For a man who was threatening to end his career only a couple of months ago, 50 Cent put on a reassuringly polished performance at the O2 Arena. This latest drama in the life and times of the 32-year-old rap star otherwise known as Curtis Jackson was prompted by the first week sales of his new album, Curtis, although well over the half-million mark, failing to match those of his rival Kanye West’s album, which was released on the same day in both Britain and America.

A promotional visit to Europe in September was summarily cancelled when news of this global catastrophe was revealed, but it seems that the wounds to 50 Cent’s pride have since healed sufficiently for his current tour of British arenas to proceed.

The rapper from Queens, New York, has survived worse ordeals, including nine gunshot wounds to his head and body in one incident in 2000. But that is the thing about hip-hop. Whether it is a handful of record sales or someone’s very life that is at stake, all is reduced to the same theatre of thuggish manners.

The show began with film of a helicopter flying over the rooftops of a city skyline at night. As a sudden burst of fire lit up the sky, two searing jets of flame erupted on the stage. 50 Cent arrived, as is his way, with a lookalike stooge at his side and a DJ behind supplying the aggressive beats of What Up Gangsta. They were later joined by a four-man band, a nice touch even if they made precious little difference to the overall sound.

The themes were kept simple and one-track. Gunz Come Out was accompanied by a fetishistic display of guns on the screens at the back, all pointing and firing directly at the audience. I Get Money was the cue for clouds of “dollar bills” to come floating down from the roof of the arena on to the heads of the crowd in front of the stage. Smoke Break was an unambiguous exhortation to “smoke weed” — even though no one was permitted to smoke anything inside the hall. But by far the most frequently explored subject, both lyrically and visually, was that of sexual exhibitionism. “Got the magic stick/ I’m the love doctor,” 50 Cent pronounced in Candy Shop, one of his more euphemistic lyrics. And during P.I.M.P., Disco Inferno and especially Ayo Technology, his latest hit featuring Justin Timberlake, the soft-porn imagery was laid on thick and wobbly.

As a slick, fast-moving burlesque, it all worked well enough, although the fearsome sense of menace in which 50 Cent has habitually cloaked his public persona is now largely a thing of the past — notwithstanding the encore of Many Men (Wish Death), which he performed on a hydraulically-raised platform lit to sinister effect from underneath.

The show ended with an exuberant In Da Club, after which 50 Cent started divesting his burly frame of clothing and shoes, which he threw into the crowd — an old Missy Elliott trick. He stopped short of casting off his trousers, but only after pulling them down to show off his nice white boxer shorts.

What a tease.

Tour continues: BIC, Bournemouth today; Cardiff International Arena, November 14; MEN Arena, Manchester, November 16

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