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The critic should be an unobtrusive participant in the concert experience s/he covers. Taking  notes on song selections and performance elements meant for their use exclusively, critics reflect back to readers of their work the lowdown on whether what they just witnessed was worth the money others in the audience paid to see and whether anyone considering attending a performance by the same act (or whatever) would be worth a fraction of their disposable income, too. 

Go figure that MuteMath, specifically lead singer Paul Meany, would upend the conventions of the aforementioned dynamic by not only grabbing from me the notebook I was holding flat on the lip of the stage at Madison's Barrymore Theatre and pretend (or so it sounded) to sing some of my notes-and lead the audience in a singalong to them-but tap my balding noggin like a pair of bongos before he briefly absconded with my scribblings. 

After all, throughout their tumultuous career thus far, MuteMath have defied expectations at a steady clip: getting litigious with the Christian market record company to which they were first signed though their songs bespeak their faith more articulately than a good deal of what's on cCm radio, cultivating a fever pitch media buzz with MTV video rotation and late night TV talk show appearances without creating much national chart action in the general market where the band insists they belong (hence the litigation). 

Oh, and let's not forget how they tear up the joint with their alt-to-prog-straddling rocking, too. With Meany's sprightly bouncing around with his keytar, standing on and jumping from his sitting keyboard and trading instruments with his bandmates in mid-song, MuteMath cast headliners The Fray seem lethargic by comparison earlier this year in Kenosha. As headliners, Meany and his Math'sters need not fear upstaging anyone. 

And though Meany proclaimed at least one of MM's songs to be a boy-girl love song, numbers such as the opening "Typical," "Staring At The Sun," "Chaos," "Control" and "Clockwork" give hints of their relationship to the Almighty for those who have ears to hear. Even so, and even though Mute Math gives a welcome break from the surfeit of pop-punk and duller rock prevalent in cCm circles, perhaps the band gives credence to its litigiousness against its former Christian market label by working its Police-meets-Radiohead-meets-the kitchen sink wonders apart from the evangelighetto. Let Newsboys have their rotating drum kit, and let Meany trade instruments with his bandmates when he's not standing atop his own. It's a more experimental approach for audiences seeking poetry and abandon over devotion and novelty. 

Were Eisley playing at the same level as the guys who brought them along to tour, the crowd would have been even closer to exhaustion by evening's end. It was therefore good that the Dupree kin comprising the band weren't nearly so intense as the headliners that followed. Which isn't to say that their wide-eyed, jangly modern folk rock didn't have its hills ands valleys of darkness and light. On the contrary, their Sixpence None The Richer by way of Kate Bush and The Sugarcubes innocence and opaque narrative intrigued in its relative quaintness. And the lead sisters playing guitars and keyboard are so cute in their pale whiteness (the Eisley doll collection is an idea waiting to happen) that it's almost easy to forget that they're pretty killer, if low key, musicians. 

The guys comprising the rhythm section, however, made for a peculiar contrast. drummer Weston looked to be about a foot too tall for his set, and to see him hit his skins and cymbals next to bassist Garron, possibly the most deceptively lethargic dude to play his instrument onstage since The Who's John Entwistle, was a study in opposites. 

But, like MM, Eisley frame their Christian reflections poetically enough to intrigue non-believers and hearten their fellow saints in a fun, artsy way that may yet give them a crossover Rick Dees/Ryan Seacrest pop hit or more. 

And , if I could count rightly from the notes that Meany mucked up a mite with his sweat, Eisley performed one more song than the act for whom they were opening. They didn't play as long as Mute Math, but it was awfully sweet of headliners to let them do that. 

Jamie Lee Rake