In Conversation: Curtis 50 Cent Jackson

Every record label once wanted what he had (and was afraid of it). Now all of Hollywood wants it too.

- By Carvell Wallace. Photographs by Joshua Rashaad McFadden

Inform someone that 50 Cent is currently the executive producer of dozens of shows across close to ten networks, then watch their brains fall into slight disrepair as they try to match the larger-than-life image of the muscle-bound, tight-jawed, bulletproof-vest-wearing party MC of their past with the image of one of the most prolific people working in Hollywood.

But for Curtis Jackson, there is nothing to match up. The gripping storyteller and strategic villain figures out where money is made and he makes it. Born in Queens in 1975 to a 15-year-old mother, he came into a very specific set of skills necessary to thrive under cutthroat capitalism. His mother, Sabrina, whom he once described as “man-tough,” was a street-level dealer who plied him with jewelry before she died under mysterious circumstances when he was 8. He went to live with his loving grandparents, where he played good boy at home while rising as a hustler on the streets. By the time he was in his late teens, he had two luxury cars, guns, gear, and a small army of employees—but no easy way out.

Providence arrived when Run-D.M.C.’s DJ Jam Master Jay, while working as a producer in the ’90s, taught 50 how to make songs and connected him to the music industry. That led to a deal with Columbia Records—one that famously fell apart when Jackson narrowly survived being shot nine times outside his grandmother’s house in 2000 shortly before his debut album, Power of the Dollar, was set to be released. A bullet to the jaw gave him a distinct tight-lipped slur, making every word he rapped sound like a threat. His label unceremoniously dropped him, but his street legend approached superhero status.