”The neatest thing about the song,” says Robertson, ”is that it tricks people into thinking someone’s breaking into his old girlfriend’s apartment. But actually, this guy and his girl are revisiting the building from which they’ve recently moved, and it’s painful to them. Things have changed there, and they’re thrown by it, thinking, ’Hey, don’t people understand how important the physical evidence of memories is?’ Because even the addition of a handrail on the steps where you once played as kids can ruin your ability to ever have a game of tag there again. It’s a song about how you identify with places and structures that you had almost created for yourself by living and growing in them.  This is the sort of stuff Steve and I write about, and like our live shows, it’s funny and sad to us at the same time.

  ”As a result,” Page concedes, ”some people in our audiences may resist the roller coaster of our concerts, but when the crowds are willing, they see the larger picture, which is that red, for instance, is not just the color of blood but also of clown’s noses.”

  ”So the best we can do is trust in the audiences’ attention,” adds Robertson, ”and we usually get it, because we’re really trying to establish an understanding between them and us about the ambiguous and sometimes funny aspects of life that seem so real.”

  This intent among the members of Barenaked Ladies – who also include bassist Jim Creeggan, drummer Tyler Stewart, and new keyboardist Kevin Hearn – is another outlook that links them, however whimsically they might acknowledge it, to a long lineage of myth makers and musical mystics, who imagined (as did Tolkien in ”The Silmarillion”) that time had literally been sung into existence. For many, the earliest tonal euphony that the ancient Greeks once attributed to the Fates is still seen as the most perfect way of conveying the senses of past, present, and future – which is purportedly why the sound of music exerts such a profound emotional effect. And when you combine this depth of feeling with rough-hewn wit and well-placed human sympathy, you get the wonderfully satisfying carny ride that is a Barenaked Ladies concert, powerful documentation of which is due Nov. 5, when the 13- track ”Rock Spectacle” (Nettwerk/Reprise) enhanced CD hits stores.

  As with the name of the group, ”Rock Spectacle” is a spoofish observation on everything these musicians are not: The album’s cover art depicts the membership as a cast of midway freaks, who provide an acceptable prelude to the larger pleasures of the Big Top. This approach is partly an acceptance of the meager charisma Barenaked Ladies exhibit each night as they stroll onstage in all their geeky anti-glory. But when the lights go down, and the harmonies get ahold of the rhythm section, the glorious noise becomes the essence of a wholly unforeseen high-wire act, complete with spur-of-the-evening patter that confirms the uniqueness of every performance. ”There’s a lot of improvisation in what we do,” says Robertson, ”and the humor is a big part of that. The songs and tracks we make about local topics and strange occurrences – whether it’s the Olympics during an Atlanta show or a dead body found on the fire escape at the Orpheum theater in Boston on the morning of one of our concerts – we just deal with what each day brings. The aim is not to pander to the locals but to let them see we do know we’re playing in their town.” ”The worst thing about being in the audience is being excluded,” says Page. ”We also want them to see us surprising ourselves with a new on-the-spot arrangement or a high-risk attempt at connection, because that’s the charm, the magic part.”

  Among the baker’s dozen selections on ”Rock Spectacle” are such vintage Barenaked roof-raisers as ”Brian Wilson,” ”What A Good Boy,” ”If I Had $1000000,” ”Jane,” ”These Apples,” and ”Life, In A Nutshell,” as well as such instant indispensable from ”Born On A Pirate Ship” as ”Break Your Heart,’ ”When I Fall,” and ”Shoe Box.” Since we now know the source of the rousing tunes and the fanciful between-song caprice, how do they account for all the sell-out patrons?        “Good question,” Page admits. ”I sometimes think ’Gordon’ must be the most bootlegged album in U.S history, since it sold only 200,000 copies in the country, yet 800,000 kids know the words to every song. We find that our older fans heard us in college, and the younger ones heard a tape while camping in Indonesia or Colorado. People seem to bring our music along on long journeys and make it a captive experience for others around them.”

  Those wondering exactly where the band itself is coming from must picture the complete lack of pretension in Toronto’s exploding alternative scene from 1988 to 1991 – when the Barenaked Ladies EP containing the sportive ”Be My Yoko Ono” became Canada’s first gold indie release. Page, born June 22, 1970, in suburban Scarborough, Ontario, to teacher Victor Page and the former Jo Anne Simmons, found himself involving most of his household in his good fortune: His retired dad founded Page Music Distribution in Toronto to handle the ”Yoko” EP (the firm now distributes Caroline and other labels), and his younger brother Matthew became head of A&R for the family enterprise.