Concert Review: The Black Eyed Peas’ E.N.D. Tour at the Sprint Center

Last night’s Black Eyed Peas show at the Sprint Center was a spectacle of Las Vegasean proportions. The set was equipped with a raised orchestra stand for the band and backed by LED screens flashing circuit board designs straight out of Tron.  

An emblem of metal and LED lights periodically raised and lowered, resembling something the Mayans would have created had they made it to the Industrial Age. Will.I.am flew like Peter Pan. Fergie’s spiked heels looked like lethal weapons. Taboo rode a neon motorcycle that emerged from under the stage and swooped, suspended, over the crowd. It was Back to the Future II meets Star Wars meets Mad Max. It was, in a word, huge.

It was about a million times more elaborate than I’d expected, especially after the opening acts — all stars in their own right — significantly lowered the bar. In Ludacris’ case, it was through no fault of his own — more on that in a moment.

When Internet meme-hoppers LMFAO took the stage at 7:30 to a still half-full house, I thought I’d accidentally walked into the national touring production of Saturday Night Live. Sky Blue and Red Fog, LMFAO’s big-haired lyricists, if you can call them that, were outfitted in every stupid trend Kanye ever made popular, from matching, white-framed ’80s sunglasses (without their lenses) to all-over print tees with gold lettering, to stud-pierced and tight-yet-sagging jeans. They used a keytar and Auto-Tune. They addressed the crowd with limp lines like, “Where my ladies at?” And when they performed the songs we’ve all heard at clubs (and perhaps wondered, “Who the hell is this?” but sang along anyway), the sound system was so weak that one had to turn to the Lisa Frank-inspired graphics on the screens behind the stage for entertainment.

Oh well. At least they knew they were in Missouri and not Kansas, as evidenced by a word-swap in their biggest hit: “I’m in Missouri, bitch!” 

Luda took the stage dressed in all black to set off his diamond-heavy chain, accompanied by backup dancers with moves straight outta an A.T.L. strip club and his ever-loyal hype man. But it seemed like the sound mixers, playing his tracks, had no idea how to balance hip-hop’s bass with a rapper’s vocals. The plus side was that Luda’s voice came through crystal-clear. But the recorded tracks he rapped over for hits like “Shake Your Moneymaker,” which would have been immediately recognizable, sounded dim.