The long and storied body of work of 50 Cent demands a historical context, re-examination of critical texts and possibly an expert panel review to adequately analyze any new entry into the spheres by the self-proclaimed king of rap. None of that will be found here. A critic should strive to find what is beautiful in the universal sense, even for a marketing-staged battle between MTV-bred, overplayed rappers. We put aside our personal and cultural biases, and political misgivings about lyrical implications of misogyny or the glorifying of contract killings. But again, this is not a review. You can't review an album with lyrics like, "It's fire, Ooh / It's fire, Ooh!" Admittedly, the musical component only offends in its banality: The beats are stale, the obligatory experiments with industrial sound effects are dated, and there is only one legitimately catchy track on Curtis, "Follow My Lead," in the 17-song-long tribute to all things 50 Cent (hint: there is only one thing). Instead, we will explore through close reading the vagaries of a troubled artist's mind, centering coincidentally, or not, on that one musical gem within the recycled banter, celebrity cameos and dutiful Kanye West barbs. (Take note: He's "burning him, [he's] burning him.") That's not to say "Follow My Lead" is in any way original; it cribs every piano three-note melody, bell tinkle and gospel echo from better Kanye tracks. It all works, though — except the lyrics perfectly encapsulate 50 Cent's unironic and intolerable showmanship. Before the beat can settle in to get your head bobbing, 50 Cent feels inspired to say a few words, while huffing it to the departing "live" cut-in bandwagon. Eight songs in, we're thanked for "coming out tonight. … This my third album, third tour, third time's the charm." Your welcome, Fitty, but saying ain't doing. And nothing does for the next three or so minutes, while 50 Cent alternates between platitudes, ego trips and veiled violence to the girl he wants to "follow my lead, follow my lead, I'll hold you down, put your trust in me." Whoa, whoa, whoa. We shouldn't have to live in a world where we have to interpret "I'll hold you down" as a sweet nothing. 50 Cent isn't content to simply write a bad love song, he's going to "call a square a square and a circle a circle/ If you're a bitch, I'll call you a bitch then hang up — probably call you right back and shit." So now he's a sixth-grader? I suppose it would make sense, given his inability to surprise in words or meter. But the heart of Curtis, if there is one, is seen best in the line slipped Freudian-style in the middle: "Ask a fan about me, they say “50, we love 'im/ Without them, there's no me, so I love 'em." I propose one can, in fact, fault 50 Cent for giving 'em what they want with the utter irrelevance of Curtis.