Self-reliance, friendship, heartbreak, glamour, suspicion, patriotism - sooner
or later, they all led to a torrid bump and grind when Destiny's Child performed
on Friday night at Madison Square Garden.Since its first hits in 1997, Destiny's Child has mixed enticement and empowerment. Its three singers - Beyoncé, Kelly Rowland and Michelle Williams - offer a fantasy of having it all. They're styled and street-smart, amorous and demanding; they call for respect while they aim to please.
In what may be the group's farewell tour - a statement released in June said, "Now is the time to pursue our personal goals and solo efforts in earnest" - Destiny's Child finally got it right. After years of frustrating concerts that relied more on noise and crowd enthusiasm than on performing the songs, the three singers decided to trust their voices.
Friday's concert was, of course, a fashion show, with the women in everything from formal dresses to lingerie, not to mention navel-baring versions of a bullfighter's suit of lights. (Somehow, no matter where she stood, Beyoncé had her hair blown back by a fan, like a model in a magazine-cover shoot.)
Hits like "Say My Name" and "Bills, Bills, Bills" became costume dramas onstage, resolving conflicts over romance or money in a sultry strut. In "Cater 2 U," three men from the audience got something like lap dances from the group, while "Soldier" (sung against a backdrop of an American flag) presented the singers in skintight leather.
Another part of the agenda was insisting that Destiny's Child is more than Beyoncé. The other two singers were repeatedly introduced, sang material from their solo albums and shared stage banter. Ms. Rowland has the group's low, husky growl; Ms. Williams, who made a solo album of pop-gospel songs, sails up to the high notes. But Beyoncé - who replaced half of the original four-woman Destiny's Child lineup with Ms. Williams, then gloated about it in the song "Survivor" - has the voice that defines Destiny's Child: velvety yet tart, with an insistent flutter and reserves of soul belting.
The other sound that defines Destiny's Child is the way its melodies jump in and out of double-time. Above brittle, syncopated rhythm tracks, quickly articulated verses alternate with smoother choruses. The secret hidden by studio production is that Beyoncé can't keep up with the complex rhythms; onstage, she kept falling behind. But given a wordless moan or a chance to swoop through a phrase, she was superb.
The concert was a show of solidarity; in breakup songs like "Free" and "Bad Habit," a woman alone could still rely on her girlfriends. But its finale - with the women in white T-shirts and jeans, under cascading water that splashed their arms and faces - was "Baby Boy," a song from Beyoncé's 2003 solo album. After this tour, she's planning to be Destiny's Child's survivor.
Mario, who shared the bill, is a teenager on his way to becoming a rhythm-and-blues ladies' man. Like Usher, who is clearly his career model, he pours his tenor voice into songs full of Stevie Wonder melismas, favoring slowly undulating ballads, and he knows just when to tear off his T-shirt. His songs made all the right promises, and female dancers seemed to gauge the success of his come-ons by grinding against him and stripping down to their lingerie.