50 himself, who only seems to be here because of a contractual requirement to at least try to appeal to as broad an audience as possible, uses his songwriting skill to try to make “Ayo Technology” a radio-friendly, if not radio-ready (again, the song’s about fucking strippers) effort, and he misses the mark by quite the margin, unable to successfully convert his sleazy come-ons into an environment where he spends most of the track merely sitting down and watching shit happen instead of actively participating. You could come at me with receipts and I wouldn’t believe that this shit was ever popular in the hearts and minds of any member of the human race. There’s just no fucking way. It can’t be. Please respect my privacy during this turbulent time.

8. FOLLOW MY LEAD (FEAT. ROBIN THICKE)
After a couple of songs where Curtis wishes to skip straight to the fucking, “Follow My Lead”, a commissioned-for-radio single if I’ve ever heard one even if it was never officially released as a single, takes a softer approach, as our host wishes to woo a lady friend before skipping straight to the fucking. Production duo Tha Bizness turn in a blandly inoffensive instrumental that does dampen 50’s inherent aggression (even though he still manages to threaten, “If you act like a bitch, I’ll call you a bitch”, which I’d say comes out of nowhere, but look at who we’re reviewing here), but may also put any member of the intended female audience to sleep, as there is very little energy here. (Say what you want, and I certainly have, but at least “Candy Shop”, “21 Questions” (which this song is most aligned with, tone-wise), and “Just A Lil Bit” at least actively try to keep you moving.) Crooner Robin Thicke, included here because he was an artist on the rise who hadn’t yet been outed as problematic and also because The Masked Singer wasn’t yet a thing, performs the hook, and he sounds exactly like a singer-for-hire would: unconvincing, never buying into what Curtis is selling, merely there for a paycheck. The only female audience 50 would ever gain from “Follow My Lead” would be women who scour discographies for deep cuts, and while I’m not saying those women don’t exist, they almost certainly don’t exist when it comes to 50 fucking Cent.

9. MOVIN’ ON UP
Jake One’s funky instrumental, which sounds like it belongs on a late-Def Jam-era Ghostface Killah project (tell me he wouldn’t kill this, I dare you) is pretty solid, a worthy sparring partner for Fiddy to bring back the boasts-n-bullshit for. Convinced that every other rapper in the game is biting him in some manner, Curtis uses “Movin’ On Up” as his way of putting his peers in their place, barking threats and talking trash simultaneously. He does this by following a goofy, gimmicky rhyme pattern through his two full verses, ending nearly every bar with the same syllable which, when combined with the flow he adopts here, makes for a frustrating listen, mostly because the instrumental deserves much better, and I say that even though the idea of opening the track with a sound bite of Russell Simmons talking about drums in the movie The Show leading into, well, drums within the beat isn’t quite as clever as everyone involved seems to believe. Somebody do this beat some justice and swipe it for a freestyle or something. Please?

10. STRAIGHT TO THE BANK
Although released as a single, I can almost guarantee that you two wouldn’t remember “Straight to the Bank” if you had guns to your respective heads. I say “almost” because the (sampled, probably?) laughter from Tony Yayo (who, interestingly enough, is credited as a recording engineer for the majority of Curtis, a side gig I admittedly didn’t see coming) during the hook is unsettling enough to have seared itself into your cerebral cortex, its creepy factor rivaled only by The RZA’s own chuckling on the Wu-Tang Clan song “Tearz”. (Which is to say, it sounds inauthentic, which makes it even more unnerving.) Listening to this Ty Fyffe production that apes Dr. Dre’s beat work so closely that Andre himself was called in to polish it up and complete the sonic illusion, I have no fucking idea how “I Get Money” was ever conceived to be a sequel or a remix to this shit, aside from a single bar that connects the two: “I Get Money” is relatively fun, whereas “Straight to the Bank” is dour threats and boasts, and that’s even with literal laughter during the chorus. It isn’t the worst rap song I’ve ever heard or anything – although the lyrical content wouldn’t have made any sense back then, this beat could have easily slid onto Get Rich or Die Tryin' – but Curtis sounds uninspired here, the money that apparently constantly surrounds him failing to bring him any measure of happiness. Just kidding! He loves having more money than the average bear, and he wastes no opportunity to say that to your face. I wasn’t joking about that “uninspired” shit, however – our host somehow makes his pursuit of the almighty dollar, through means both legal and otherwise, seem downright mundane, like a desk job for an employer that demands everyone return to the office. Ugh.

