Girls’ night out all the way

It was a battle of the sexes, and Beyoncé came armed to the teeth.

Her arsenal: a voice that crackles and pops like small arms fire, a libido hardwired with explosives, a volunteer army, 10,000 strong, of glittery comrades in high heels and low hemlines and a take-no-prisoners repertoire of oh-no-he-didn't kiss offs that view romance like MacArthur did Japan: something to be conquered, a combatant to be bested.

Seriously, if love is blind, it's only because Beyoncé scratched its eyes out and sent it screaming to the emergency room for stitches.

At the MGM Grand on Saturday, this lusty commander in chief of you-go-girl bravura wielded a bayonet of feminine assertiveness.

It was girls' night out all the way, with throngs of dressed-to-the-nines twentysomethings grading one another's hairdos (and hair-don'ts) while moms clutched their preteen daughters by the hand as they took in their first concert.

When she spoke to the crowd, Beyoncé exclusively addressed the ladies, and her mammoth, 13-piece backing band consisted solely of females.

The only dudes on stage were the topless dancers who writhed at Beyoncé's feet, crawled on their knees and treated the gals in the house to a strip tease at one point.

Needy men and two-timers were fitted with concrete boots and plunged into a sea of estrogen in songs that were largely defined by a matriarchal self-assuredness.

"Ain't no need to cry," Beyoncé sang on dusky break-up ballad "Me, Myself and I." "I took a vow from now on that I'm gonna be my best friend."

Still, Beyoncé did shed a few tears on this night, dabbing at her damp cheeks during the self-effacing slow burn of "Flaws and All," a song where she dramatically catalogs her shortcomings.

It's on this glittery axis of steely strength and purring vulnerability that Beyoncé's career ultimately pivots.

Her catalog is a mix of defiance and devotion: If she's not telling her man that he'd better come up with some cash for the phone bill, she's pulling off his shoes and running him a warm bath.

"Baby what you want me to buy? My accountant's on the phone," she cooed during the martial, treat-your-man-right funk of "Suga Mama," flinging herself around a stripper's pole as she sang.

Beyoncé strives to be the complete woman, and her performance spoke to as much.

Whereas many of her pop peers lip synch through their shows nowadays, Beyoncé wielded her voice like a broadsword, singing from her knees on "Baby Boy," scatting heatedly with the horn section on "Naughty Girl," her voice bouncing up and down, up and down, like a kid on a trampoline.

And she did it all while headbanging like a Metallica groupie, busting out some air guitar licks, dancing violently in stiletto heels, straddling a loveseat fashioned after a pair of hot pink lips and racing through half-a-dozen costume changes (our favorite was when she dressed up like a giant bee, complete with plastic yellow helmet and fake wings).

It was all about as elaborate as pop shows get, musically and aesthetically, almost self-consciously so at times: nearly every single member of her band took a solo turn at one point, and after dueling drum battles, guitar acrobatics, a trumpet interlude and more, a keyboardist jamming on "Flight of the Bumblebee" felt like a bit much.

But then again, what would a queen be without her court? And Beyoncé's entourage extends far beyond the stage.

Perhaps it was only fitting then, that the climax of the evening came with her recent hit "Irreplaceable," a song of feminine comeuppance where no-good men get sent packing, which the crowd belted out in deafening fashion while Beyoncé beamed from the stage.

"A little sweat never hurt nobody," Beyoncé had sung a bit earlier.

Yeah, tell that to the fellas.