CALGARY -- There's an unspoken contract. Every time someone purchases a ticket to a Barenaked Ladies' concert and willingly agrees to sit in the audience -- music critics excluded -- there's a non-verbal, but legally binding agreement between crowd and T.O. quintet that you're there to have fun. Early on at last night's Saddledome show, it looked as though one of those parties would be in breach of contract. And it wasn't the boys on stage. No, it was the 11,000 or so sitting on their hands, staring straight ahead and threatening to be the lamest audience in BNL history. Even an old favourite like Enid wasn't met with a great deal of gusto. Maybe it was 'The Clinch' hangover enveloping this city, or maybe it was the terrible sound, or maybe it was even the opening acts -- more on that later -- but it looked as though the Ladies were on their own. And for a band that thrives on energy it was almost a killer. Luckily, they're smart enough and seasoned enough entertainers they seemed to recognize it right away. In response, they goosed the crowd with a few of their tried and true pleasers -- a goofy version of Jump, brought about by a reference to the Ed Whalen (Van Halen -- get it?) sign hanging in the 'Dome, as well as some good ol' Canadian Caucasian rap from frontmen Ed Robertson and Steven Page. It was amusing, and served its purpose of bringing the crowd back in, for a couple of songs anyway. Sadly, two or three tracks later -- especially if those songs were slow, or from the band's latest release Everything to Everyone, such as Celebrity and even the super fun Another Postcard -- they had to resort to the same type of thing again. A dance medley featuring BNL takes on Dancing With Myself and Let's Dance, or bringing an audience member on stage to play drums, are normally things they automatically do. Last night, those were things they had to do. But again it's a testament to how seasoned and devoted they are that they did the lead and jerk so well, letting the crowd settle, then reeling them in for a pretty acoustic segment -- including an O Brother-esque One Week -- with a version of the Roadrunner theme song. It was a night where the Ladies earned every penny, every clap and every cheer that was coming to them, and if they'd received any less the audience would be facing a nasty class-action suit. As exceptional as both artists are, Jason Plumb and Ron Sexsmith were incredibly inappropriate choices for last night's opening act. Plumb, who was the first one to walk the plank, strummed his heart out solo while drowning in a sea of apathy from the half-full and vocally indifferent 'Dome crowd. It is unfortunate because he writes and sings roots music as honest and open as his Saskatchewan homeland. The only time anyone gave a damn -- and even then just barely -- was when he was joined on stage by Ladies' Jim Creeggan and Robertson. Oh were Sexsmith so lucky. He brought out only one Lady, Kevin Hearn, and even then he killed any good will he may have created by jokingly referring to Hearn's Flames jersey as a Blackhawks shirt. Sexsmith, who is easily the finest, most consistently brilliant songwriter this country has produced in the past 20 years -- someone whom history will judge as being on par with Gordon Lightfoot and Ian Tyson -- may have played to a fuller room, but in just as big a void. His set of lush NyQuil folk-pop fell mostly on deaf ears. But those who heard it, those who took the time to listen, walked away having been treated as always to something very very special.