11. AMUSEMENT PARK
One of the first singles released from Curtis, “Amusement Park” was obviously recorded as a way to capitalize on the demographic that responded favorably to “Candy Shop” and “Just A Lil Bit”, as the track, with production from Chris Styles and Silence, feels like the result of an algorithm commissioned by Shady/Aftermath. It’s also very very bad, you two. For whatever reason, our host compares having sex with him to a ride in an “Amusement Park”, and the metaphor is labored to say the least, although I will give the man credit for sticking with it all the way through the song. Except for when the mask slips: “I don’t need your paper, just don’t fuck with my stacks,” 50 offers, apropos of nothing in particular. This paint-by-numbers effort (which was an incredibly poor way to announce the project's impending arrival to his G-Unit superfans) makes the entire album sound worse in hindsight, a creation of a marketing department aiming for every quadrant instead of the piece of art I’d like to hope 50 saw this shit as. Oh, who am I kidding: Curtis was designed for the dollar signs, for 50, for Eminem, for Dre, for Jimmy, for everybody involved. There was no love or thought put into this nonsense. This isn't art. This is just noise.

12. FULLY LOADED CLIP
Mobb Deep’s brief tenure with G-Unit Records may have been winding down in 2007, but that didn’t mean Havoc couldn’t continue making some money off of his friend-slash-label boss. To wit, Hav produced “Fully Loaded Clip”, a decidedly non-Mobb experience that mostly sounds dull, although Fiddy offers enough of his quirky nature to not make this a complete waste of your time. Reverting back to his feral, violent state in a bit of whiplash that is difficult to recover from, Curtis brags about how hard he’s worked on making money, through legal means or otherwise, while his peers in the industry have been pairing off and settling down. The way 50 Cent name-drops folks like Jay-Z and Nas reminded me of the original version of his “Window Shopper” (from the Get Rich or Die Tryin’ soundtrack), except he isn’t actively trying to attack anybody here (except for the rapper Trina, of all people, because a shit-stirrer is always going to stir some shit), but “Fully Loaded Clip” doesn’t have the sense of bizarre whimsy that “Window Shopper” had (or its pseudo-cover by the UK singer Lily Allen, which is a real song and is pretty entertaining). Havoc stans may feel the need to look this one up, but there’s no reason to go out of your way.

13. PEEP SHOW (FEAT. EMINEM)
No. Just no.

14. FIRE (FEAT. YOUNG BUCK & NICOLE SCHERZINGER)
I appreciate the restraint necessary to hold back an Eminem production or feature until the second half of the album, given how it’s all but guaranteed a listen from hip hop heads (again, back in 2007), but when the end result is as fucking trash as “Peep Show” is, with 50 Cent running through several sets of lungs in order to keep up with Marshall’s crappy instrumental ,which is not a good fit for him in the first place (because most of Em’s beats sound like he would be the only person that could ever perform decently over them), while Eminem brags about peeing on a sexual partner (why is that the second reference to that act on this fucking album?), there’s no need to even bother. Something else that Interscope frequently used as a sales tactic is the combination of 50 Cent and Dr. Dre (see: “In the Club”, and you don’t need any follow-up examples), but “Fire” is also trash, albeit far less offensive to your senses than “Peep Show”. Andre’s prescription is club fodder designed to be enjoyed while under the influence of the spirit of your choosing, but I’m not drunk while writing this review, so it absolutely didn’t work for sober Max. Singer Nicole Scherzinger, late of the Pussycat Dolls and about a year removed from her performance on the previous year's hit Puff Daddy single "Come To Me", tries her best to reignite that spark, but not only does Dre's beat give her nothing to work with (not that “You want it, it’s fire, I got it, that fire,” is the peak of songwriting or anything), neither of her collaborators are up to the challenge, either, because “In the Club” be damned, this isn’t really Fiddy’s domain. Young Buck, hilariously, only pops in during the chorus, where all of his talk about flipping bricks and shit will be lost on the audience because this isn’t even that kind of fucking song, whereas 50’s verses, while not nearly as elementary as his work on the previous track, are still a jumbled mix of references and platitudes that ultimately makes no sense (“You can hate it, but face it, B.I.G. and 2Pac just ain’t around / Everywhere you go, there I go, I’m 50 Cent” – that isn’t a typo, that second bar appears immediately after the first one). There isn’t even a real ending to “Fire”, just the sound of 50 and Andre giving up and letting the beat fade out into the eventual nothingness we will all encounter one day.

15. ALL OF ME (FEAT. MARY J. BLIGE)
Once again Jake One gives 50 Cent an instrumental that should have been put to better use, although what we end up with, “All of Me”, might be the only time we ever get to hear guest Mary J. Blige sing about “feeling like a fiend on crack”, so there’s that. Curtis ostensibly uses “All of Me” to sell himself to a possible life partner, but his list of accolades sounds suspiciously like a bunch of shit-talking, regardless of how true any of it happens to be. “God gave me a gift, I’m supposed to be rich,” he offers, which he then twists into what ends up being a promise to share some of that wealth, but never comes across as such, because from what we’ve learned about Curtis Jackson throughout this project, he’ll always choose himself. “All of Me” does straddle that fine line between “gangsta shit” (well, kind of, you have to stretch the definition of the phrase here) and “songs for the ladies”, which isn’t easy to do, so kudos to our host for that, I guess, but unless Jake One himself forwards me the instrumental, I don’t ever need to hear this shit again.

