review1

Sensational production values overtook substantive musical ones some time ago in pop land. But Friday's Ladies First show offered hope of a youth-oriented evening built on something more solid than MTV-fueled smoke and mirrors (or nipple adornments and backing tracks). The tour, which launched Friday night at a sold-out Office Depot Center, features Beyoncé Knowles, Alicia Keys and Missy Elliott.
All three urban-pop artists are women who have asserted control over their careers, writing and producing much of their own material. They are not Barbie dolls. Keys and Knowles are multiplatinum superstars who have entered the Grammy hall of fame, tying Lauryn Hill's record for most Grammys won in one year by a female: five.
The night did offer some dazzling vocal displays and strong statements of purpose for the mostly female audience. But unfortunately, the acts seemed intent on outdoing each other with big shows rather than succinct artistry.

The most dangerous form of censorship is self-censorship. These three ''independent women'' -- to quote a song Knowles wrote for her band Destiny's Child -- seemed more eager to please than challenge. Small wonder Knowles opened the show with a harem number.
She may not be Academy-blessed, but Elliott is probably the most culturally important of the three artists. Female jazz singers and R&B divas are nothing new. But this Virginia rapper broke ground cowriting and coproducing her debut album, Supa Dupa Fly, even before The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. Her short set, following opener Tamia, disappointed. Elliott's sonic inventiveness was lost in the arena-air sludge. She went for overload instead of smart choices, jamming one-minute versions of hits like One Minute Man and Rain (Supa Dupa Fly) into a half-hour set that ended abruptly, too soon. Elliott barely got in her shout-outs to Liberty and Carol cities.
Sound played second to image as Elliott left the stage twice to change outfits, once leaving the audience with the pitiful sight of a dancer performing stripper moves while lip-synching Hot Boyz. Elliott had an elaborate stage and many dancers. But you could barely hear her rap.

The wait for Keys to take the stage was longer than Elliott's set -- this tour is in serious need of some de-wrinkling. She finally came on with a handful of dancers and a seven-piece band. For the opening numbers she uncharacteristically strutted her stuff in traditional R&B revue style. That's fine, except her forte is piano ballads. Her fans admire her fretwork and octave tackling, not her dance steps.
Eager to hang onto her pop crown, Keys seems to be oddly modeling herself after Christina Aguilera or Knowles, rather than a more appealing -- and successful -- peer: Norah Jones. For half of her overlong 85-minute set, she was trying to be something she's not. But she shone when she pounded the ivories on songs like Falling. And ending with her recent hit, the Minnie Ripperton-channelling You Don't Know My Name, she proved herself a master songstress.
For one instrumental jam, Keys waved a baton and conducted her band: an adept symbol of a woman taking charge.
Knowles at last took the stage at 11:05 in another symbolic pose: reclining Cleopatra-like on a lounge carried through the crowd by men. Wearing a gold spangled miniskirt and bikini top and singing Baby Boy, Knowles makes no bones about being a sex symbol.
As a solo artist, Knowles is newer than her tour mates, but with her band, she has the most stage experience. She instantly had the crowd on its feet. But she just as quickly ran out of her own material, calling on tunes by Donna Summers, Janet Jackson and of course, Destiny's Child.
All three sets were heavily choreographed, apparently allowing no opportunities for something so unscripted as performing together -- although Jay-Z did join his apparent paramour Knowles for Crazy in Love. Knowles was the only one who even mentioned her, er, fellow performers. Girl power!?