POP MUSIC REVIEW : Rock-Theater Revival : The Pet Shop Boys’ fans finally get to see the band in the flesh, in its first U.S. concert tour since its ironic records hit the charts.

Since the Pet Shop Boys’ music is made and played on computers, and since the two-man band’s primary stance is one of ironic detachment, there’s no way they could expect to connect in a straightforward, no-frills concert.

Their solution? A slam-bang production in the rock-theater tradition that includes David Bowie’s “Diamond Dogs” extravaganza, Genesis’ concerts back when Peter Gabriel wore animal heads and silly costumes, Pink Floyd’s building “The Wall” and Madonna’s parading her “Blond Ambition.”

Unlike those forerunners, though, the English duo’s endeavor didn’t rely on a rock star’s charisma when it was mounted on Friday at the Universal Amphitheatre.

In fact, except for Neil Tennant’s prominence as lead singer, the show--with its troupe of dancers, trio of singers and predominantly programmed music played offstage by a complex of computers and two live musicians--could pretty much go on the road while the Pet Shop boys themselves relax at home.

But part of the excitement for the full house on Friday (the first of two nights at the Amphitheatre) was in finally seeing in the flesh the reclusive pair of Tennant and Chris Lowe, who are undertaking their first U.S. concert tour some five years after their provocative dance-pop records started making the charts.

Beyond that, Tennant’s singing is pretty essential. The other vocalists--Pamela Sheyne, Derek Green and Sylvia Mason-James--are technically far superior, and it’s easy to underrate Tennant’s work: He sounds almost hesitant and over his head, like an old-time tunesmith demonstrating his latest in a publisher’s office.

Tennant’s deadpan tone can seem inexpressive, but when it’s set in the rich-sounding, sweeping instrumental arrangements, it takes on the ironic stance that defines the Pet Shop Boys’ music. His detachment has a plaintive quality, a kind of Every-lad wistfulness that brings a humanity to the microchip music.

The duo, along with director David Alden and designer David Fielding (known for their experimental productions of traditional operas), might have intended more of a literal story line than successfully emerges in the razzle-dazzle.

But the show does suggest a sort of progression and resolution--a journey beginning with guilt-forging fires in a boarding school dormitory (an erotic nightmare to the Pet Shop Boys’ upbeat “It’s a Sin”) and proceeding to a grim asylum whose wall periodically opens on tableaux of the pilgrims’ progress.

Sound pretentious? That’s the great danger in this kind of undertaking, but the Pet Shop Boys’ production has a spirit of fun about itself.

While the staging entertains the senses and provokes the imagination, it’s mainly carried by the 10 dancers and their costumes, avoiding the kind of attention-getting, jaw-dropping special effects people talk about after “The Phantom of the Opera” or “Les Miserables.”

From the standard, old-fashioned nightclub-set choreography of the bittersweet “West End Girls” to the massive Stalin head and other Soviet iconography of “My October Symphony” to the blue-suited pigs and rock-idol grotesques of “How Can You Expect to Be Taken Seriously,” the staging serves the sense and the tone of the song at hand.

For all the underlying technology, it’s the human elements--Tennant’s voice, the lively, physical dancing, the songs’ longing tone, an unexpectedly sweet good night--that linger.

And for all the knowing edges and satirical thrusts of their tart social commentaries about class, art, consumption and sex, the Pet Shop Boys managed to generate a sympathy--not for themselves as stars, certainly, and not even as stage characters, but for the confusing, sad world whose poets they’ve become.