16. CURTIS 187
Havoc pops back into the Curtis timeline to produce “Curtis 187”, which is a silly title that conveys, well, exactly how 50 represents himself on the songs that aren’t for the ladies. His Super Gangsta persona dominates this violent (and, at one point, censored) retread through his various experiences in different neighborhoods and cities, and while it isn’t a great song, our host sounds lively enough, finally able to focus on subject matter that he actually cares about. Havoc’s instrumental falls in line with the fake Dr. Dre prescriptions of the evening, but some light scratching during the hook lends this more personality than the other imitators are capable of, so that was nice. I didn’t hate this! Havoc’s work-for-hire phase (which we’re still in today, R.I.P. Prodigy) fascinates me, as he seems to be consciously challenging himself to not sound like Mobb Deep, and “Curtis 187” follows that path. It’s engaging enough for a throwaway track at the end of an album, anyway.

17. TOUCH THE SKY (FEAT. TONY YAYO)
Curtis ends with the only real guest appearance from our host’s G-Unit army, since Young Buck’s hook during “Fire” was nonsensical and Tony Yayo’s laughter during “Straight to the Bank” was more of a creepy vibe than a cameo. It’s Yayo that turns up on “Touch the Sky”, gifted the final verse of the entire project, and it’s not great, Bob. Yayo’s never been seen as a lyrical miracle behind the microphone, but his performance here is downright confusing, a testament to 50’s loyalty to his friends (or at least those he was friendly with at the time) that’s admirable, but doesn’t enhance any entertainment value, unless you two are hate-listening to Curtis at this point. The production from K-Lassik Beats follows the Dr. Dre formula but doesn’t have any heart, an argument which could also be said about Dre’s own beats at the time, but whatever, and our host’s own verse and hook, which shout-out Biggie and Pac (again) while positioning himself as their heir apparent, are just gangsta gobbledygook. Nothing to see here, folks.

International editions of Curtis come equipped with at least one bonus track, but all I have is the Stateside situation, so you'll have to look those tracks up on your own, I'm afraid.

FINAL THOUGHTS: Curtis sounds like the entirety of 50 Cent’s remaining ideas set to music, which helps explain why there are so many themes repeated throughout the project, such as his love of money, or getting money, or taking money, or using women as sperm receptacles. (No, that critique doesn’t take into account how Curtis was actually a replacement for an altogether different 50 Cent project entitled Before I Self-Destruct, which he would release later, but just follow me on this.) The invasive guest list fails to add anything of note – it’s entirely possible that you two will forget that many of these cameos even exist while they’re occurring in real time. With Curtis nearly evenly split between love/lust raps and street shit over Andre Young-influenced beats, there’s something on here for absolutely nobody, because Curtis is bereft of creativity or entertainment value, the lone exception being “I Get Money”, a track that, notably, doesn’t fall into either category, instead featuring 50 Cent boasting and bullshitting his way over a catchy Apex beat, the man genuinely enjoying his job for what feels like the first time. (Although the existence of its remix goes to show that 50 Cent wasn't above beating a dead horse.)

The rest of Curtis is the audio equivalent of Al Bundy trying to relive his high school football glory days as he spends his days working for the man. And make no mistake: Interscope definitely is “the man” in this situation. There’s zero chance Shady/Aftermath would have been allowed to release a 50 Cent album without multiple retreads of “21 Questions” and “Candy Shop” on that motherfucker. He may have made the label a lot of money, but 50 Cent never had a free pass like Eminem or Dre, as evidenced by the fact that multiple tracks on Curtis are, in fact, censored, a feat that makes me wonder why the label even fucking bothered. This album is a slog, Curtis reminding the listener every chance he gets that he won’t hesitate to kill you, and he does this even on the love songs, which makes for a rather dissociative experience, one where you will sort-of understand why the man is famous (50 does manage several vivid turns of phrase throughout Curtis, at least), but won’t be presented with any proof of said fame, rendering his pure tryhard moments laughably disingenuous. His first two efforts benefited from his ongoing beefs with peers such as Ja Rule and The Game, but without any such blatant target here, Curtis falters, as the man has nothing to say unless he’s tearing someone else down, it seems.

Even with one decent song, there is no redeeming value to be found here, and I feel bad for every person that chose Curtis over Graduation that fateful day when the tides allegedly turned.

TL:DR – Curtis sucks, don’t listen to this shit, etc.

BUY OR BURN? The fuck do you think?

BEST TRACKS: “I Get Money”, and maybe “My Gun Go Off” if I’m feeling generous that day

-Max

RELATED POSTS:
There's a little bit more on the Curtis Jackson situation here.