50 Cent live at The Marquee, Cork

The late Notorious B.I.G. may have lamented about more money meaning more problems, but it’s never seemed to have proven a sticking point for fellow rapper 50 Cent. The Queens MC revels more than most in his hefty bank balance, and who can blame the guy for milking it? His skills as an MC are limited, his beats pedestrian, and his show the very definition of low concept – he’s accompanied only by a DJ, not even using turntables, and a hype-man, fellow G-Unit member Tony Yayo. But for all that, the Marquee it still wedged with mostly oversexed teenagers. He’s clearly doing something right.
There is a crude infectiousness to the early rumble of his hit parade. New single ‘Straight To The Bank’, with its Dr. Evil laugh chorus line, sparks a riot of arm waving, as does the booty bass of ‘Just A Little Bit’. He also clearly picked up on Lesson 101 for playing hip-hop in Ireland: drape yourself in a tricolour, and even your most obvious failings will be forgiven.
Beneath this veneer of showmanship, there is little else to maintain interest. After 20 minutes the monotone and flavourless boom of the basslines becomes more and more relentless. An ear-ringing shotgun sound separates each tune; without that they would blend in to each other all too seamlessly.
His flow is equally one-paced. His rhymes at times have a brazen appeal– “I’ll take you to the candy shop/I’ll let you lick the lolly pop” – but some might see them as crass and brusque. He rarely steps out of his comfort zone, preferring to maintain his scrupulously strict timekeeping, reducing songs to two minute ringtones. The monotony is jarred slightly by the calypso tinged ‘P.I.M.P.’, a cocky take on The Game’s ‘Hate It Or Love It’, and his big banger ‘In Da Club’, but it generally fails to impact on the show’s one-dimensional uniformity. 50’s charisma papers over a few cracks, and even if his show displays a stoic professionalism, he appears to enjoy doing it. For example, he eschews the usual over-cooked braggadocio routine, or call and response gimmicks, in favour of a slowly unraveling striptease act.
His buff body is a testament to his work ethic, but it equally hints at the superficiality of his show: there is brawn, but little brains, and a marked lack of subtlety. He disappears to the blare of ‘Hit The Road Jack’, a tactless jibe at those baying for an encore. Still, it’s nice work if you can get it, right?