The rapper could be forgiven if he offered even a hint of self-awareness of his patterns and ruts, but he seems to fully expect his listeners to not only be consumed by his good fortune but enjoy hearing about it. More likely is he’s running out of things to say.
We know full well he’s too smart to dabble in illegalities when his stock portfolio earns him more than enough legal bank. “Don’t Worry About It” has a notably magnetic future beat that suggests an artist willing to experiment a little, but falls short: It’s hard to take his boastful lines seriously when 50 is rhyming about dealing bricks of cocaine and evading detection. That’s right: 50 repeatedly breaks Russian writer Anton Chekhov’s rule of skilled storytelling by alluding to weapons without pulling the triggers. He can’t stop bragging about money despite himself, can’t help but bring guns into tracks - only to forget about them. The track, which features equally one-dimensional verses from Styles P, Prodigy (of Mobb Deep) and 50 Cent affiliate Kidd Kidd, marks everything wrong with the lyricist/entrepreneur’s approach. “I’m still a baller, I’m still balling,” he raps to open “Chase the Paper,” defensive from the start. “Pilot” offers naïve, nursery-rhyme lines and metaphors that start off in the sky - “Me, I’m like a pilot” - before ending up in a strip club, where a lady’s working the pole. Kelly” and a boom-bap beat with bland synthesized arrangements, it feels like a transparent grab at TV ad licenses. A song that celebrates the spoils of victory with as many cliches per minute as “The Essential R. Take “Winner’s Circle,” the most gratuitous stab at stadium and/or strip club ubiquity since Eminem’s “Lose Yourself,” but way more cloying. The sonic equivalent of a blooper reel with a few solid highlights edited in to remind us of the player he once was, the 11-song album mostly rehashes ideas he’s ruminated on with more focus and skill in earlier work. He might try using a similar excuse for much of “Animal Ambition,” the multiplatinum artist’s fifth album. “It slipped out of my hand,” explained the artist born Curtis Jackson on “Good Morning America,” laughing good-naturedly at his errant pitch.
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