Beyoncé fans get money’s worth

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Can she come back and do this again sometime? It seems like something this child was destined to do. Only next time, can we skip the $1,100 ticket part?

There’s no safer bet for future Cher-style Vegas divahood than Beyoncé Knowles. She’s still a month shy of 28 and, with the box office rake of “Obsessed,” only now starting to explore the full potential of her movie career. Vegas can wait, ’tis true.

But nothing in this career is left to chance. Beyoncé is staking an early claim on her Las Vegas future with a four-night custom run in the Encore Theater, which concludes tonight. Cameras are set to roll on the final show, with a planned DVD to give regular fans a chance to see this early and respectable attempt to grow beyond arena-pop mechanics into a more intimate and authentic showcase.

As promised, the stripped-down show in the 1,500-seat theater is substantially different from the rest of her “I Am …” tour, enough to make you wonder why they didn’t bring the big show to one of the local arenas and do this some other time? But that’s their business, and fans willing to pay $279 just to get in the door were rewarded with a first hour reminiscent of MTV’s old “Unplugged” series.

The most specific comparison might be Alicia Keys’ “Unplugged” set from 2005. Like that showcase, Beyoncé’s all-female 10-piece road band was expanded with a string quartet and a harp (still all women), emphasizing the more organic arrangements of ballads such as “Satellites.”

The set list also was shuffled, with “Hello” becoming the opening song that revealed the star entering from the back, paying off fans who won the “which aisle to sit on” lottery with close-up views and handshakes.

“Halo” was moved from show-closer to early prominence, with the first verse sung just to piano. “Irreplaceable” plopped the singer and two acoustic guitarists onto stools at center stage.

The star changed outfits only once in this unplugged stretch, and special effects were confined to a retro-’70s laser show and heavy use of an industrial fan beneath a stage grid to keep the singer’s hair in constant billow.

Beyoncé was more than capable of holding focus without the choreography and constant costume changes as she moved into Apollo theater, “Baby baby, I’m down on my knees” mode for “Scared of Lonely.”

At the hour mark, the band shifted into a big-band swing and scat version of “Déjá vu,” a little perk for the rich old guys with their trophy wives upfront.

A trio of tap dancers covered for a costume change. Beyoncé emerged, all legs, for the rest of it. It was more a direct transplant of the arena tour, with Beyoncé framed by dancers for the more predictable concert choreography.

It took the form of an autobiography, with the singer stepping the crowd back to 1990 and a cover of the Jackson 5’s “I Wanna Be Where You Are” to set the stage for the rise of Destiny’s Child.

As she sang through that group’s history and the inevitable solo career that followed, the compressed saga of the road to stardom seemed as accidental as that of Michael Phelps.

Indeed, the Houston-born singer is a thoroughbred, groomed like an Olympian from age 5. Her every public move is so considered, it was certainly no surprise this “intimate” evening was paced by scripted notes on a screen visible to audience members at the back of the room.

But Barbra Streisand uses the prompter too. And so what if we didn’t really see beyond the facade? It’s great to have a pop star who can actually sing without technological trickery, and a Vegas diva-in-the-raw who isn’t in her 60s.

We can wait another 10 years for the Celine-style bursts of off-the-cuff chatter with the crowd. By the time Beyoncé settles into this Vegas routine for good, she’s likely to have a better-honed sense of her own personality, and the ability to share it with us.

There’s time for all that later. For now, the fat cats can get out of the way, let the young fans dance in the aisles to “Get Me Bodied” and let Beyoncé be a “Naughty Girl.” For at least a year or two, anyway.

Contact reporter Mike Weatherford at mweatherford@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0288.