So, you think I’m a sellout pussy for going to the
Beyoncé show this weekend? Whatever. On Saturday, while your
bitch is trouncing you at Lord of the Rings pinball at the
Triple Nickel, the inconceivably gorgeous Beyoncé Knowles will
be belting out “I’m a be like a waffle cone that’s drippin’ down to the
floor,” while looking right at me.
Her current world tour, “The Beyoncé Experience,” rides the
coattails of a deluxe-edition release of her 2006 full-length
B’Day (not to mention the recent issue of her Spanish-language
album, Irremplazable). Half-impressed with her first solo
record, Dangerously in Love, I expected B’Day to be
similar—boasting four or five enjoyably catchy tracks, with the
rest just fluff and requisite Jay-Z raps. Instead, B’Day is an
astonishing, close-to-flawless R&B album, the only weak link being
the irrepressible “Irreplaceable.”
Concertgoers can expect the usual Rose Garden pop star show, as far
as pyrotechnics and Jumbovision go. But, as it turns out, “The
Beyoncé Experience” offers more than just countless costume
changes and dreadful Dreamgirls numbers. Notably, Beyonce’s
10-piece band is all female, and her dancers are all dudes. Not only
that, but at two points in the set, the dancers reportedly toss $100
bills (emblazoned with Beyoncé’s likeness, of course) into the
crowd.
The best element of tonight’s performance? With the upper-level
seating section inexplicably closed off, all seats should have a clear
view of B’s fine assets. While the woman’s devotion to Jesus and animal
fur is a bit unsettling, when she’s pole dancing during “Suga Mama,”
she could have the politics of Ann Coulter, for all I care. Besides,
Beyoncé demands to be adored, if only for her pop-star
traits—a killer rack, walloping warble, and that bodacious
booty.