WINNIPEG - The Black Crowes don't play games.

At least, they don't play the rock-show cliche game. You know, the one where you regurgitate all your hits in the same order night after night, toss in your new single and pander to the crowd in between.

This much was made loud and clear when singer Chris Robinson and his guitar-slinger brother Rich brought the latest lineup of their reconstituted Black Crowes to Burton Cummings Theatre on Tuesday night.

Taking the stage promptly on schedule at 8:45 p.m. -- hey, even dope-smokin' hippies can be punctual -- the Crowes showed from the get-go that they came to play on their own terms.

Clad in their street clothes (complete with marijuana-leaf patch on Chris's faded jeans) and sporting more hair than My Morning Jacket and Kings of Leon combined, the sextet, augmented by two soulful female vocalists, delivered a superbly paced two-hour set that drew upon every stylistic arrow in their quiver -- groovy rock, juke joint blues, twangy country and much more -- peppered with rewards for those on both sides of the proscenium.

As the scent of incense (and another heady fragrance) wafted, they opened with Movin' on Down the Line and Goodbye Daughters of the Revolution -- two highlights from their impressive new comeback album Warpaint -- before reaching into their rich catalogue to pluck gems like 1990's Sister Luck and 1996's Bring On, Bring On.

If you came to be entertained by antics and banter, you were SOL. When not singing, Robinson's moves consisted of dancing in place, clapping and waggling his hair. Between songs, he said little besides the usual thank-yous. The only concession to modern showmanship: An eye-popping light show, anchored by 12 expertly programmed Varilights that could have powered a small festival.

It could easily have become self-indulgent -- but instead of settling into a groove, the band switched gears. Chris donned an acoustic guitar for a mellow mini-set of Whoa Mule -- with drummer Steve Gorman coming out front to smack a djembe -- a cover of the Clapton/Delaney & Bonnie nugget Poor Elijah and the night's showstopping centrepiece: An achingly slow version of Do Right Woman, Do Right Man, lovingly borrowed from Gram Parsons and his Flying Burrito Brothers.

Fittingly, the band took off and gained altitude soon after. The new number Wee Who See the Deep morphed into a fractured, psychedelic jam that wouldn't have been out of place at a Pink Floyd gig (and gave a much-deserved spotlight to the band's MVP, the insanely talented guitarist Luther Dickinson of North Mississippi All-Stars).

Eventually, things coalesced into Thorn in My Pride -- which gave way to a good old-fashioned drum solo (that the band hung out onstage to watch).

After closing with the triple-header of fan fave Twice as Hard, the Janis Joplinesque Seeing Things and the soaring Wounded Bird, they served up a nifty, name-those-tunes encore -- Rich sang lead on Buffalo Springfield's Hung Upside Down and the band boogied into the sunset to Moby Grape's Hey Grandma.

That was that. No snappy banter, no audience participation, no Jealous Again or Hard to Handle, and no games.

And -- from us, anyway -- no complaints.