Album: 50 Cent, Before I Self Destruct, (Shady/Interscope)

Click to follow

Fiddy’s latest is nothing like as apocalyptic as its cover imagery implies.

A decade of unimaginable wealth has left Curtis Jackson with the dulled reflexes of a heavyweight boxer past his prime – his already lethargic delivery now sounding like he’s been dragged out of bed to cut 16 cursory tracks of gangsta clichés and uninspired beats. “God damn I’m gifted,” he smirks on “Death to My Enemies”, but offers nothing to justify the claim. Who’d have dreamed that a whole album of sex and violence could be so… boring?