I am fond of much of Hong Kong. The energy and the architecture, the food and the people, the sense that anything is possible and that hard work will be rewarded. It has so much going for it.

But, so far … I have to say, and maybe I’m wrong and just need more information … but so far, I’m thinking this place is something of a cultural, oh, what’s a good word for it …

Wasteland?

That’s my sense, so far. But I’ve been here only six weeks. So I’m not going to commit to that. Not yet.

But let me tell you about tonight. Me, and about 6,000 Hongkongers and “the Karpenters,” a tribute/knockoff band.

OK, I admit it right off: The fact that I love the Carpenters, now as much as back then, maybe says more about me and my own cultural preferences than I should be revealing. I’ve got their greatest hits on my iPod, and there was a stretch, a year or so again, when I was listening to it about, oh, once a day. (“Rainy days and Mondays always get me down …”)

So when we saw the ad in “Where,” a magazine about events in Hong Kong, that this Carpenters tribute band would be playing at the Convention Center in Wan Chai on Saturday, “one night only” and Saturday is the only day off we have in common …

We moved — again — (more about that later) during the middle of the day, and after unpacking we decided, what the heck, let’s check this out. The venue and the event.

We got to the Convention Center, a spectacular amalgam of buildings that jut out from the Wan Chai neighborhood into the strait … and witnessed what had to be the most curious cultural event I’ve ever been around.

First, the venue. It was a big empty room.

Think of an airplane hangar. Or, if you’ve been to the San Manuel casino, imagine that second-floor room they have in the new building … the one that is nothing more than a big space. Where they bring in semi-legit comedians and such even though the room has zero ambiance.

That’s this place. Hong Kong’s convention center. Folding chairs on the floor, a big stand of bleachers against a wall. And that’s where they were going to have a concert. Presumably because there IS no other place to have a concert on Hong Kong Island. Not for a crowd of 6,000.

Now, remember, HK Island has about 1.3 million people on it. Yet it doesn’t have a concert venue that compares well with that of nearly any American town of, say, 100,000 people. That’s odd. A city of 1.3 million, a prosperous and multi-cultural one, ought to have a big, fixed venue. Unless it simply is not a priority.

Then came the event. It was weird and more than a little creepy all by itself. This woman, a Briton named Laurie Briggs, tries her best to look and, especially, sing like Karen Carpenter, who died in 1982 at the age of 31 after suffering from anorexia. And she does a startling good job of channeling Karen, right down to the haircut and the period-perfect wardrobe.

Anyway, she’s out there singing “We’ve Only Just Begun” and the whole canon of Carpenters goldies, and the piano player looks more than a little like Richard Carpenter, and they’re not interpreting stuff, they’re trying their best to duplicate that stuff from the 1970s, right down to the Downey/SoCal twang that Karen had (“may” instead of “me”). And they’re pretty good, though this Laurie woman’s voice isn’t quite as deep and smooth and soothing as Karen’s was.

Then there is the crowd. Near-capacity, as I mentioned. People who paid anywhere from 380 Hong Kong dollars (about $50 US) to 780 HK (or $100 U.S.), and that’s fairly serious money, here. And the crowd is … just … sitting … there.

My first thought, when I saw the people filling up the room was, “Hmm, didn’t know Karen Carpenter translated so well to Hong Kong, and even after all these years!” … and then the Karpenters did their first number and the second … and the crowd was inert.

Dead. Seemingly disinterested.

No booing, no jeering, no whistling, and almost zero getting-up-and-leaving. But no energy. Almost no applause. A studied indifference to any suggestions that they clap or sing along. Just a big “nothing.”

Yes, language might have been a problem. Most Hongkongers speak some English, but picking up lyrics in another language is tricky, and maybe they had no idea what she was singing about. The heartbreak and the loss and all.

But I expected some reaction. Disdain. Obvious boredom. Or conversely, cheering, clapping.

Instead, about 5,500 of the 6,000 people just sat and watched. And did nothing.

After about a half-hour of seeing this, of watching them watch this five-person contingent banging away pretty well … it struck me that the crowd was behaving something like people eating broccoli. They were taking no pleasure in what they were doing, but they were going to do it, by God, because they read somewhere, or were told, that they ought to and that it would be good for them.

Let’s suggest, for the moment, that Hong Kong is starved for anything resembling live entertainment. Symphonies, concerts of any sort, opera, light opera, ballet … they just don’t seem to do any of that much. Maybe because people in HK are working 70 hours a week, or because they can’t afford it, or because they have no suitable venues?

Anyway, perhaps they have a sense that they don’t have the same relationship with the arts that, New York or London or Moscow does. And they have a sense that they ought to. And they’re going to try. Almost as a civic responsibility.

Whatever the reason, the sort of “I’ll stick this out” vibe I got from the crowd was overpowering. They weren’t having fun, but they weren’t going to leave, either. They could endure the better part of three hours because it was good for them.

I wonder if it was like this for the late Luciano Pavarotti, who apparently sang at the same venue a few years back. I can just imagine him hitting the high C in Nessun Dorma … and thousands of people just looking at him, and Luca wondering if he had suddenly gone deaf. Or Placido Domingo or Art Garfunkel, who also played this room. Did the crowd just sit and watch them, too? Not quite sure what to do about it?

Anyway, the Karpenters (yeah, not real, like “Krab”) did their thing in the face of extraordinary indifference, and had to have gone backstage and said, “What was up with that?”

And then we all slowly filed out, back out through the big and impressive building, wending our way down flight after flight of escalators, and into the surprisingly cool and pleasant night.

We all had improved ourselves by watching live music. Or that’s what I suspect most of them were thinking, because if they enjoyed the Karpenters (and, I know, many of you would say they wouldn’t and shouldn’t have enjoyed the Carpenters, let alone the Karpenters) … there was no way of telling. They didn’t seem to be talking about what they had seen, no one was humming or whistling. They were just on to their next task, it seemed to me.

Maybe they hated the whole thing and were too polite to be critical.

But if that were the case, how and why did so many people pay a fairly high tariff to see something they didn’t like? And why did promoters bring in this group if “tribute bands to 1970s American music” is something the HK masses don’t like and don’t understand? Aren’t promoters supposed to know their audience?

My guess? Most of the crowd didn’t know what they were looking at or listening to, but there was something about being there, or saying they had been there, that conferred some sense of benefit. And that’s why they were there. Not for fun. For betterment.

Anyway, it was all very strange. I’m going to think about this some more, and be on the watch for cultural offerings here, be they American, English or Chinese. Maybe we have discovered the hole in the heart of Hong Kong. Maybe someone should warn Billy Joel, who is doing a concert Wednesday at the region’s big venue, the Asia-World-Arena, on Lantau Island. “Hey, Bill, be prepared for a night of no reaction.”

Meantime, if you liked the Carpenters, you may want to see the Karpenters. But you may not want to do it in Hong Kong, unless you like to hear the sound of one hand clapping.