Creating a unique hip-hop concert

The metaphor is clear: West finds himself in a creative vacuum, and that’s where he’s destined to remain, sharing the barren wasteland with the only person qualified to plumb the mysteries of the universe: himself.

Band conveniently closeted out of sight under the mammoth set, West strings his songs together in a loose narrative. The material is only occasionally relevant to the story line, and by careful design: Jane, the spaceship’s computerized voice, animates as a glittering virtual vixen during ‘‘Gold Digger.’’ ‘‘Jesus Walks’’ follows a bargaining session with the Almighty, during which our hero vows to ‘‘stop spazzing out at awards shows’’ if he arrives safely home. And just when West is about to give up hope, a disembodied angel (a.k.a. one of the backup singers) belts a restorative cover of Journey’s ‘‘Don’t Stop Believin’.’’

West raps with depth and power for over an hour without break, and he’s a potent enough performer (especially when armed with an artful battery of visual accoutrements) to carry a solo show. But there were stretches when the collective energy of human interaction — a fundamental element of live musical performance and, more critically, life itself — was missed. The only moment of real humanity arrived when West stood stock-still center stage to sing ‘‘Hey Mama,’’ the song he wrote for his recently deceased mother. Yet during those few minutes, West seemed more isolated than ever. And maybe that’s his point. It’s lonely at the top. Fortunately, West has invited a few friends along for the ride.