Truth be told I had no idea what to expect from Flight of the Conchords in a live setting. I also never once doubted that it - whatever "it" would ultimately be - would fail on any level. Surely the two gentlemen from New Zealand have proven themselves enough that HBO would give them a show. I just didn't have a clue how the gratifying tangles of mishaps making it as a foreign band in America would translate to the stage. As it turns out, their world of musical lampooning needs little help from the gritty sets of the TV show. Flight of the Conchords' live show was simply two men - Jemaine Clement and Bret McKenzie, their instruments - mostly guitars, and stools to sit on. A table between the two held patch cables, mixers, tiny keyboards, some of the novelty kind, and other assorted gadgetry.

I'm chuckling at calling it a show, and not for any derogatory reason, but mostly because the word 'show' conjures a production, or an exhibition. My mac's trusty built-in dictionary officially supplements that definition of show with the following: "a spectacle or display of something, typically an impressive one."

Yep, still laughing. Any way you slice it, FOTC's show was neither a spectacle or a display. Though it was indeed an atypical and impressive performance as anything else you'll see this year, be it comedic or other. Two guys and their instruments calmly playing folksy songs satirizing just about every musical genre that exists. The consistent frenzied joy of the sold out opera house ate it up, this writer included. Keeping to the expectations of the TV show's characters' celebrated unflappability, neither member of FOTC ever once appeared to be trying very hard either.

Effortless banter took about equal time as the songs during the performance, alternating the show between conversation and songs at a steady clip. Chitchat often extending into long, hilarious musings on wherever the ramblings lead to. Intelligently dumb, or clever as the pundits say, but always quick-witted in flow. Clement and McKenzie's gifts of improvisational comedy were apparent as they kept a steady pace and refused to slow down regardless of however thin the random associations they bounced off each other got. So good they would literally lose themselves in the spun tales they wove.

One of the more notable examples was an extended bit that began with a poke at naive rock and roll activism. Unadorned in clarification to any specific cause until Bret volunteered, "Basically anything Bono's into."

The circumlocutory, though always coherent, stream that followed never got too specific on exactly which of Bono's many causes was most important to the group until they drifted into dangerously trite territory - "save the whales!" True to form, they nailed the punch-line by extending it for what seemed like forever. The mere fact we all continued laughing at all the ridiculousness seemed to only encourage more cackles from the audience. Like a collective astonishment towards a joke that wouldn't end. "When you save the whale, what do you do with it?" asked Bret.

"Put it back" answered Jemaine in his unmistakably deep, brassy deadpan. "They can't call 911," he continued, "and if they did...[whale noises]."

Imagine wailing, err.. whale sounds for a good minute. Like a free-form vocal jam. The interpretation of a panicked whale calling emergency services continued until FOTC acknowledged the audience still in the room. Bret admitted to falling victim to the amazing acoustics of Ellie Caulkins. "Sorry about that, it sounds really realistic in here."

Fitting metaphor for how Flight of the Conchords, in all their fakery, espoused more genuineness than all the Hip Hop posturing, empty meaning Diva "love you's", and wonky caring of an entire world of Chris Martins armed with imposed sensitivity could ever accomplish.

[Classing it up at the opera house]