50 Cent, Getting Rich without Really Trying

WASHINGTON–50 Cent is not in the house.
He’s nowhere near the house, actually, and maybe not even in a Ford Expedition on his way to the house. It’s Sunday night and 4,000 fans are waiting in the D.C. Armory for the country’s hottest rapper–the guy on the cover of this week’s Rolling Stone–who was supposed to finish his show-closing set at 7:30.
Now it’s inching past 8 o’clock. Still no 50.
For the show’s promoters, the delay is a little terrifying. The insurance policy they bought for this event covers them till 8:30, and the managers at the Armory could pull the plug at 8:31, or any time after that. At best, 50 will put on a truncated show. At worst, the concert will be canceled, which is news no one is eager to share with a few thousand teenagers who’ve been primed for hours by a procession of go-go bands, and who are now getting an incomprehensible earful from a local deejay known only as Antonio the Cigar-Smoking Cuban. The wait is starting to get irritating.
“All this for one man?” mutters one fed-up security guard, who is walking in circles. “There has to be a better way.”
What’s keeping 50? Money, apparently. In a bolt-locked room on the Armory’s second floor, Mike Lighty, a representative from Violator, the company that manages 50, and one of this show’s promoters, Von Black, are counting great wads of cash on a small table and wrapping the wads in elastic bands. Both men agree it totals $18,500, and both men agree that the total price for the performance this evening is $30,000. But they differ on the size of the upfront check that 50’s management team was already sent.
The dispute boils down to this: Unless Lighty is handed an additional $1,500, Mr. Cent won’t be visiting the D.C. Armory any time soon.
“The pickup is eighteen-five,” says Black, a lanky man who is a dead ringer for Chris Rock, only taller.
Black has an idea: “Let’s get a copy of the contract.”
A bustle ensues. Phone calls are made. Unprintable words are uttered. Black dispatches his assistant to find his briefcase. Lighty calls a guy named Ice.
“They are going to shut us down,”
Black says aloud, wincing some more. “After all we’ve been through with the D.C. Armory and you’re going to get us shut down for a lousy $1,500?”
It does seem absurd, though not for the reason that Black has in mind. Until last year, 50 Cent (a k a Curtis Jackson) was peddling his music on mix tapes that only rap insiders knew about and that at least one major label had snubbed.
Then Eminem heard 50’s stuff, signed him and helped produce his debut, “Get Rich or Die Tryin’,” which was released last month.
Well, forget the die-tryin’ part. 50, who is 26, is rich, or he sure should be. The album has sold 3 million copies in just five weeks, and it’s currently the No. 1 album in the country.
Most critics have hailed the guy, too, and not just for his lyrics and hooks but for his pavement-hard life of crime and the punishment he took during his years selling crack in Queens.