50 Cent a rough diamond

By REBECCA BARRY

For hip hop's man of the year 50 Cent, stardom comes in many guises. There's the man himself - charming, articulate and smaller than he looks in photos.

Fiddy, as his friends call him, is working his way through a series of interviews at a swanky Auckland hotel, including one with Paul Holmes, before his gig at the Supertop that night.

Then there's the music - the chart-topping album Get Rich or Die Tryin' and its gritty boasts of life on New York's seamier side. Recently he picked up three Mobo (Music of Black Origin) Awards including one for Best Hip Hop Act.

Last but not least, there's the money. Today he wears diamonds on his fingers, around his neck, in his ears. And this is hours before he's due to go on stage.

50 Cent, real name Curtis Jackson, has a simple explanation for all this: If you're successful, do something about it. These are the encouraging words he gave a member of his G-Unit crew, Young Buck, who now wears enough of the rocks to feed a Third World country.

It's also why 50 Cent heads his own record label and has a clothing label, too. 50 Cent is not just a hip hop artist, struggling to expose the woes of the ghetto underclass, he's a certified brand.

"A lot of times it takes money to make money," he says.

"Once you acquire a little finance you can make some moves. Sometimes people do the wrong thing and enjoy it, some people provide for themselves by any means. If it comes down to 'I've got to go out and do something or the lights are going to go out', I'm going to do what I have to do to keep the lights on."

His business savvy and people skills might have earned him respect but 50 Cent is still controversial enough to give his mentor, Eminem, a run for his money.

Along with G-Unit and Eminem's other protege, Obie Trice, some rather large American men who would look at home in a wrestling ring are part of the 20-something entourage that 50 Cent says keeps him feeling safe.

Six months ago there was the fatal shooting as he and fellow hip hop star Jay-Z left a gig in Toronto. He now wears a bulletproof vest when he's not showing off that super-cut torso. Who can blame the guy? He was shot nine times. He pulls his scarred left cheek to the side to reveal the hole the bullet left.

"When I wrote my record I wasn't writing it to be a role model. The music on Get Rich or Die Tryin' is a direct reflection of the environment I come from. Some places they don't understand it because they're not going through the same experiences. The guy in Houston, Texas writing a country song right now? I don't understand what he's talking about.

"I don't encourage people to do the wrong thing, because the entire time I looked forward to not having to do the wrong thing any more. When I was hustling, I was hustling to try and find enough finances to make legitimate investments.

"Your last relationship - you're leaving with the luggage. My past is my shadow. Wherever I go, it's going to go with me. I've accepted it. I know no matter what I do I'm going to have an aura around me that isn't really nice. No matter how successful I am or what happens, I don't think I'll shake it."

Not that he's trying to. He's the first to concede people are attracted to trouble.

Later that night, somewhere behind the chanting fans, 50 Cent is preparing himself for his New Zealand gig. After Trice's hour-long set and much waiting around, the curtains finally re-open, and on stage is a miniature version of New York City, with 50 Cent perched at Statue of Liberty heights like he's the new mayor.

A video which had been playing saccharine footage of families enjoying the sunny Big Apple morphs into a scene of gun warfare, junkies and prostitutes. This is the real show.

The 8000-strong crowd go wild, willingly following G-Unit's countless instructions to "Put your hands in the air!" and later, going along with the "When I say 'hooaww', you say [insert crude slang here]" mantra.

There's nothing unexpected about the gig but no one seems to care. There's a hip hop superstar on stage, and when he really gets going on Wanksta, Many Men and In Da Club he's a menacing figure, spitting out quite a forceful flow.

Later he cracks crude jokes by simulating sex with his microphone and replacing the lines of a Mariah Carey track with something we probably can't print.

Images on the backdrop flash between blatantly commercial shots of his G-6 sneaker range and photos of the late Tupac Shakur. It seems more a comparison between his legacy and 50 Cent's relationship with guns than a genuine tribute but thousands of fans scream their admiration.

But after a while, the gunshot sound effects and hard-hitting rhymes start to sound a little tuneless. Local support act Scribe's "Don't Shoot" T-shirt says it all - 50 Cent is only as big as his exploits.