So I bought The 50th Law. Like most non-musical projects involving 50 Cent, his co-authored book of Machiavellian strategy stood a good chance at being mindlessly entertaining, and fuck-- I wouldn't mind being as rich as he is. Surely, I'd learn some sort of hustling tactic that would allow me to make back my $20 and then some. It held up its end of the bargain on the first part, but amidst the surprisingly practical advice and hilariously revisionist history (a staged thrashing of an Interscope office is remembered as a PR coup for Curtis. Kanye West isn't mentioned once in the book), there was little insight to 50's music-making process. The "50th law" essentially lionizes fearlessness and a deep connection with the public, qualities almost entirely absent from his last two albums-- Curtis sounded a hell of a lot like a rap record made by a guy who lives in a Connecticut mansion, while the profoundly bored War Angel LP only served as proof of how the mixtape game he revolutionized had completely passed him by.
But 50's nothing if not calculating, and while Before I Self Destruct might not be designed to reach the pretty impressive first week sales of Curtis, it may be a wiser move making it to appeal to listener who still might be rooting for the guy. In other words, the sort of guy who thought "Blood Hound" and "Back Down" were by far the best tracks from Get Rich or Die Tryin'. It's transparent pandering on the level of "Amusement Park", but the difference is that 50 still can rap convincingly about his financial power moves whereas every bit of sexual pursuit simply bores him to death-- he can't even really make a love song about his guns these days (see "Hold Me Down").
He's still got that voice, and when he wants, it can still intoxicate and overwhelm with sheer menace. "The Invitation" and "Death to My Enemies" snarl with a ferocity that's refreshing in the context of 50's recent output as well as the current hip-pop landscape where meat'n'potatoes gangsta is actually kinda novel. He disarmingly sings along with the Jackson 5 sample that begins "Then Days Went By" before reshaping his "Hate It or Love It" verse into a squalid blaxploitation that makes you think he'd view Precious as a comedy. There's the part where a trip to the South turns into a murder spree and he pistol-whips his drug-addled uncle, but it's his staggering anti-romance that provides the most creepy shock: "she was 20, I was 12/ Nana said she raped me/ I just smiled ear to ear saying 'take it, baby, take it.'"
As good as the ruffneck stuff generally is, he's way more entertaining when he's fucking around with people. On that note, "So Disrespectful" is the most successful track, in that it'll be the one that gets talked about. We can argue about the moral implications of using other people's serious problems as comic fodder, but 50 has no such use for that. He starts off using the Game's claims of sexual molestation against him and just goes from there, railing on anonymous hangers-on and, most comprehensively, former ally Young Buck: "tell momma he done smoked the TV/ I ain't know he fucked with more dope than B.G." * *
A production team including Dr. Dre, Rick Rock, and Polow Da Don ensure that the cold and clinical Aftermath sonic architecture constantly allows Before to reek of amorality and fuck-you money. It's apt since you could make the argument that Before is something of a concept album portraying human relations in purely transactional terms-- it's not called a "social contract" for nothing. There's genuine hurt residing deep within a lot of the tracks here, but nearly every time, it's rendered financially and finds 50 going from playful to extremely bitter as the album goes on. Regarding the dissolution of G-Unit, he jokes "keeping these motherfuckers rich ain't easy," but later, "Strong Enough" becomes one of the angriest tracks he's done in years. On "So Disrespectful", even his absentee father is seen as a drain on his bank account: "I don't even know him/ So now the fuck I owe him?" If there's any line that could serve as Before's thesis statement, it's this song's closer: "Enemies stay enemies/ But friends they change/ Niggas go crazy over money."
But the fun of talking about the record overstates its actual quality. After initially promising a return to form, 50 doesn't have the ability or initiative to hold the listener's interest over the long run. The middle bogs down in post-2001 Aftermath muddle and by the second half, he's back trying to make would-be hits again without the inevitability. It's almost like even he's unsure of his hitmaking abilities, and in a weird way, that sorta softens him. But who really wants that? The eyeball-scorching Terminator cover becomes apt-- its creators wanted to have it seen as humanizing allegory, but the consumer just wants to see a remorseless killing machine in action.
