CALGARY -- Stocking up on No-Doz in preparation for last night's Coldplay concert seemed a safe bet. Not that the popular U.K. quartet are sensationally dull, just that you have to be in a certain frame of mind to fully appreciate the band's intricate, at times almost achingly pretentious, drama pop. And in the Saddledome, with approximately 8,000 other people, that sense of immediacy and warmth -- that Coldplay's music benefits from and requires on disc -- goes entirely out the window. When that's gone, can mass narcolepsy be far behind? Actually, far, far, far behind. Coldplay's show was nothing short of exceptional and rather eye-opening. Live, they transcend the limitations of their sound and songs as they appear on their two discs, 2000's Parachutes and their latest, sophomore effort, A Rush of Blood to the Head. They're a much better live band than they are a recording act. The reason is because they make up for what they inherently lose by stepping on stage, with elements that enhance and ultimately make more entertaining what they're trying to accomplish. The drama of the music is given a visual outlet -- thanks to a warm, ethereal and oddly aquatic light show and a well-utilized band of video screens -- coupled by a stage presence that's a good somewhere between subdued and ferocious. In fact, for the first time, it was easy to see Coldplay as a rock band and songs, such as the opener Politik and the title track from their latest album, as rock songs. Even a track such as The Scientist was more a beautiful rock ballad and less a windy piece of musical theatrics. As a band, they don't come across anywhere near as arrogant or as self-absorbed as your worst expectations might have you believe. Much of that can be credited to frontman and vocalist Chris Martin, who, alternating between a piano centre-stage and a guitar and mic pushed further forward, comes across as a mix of a Viagra-ed and more likeable Sting and a less-smug and sarcastic Ben Folds. Of course, there are still a couple of sticking points remaining with the originality of the Coldplay sound, which seems ripped off almost entirely from the back catalogues of The Church, Echo and the Bunnymen, and Radiohead. But after last night, those complaints seem less pertinent, less necessary. Kind of like that pack of No- Doz sitting unopened in the front seat of my car. The first of the evening's two opening acts, Texas quintet Eisley, suffered and pretty much died as a result of a lack of musical maturity, stage presence and horrendously muddy sound. The latter point was particularly frustrating because you got a sense that buried somewhere deep inside the sonic muck were some rather pretty Throwing Muses-inspired songs. No such problems plagued the second act of the night, British quartet The Music. Then again, you got the sense they could have been playing into two tin cups and a string and they would have been just as powerful, just as superb. Led by enigmatic frontman Robert Harvey -- a cocky, hippie Mick Jagger in baggy trousers -- and one man wall of sound guitarist Adam Nutter, The Music more than impressed with their incredibly psychedelic monsters of rock-meets-Madchester sound. Playing tracks from their eponymous debut with intensity and energy, the four-piece were huge -- a huge hit and hugely entertaining. (More on Coldplay)