Recap Flight Of The Conchords and Eugene Mirman at Overture Hall

Bret McKenzie and Jemaine Clement of Flight Of The Conchords do themselves a favor by touring in a relatively stripped-down format. Nobody joined them on Overture Hall's stage during a sold-out show on Sunday night, except for the "New Zealand Symphony Orchestra," who turned out to be a single cellist named Nigel. On the duo's HBO show, it's not always clear how much the Conchords can do with just their voices and a couple of acoustic guitars.

If you've ever put on a Weird Al song just to appreciate the actual music, well, it was a little like that, but without the cheesy aftertaste. Under Bret and Jemaine's dryly oblivious personas are a couple of hooky songwriters and flexible musicians. They affectionately aped haunting cowboy-campfire yarns on "The Ballad Of Stana" (the outlaw who'll molest you, molest your pets, then molest you with your pets) complete with deep, spooky harmonies. The duo channeled Joni Mitchell's high, breathy vocals with a side of soul on "The Most Beautiful Girl (In The Room)." And if Bret hadn't asked the ladies in the crowd to sing the part of Jemaine's "choir of ex-girlfriends" on "Carol Brown," it would have been just a solid sad pop song with a short chorus that's good for hanging your head to.

Between songs, the duo's banter got people yelling at them from the balconies and boxes, easing any fears that Overture would be too big and stuffy a venue for this act. (Judging by this and the recent Bill Cosby show, perhaps this place can attract a rowdy crowd.) After taking the stage dressed as robots (like Daft Punk, but with robot heads made of cardboard boxes and plastic cups) to open with the giddy electro-groove "Too Many Dicks On The Dancefloor," the two stripped off their silver bodysuits on a darkened stage. When the lights came back up, they were wearing their usual street clothes, and explained that it would be a night of singing and talking. "Don't be concerned, it's just talking," Bret said. "It's somewhat similar to the talking you do at home, just more professional," Jemaine added, telling someone who shouted from the crowd, "I would suggest you don't even try it—not with that diction." The two managed to crack themselves up while discussing the matter of backstage blowjobs, and they actually strutted across the front of the stage on "Sugalumps," a song about ladies staring at their balls—"the ladies hustle to ruffle my truffles," as Bret so elegantly puts it in a toasted verse. Some elements in the crowd brought a raunchy side to the show, like the person who called out, "Take your cardigan off, Jemaine!" Jemaine did after commenting, "That's at once very rock 'n' roll and very nerdy."

Both guys worked other instruments into the set, keeping it simple but adding some nice twists, including a bit of toy piano on "Hurt Feelings" and Jemaine's Omnichord on "Carol Brown," which he took into a guitar hero's knee slide at the end of the song. "You should light that thing on fire one night—do a Hendrix," Bret suggested to him. Cellist Nigel showed off a little versatility too, plucking a respectably funky bass line under Jemaine's sultry come-ons for the awkward sex anthem "Business Time." Jemaine clumsily rocked out on a little drum kit during "Demon Woman," then tossed three or four pairs of drumsticks over his shoulder. (Meanwhile, Bret riffed on an adorable mini flying-V guitar, the only electric axe to come out during the set.) That said, the best example of how informal and easygoing the show felt would have to be when someone called for "FREE BIRD!" and the two struck up an impromptu version of the world's most ironically requested song, rapping redundantly around the song's main idea ("You can't change me, bitch!").

Opener Eugene Mirman's stand-up bits helped set that mood; he always gives the impression that he could easily be talking to a handful of smirking twentysomethings in a bar instead of performing on an actual stage. Not only does Eugene have a small role on the Conchords' show, but they're on a similar comedic wavelength, finding surprisingly clever takes on lowbrow goofery. His thoughts on a Linens 'N Things closing down: "Shoulda been more specific! You have a place that sells 'things,' you arrogant fucks." He pulled out some stuff he's been doing for years, too: "People say kids say the darnedest things… but so would you if you had no education! You'd just be like, 'I am bike cheese!' because you wouldn't know what words were." (Also, it should be noted that both Mirman and the Conchords gave a shout out to the folks up in the balconies and boxes. When they cheered collectively, they sounded like a flock of scary birds about to descend on those of us seated below.)

It wouldn't be a Eugene Mirman set without some of his adventures in Internet and customer-service weirdness, so he shared printouts of a web ad that asks people what they think about gay marriage, but clicks through to "Get two BlackBerry Storms!" Ever willing to take a stupid conflict entirely too far for the sake of comedy, he detailed how Delta Airlines lost his luggage. The company sent him a check instead of finding his things, so he used the money to print out thousands of postcards pre-addressed to Delta (pictured above), which he handed out to the audience for free. On the back is a form letter filled with such invective as "Your airline is worse than dressing up like Hitler as a joke and not understanding why that's offensive." As far as pure stand-up goes, Mirman's best bit had to be one on why God is like a 12-year-old kid with Asperger syndrome: Given all the weird particularities ("Jews have to wear hats, but only on the middle of their heads"), it stands to reason that "Religion is not a leap of faith. It's high-functioning autism." Like the Conchords said: talking, but a bit more professional.