There's absolutely no denying that Alison Krauss has a heavenly voice, or that her band, Union Station, is made up of very proficient musicians.

But it ain't about what you got, it's about how you use it. And on that note, Alison Krauss and Union Station's set at Bryce Jordan Center last night was just about the most boring concert I've seen in many years.

Taking the stage to a smattering of strikingly low-key applause, Alison started her set with the subdued "Restless" and didn't cease the drowsy vibe for an instant throughout the two-hour show. Krauss' gorgeous set of pipes and her band's crack string-plucking couldn't cover up the fact that the songs of Union Station are dreadfully dull. It's all pleasant, forgettable music ideal for a dentist's waiting room: ironic, considering the fact that it left me and what appeared to be a majority of the crowd seemingly anesthetized.

All night long, Union Station provided simply utilitarian musical backup; for every opportunity they had to let loose, they took none. The band rarely strayed from the low tempo, the lone exception being a fairly smokin' instrumental that lasted all of 90 seconds before the band started up with its bland-grass. There just wasn't a note out of place all night, and if you've ever seen a really good bluegrass show, you know that the fun part comes when things get sloppy. And Krauss' voice is so perfect, it's actually kind of irritating after a while, particularly when her saccharine warble rolls in and out of every song in much the same way.

And, good Lord, the stage banter. Alison Krauss has the same sense of humor as a slightly tipsy kindergarten teacher; cute, but ultimately pretty grating, and though her funny voices and endless stories got her a few chuckles at first, you could feel the crowd growing more and more impatient with each one. At some point, for some reason, she started talking about infamous Star Wars villain Boba Fett for a very, very long time. There was some discussion of how one might go about cleaning a bearskin rug. And she even took time to mention that her bassist shops from the clearance rack. And it wasn't just Alison; when Jerry Douglas stepped up to the mic for his triple-tune alone-time, he rambled on about meeting an old lady in a TJ Maxx parking lot. What does all this have to do with bluegrass? Not a whole heck of a lot. What does it have to do with entertainment? Absolutely nothing.

But what struck me most about last night's show wasn't so much the dreary music as the fact that the ticket-buying public sitting around me seemed just as disassociated from the tunes as I was. Even after a particularly hot solo (a feat which Jerry Douglas came reasonably close to at least a couple times during the night), the audience could barely muster three claps, and even at the end of songs, they seemed pleased to have it over. The crowd went relatively wild for the slightly bluesy set closer "Oh, Atlanta," which proved to be the night's highlight: After all that lite-rock, it was good to hear the Station sounding like a bluegrass band for once. If only they could've kept it up all night.