I didn't WANT to write about The Black Eyed Peas show. Heck, when my 12 year old daughter told me she won tickets, I wasn't even sure I wanted to GO. But go we did and five days later I'm STILL singing that infernal 'Boom Boom Pow' song under my breath. How did this happen? I used to hold The Peas in low regard, more than once referring to them as The Village People of the new millennium. But when your youngest scores two free lower level seats, you pocket your preference, go to the show and thank the Lord above the child didn't win tickets to The Jonas Brothers.
Odd group, The Black Eyed Peas. Only of them even sings, the other two rap, no one really dances and for the life of me I can't figure out what that Taboo dude does. But as a four headed monster, this cartoonish combo somehow clicks - whether forcing a pre-fab groove through both your earbuds or rising up through the stage floor like a troop of musical Super Friends. Before the smoke and lasers even cleared, Hannah and I were on our feet; she to dance, giggle and text, me to work the pins and needles out of a cramping hamstring. What followed was two hours of kick-ass stagecraft, fueled by a mostly live soundtrack of songs I was surprised I knew by heart.
But enough of my warbling. Let's get to what's really on those manly minds out there: Fergie. A dazzling lass, that one. Between her one-handed headstands, maximum swagger and lady lovely humps, she offered every suburban Dads something to groove on from the safety of their seats -- even if half her vocals did sound like they were run through a tank of helium. That said, Fergie proved worthy of the love she engendered. Why, I found her 'Big Girls Don't Cry' downright spellbinding - if only because I would have sworn cash money that song was sung by Beyonce. Or Alicia. Or quite possibly that Beckham lady... Cadaver Spice, I think they call her.
So there you have it: my full admission that by the time the last of the confetti fell over the RBC Center, I counted myself a fan. Sure, their music is befitting a junior high pep rally, their lyrics are about as introspective as a John Mayer tweet and they'll never be accused of nuanced song-craft... but with their spastic back-up dancers, goofy posturing and overall message of acceptance, The Black Eyed Peas are using their power for good and not evil. This parent really appreciates that. As for my daughter, she loved it - though she spent much of the concert texting her friends the song list, snapping these photos and trying to forget that the shadowy figure poppin' and lockin' right beside her was in fact, dear old Dad.
Take THAT, Jo-Bros...