50 Cent performs in Skopje, Macedona, March 2010. Photo: Robert Atanasovski/AFP/Getty Images

You might have heard of 50 Cent. He’s one of the half dozen or so most famous living rappers on earth. But, as such, he’s long since entered that uncomfortable stage in his rap career where his popularity as a public figure eclipses his ability to produce hit records. This is an inevitable progression for a rap artists not named Jay-Z, particularly the gangsta rapper. Street favoritism has a natural shelf life and there’s a glass ceiling – however high – on the number of mainstream, casual music listeners who are actually going to buy gangsta rap in this era. So 50 now serves as little more than a symbol, an actor, a spokesperson, a scapegoat for “think of the kids” reactionaries who haven’t listened to popular rap in years, or a talking point for those who think that calling him “Fiddy” is the height of ironic humor (despite that fact that Fif himself has always quite clearly pronounced that second “f” in his name).

Most rappers who are lucky enough to hit this point in their career tend to steer into the skid, proudly letting their persona lapse into full-scale self-parody, while maybe continuing to release passion project albums on the side of movies and endorsements and such. For a while, it seemed like 50 would be taking the same approach. (He definitely has enough movies and endorsements to justify it.) But somewhere between (allegedly) ripping a plasma off the wall of his record label and the relative flop of 2009′s Before I Self Destruct, he decided to simply shift lanes. The past year or so has seen him return to indie roots, playfully hopping on remixes, collabing with less famous but revered d-boy peers and quietly dropping freeform bangers seeped in aggressive content (as he so lovingly calls it) with little concern for commercial appeal. Right now, it seems like his main focus is on making the music that he wants to make and enjoying the process, and with complete indifference as to whether or not anybody cares. (Blogger GuttaBoyJihaD recently compiled the hilariously titled Don’t Fuck This Up, Curtis collection, highlighting this stage of his catalog in further detail.)

This is a great way to live for a creative type who has already made his millions. The ideal way, in fact, for both his remaining core audience and own mental health. It’s not, however, the best approach for a major pop act who actually wants to get a record released. Because, for as good as many of these tracks have been, they haven’t actually inspired very many people to care again about 50 Cent, the rapper, even as his Twitter account pushes five million followers. This would be a dilemma for any artist, but it’s a catastrophe at his notoriously fickle label Interscope, where albums only see release when their albums produce hits (see also: Dr. Dre‘s endlessly delayed and now Alex Da Kid-compromised Detox LP). Last week, 50 took to the web to complain about the delay of his would-be fifth album Black Magic. Later in the week, he released the first official track from the album, “Outlaw.” It might’ve been a minor hit seven years ago, at the height of G-Unit hysteria; Today, it reeks of pandering, a once proven hitmaker retracing his steps in a particularly joyless manner. Maybe that worked. On Sunday, 50 announced, however cryptically, a planned November release for the record. His label has yet to confirm, and trust that if he does intend to see that date he’s going to need at least one bigger and probably more shameless record than “Outlaw” would appear to be behind it. It’s a shame the industry can’t just let rappers rap.