“Trick or treat” is the motto in North America on Halloween. American Curtis Jackson, aka 50 Cent, is already giving his fans sweets in mid-October in Munich’s Olympiahalle, for example when he plays “Candyshop” on Wednesday evening, the legendary, bass-heavy, sexed-up hip-hop number from his heyday, which is now a good twenty years old behind.
The concert is a journey through time to the noughties: 50 Cent, framed by two rap colleagues and accompanied by musicians and MC, begins with the old hits: “What Up, Gangsta” asks the first song. There is a lot going on in the hall, which is partly suspended and not filled to the last seat. Everyone celebrates 50 Cent as the living legend. The emphasis is on the “alive” because as often as Jackson has been shot, it was not foreseeable at the beginning of his career that he would still be on stage at the age of 47. This legendary status is probably also the reason for the high ticket prices.
50 Cent raps rock solid – with a few lines his voice threatens to tip over – is not particularly talkative, his colleagues motivate the audience (“Munich, Germany, make some noise!”), there are pyro effects. Not as many as at Apache 207 last week in the same place, and 50 Cent is a bit stiffer in the hips than the hip-hop offspring, but the Dior jersey, cap and thick chain fit. In between, deceased colleagues like Coolio are remembered, 50 Cent uses the time to change outfits.
The audience is full of die-hard fans, confident in their lyrics and motivated. The music videos from back then run across the screens for the old hits: 50 Cent surrounded by other rap greats like Eminem and Snoop Dogg and scantily clad women, hung with heavy jewelery and in expensive cars. This time experienced just as “Y2K” her fashion comeback. At the “Candyshop” mentioned at the beginning, four dancers storm onto the stage, accompanying songs again and again throughout the evening, in a way that could easily have stayed behind in “Y2K”. They dance male fantasies, simulate intercourse with an invisible lover, with the floor. Lots of cellphone cameras zoom in on the jiggling bottoms, that’s no longer twerking, that’s high-powered twerking.
Overall, the vibe on the classics (“Ayo Technology,” “Many Men,” “I Get Money”) is better than on the newer songs, with seated people standing and waving their arms from the start. After an hour, 50 Cent and colleagues leave the stage, things get restless and an encore is demanded. And Jackson is not a fake fifties, comes back on stage and gives a kind of additional concert, where the star of the evening is much looser in the hips and more talkative than before. “Sweet”, one would say in America.