The Independent
EELS
4 stars
SHINING A LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS
Mark Everett, aka E, and Eels' only constant, prefaces tonight with a short
film, by way of explanation as to where he's at. It inter-cuts blasts of his
thrilling pop music with footage of him seething and snapping at the
dignity-stripping media machine he's had to mince himself through to promote it.
His
refusal to do so much since his big 1996 hit "Novocaine For The Soul" explains
why
he's sunk back into cult status, albeit a cult still big enough to fill
Albert Hall.
E's sister committed suicide and his mother died of cancer around the same
time, compounding the depression that already ran deep in the musician. He has
had more losses since, and current double album Blinking Lights and Other
Revelations is only the latest in a torrent of heartfelt, death-haunted music.
The
comfort of making it has literally saved his life.
Stubbornness is another element in E's survival, against which he has smashed
all the rules of pop success, until he can now play what and how he wants. He
comes on like an alt.rock Sinatra, in a homburg and black suit, with a cigar
that glows like brimstone in the dark. A glamorous string quartet and old,
weird instruments -- zithers, mandolins and theremins -- dominate his current
band; E taking his seat at a saloon pianola, with a dustbin serving as a drum.
"Son of a Bitch" soon introduces his theme of domestic darkness. "It's a
Motherfucker", pretty like an Old Hollywood score tonight, begins the visits to
the
cancer ward -- the past which, as he sings on a soft song later, "doesn't let
me run too fast." The resilience of the council to a would-be suicide in "If
You See Natalie" similarly explores an emotional zone most listeners have
knowledge of, but most pop ignores. E's death-battered life means he can't.
"Railroad Man" is equally heartfelt, about the obsolescence of honest
endeavour. As E stands in his old suit, strumming an acoustic guitar to pin-drop
silence, he seems to hold back the future personally. Dylan's "Girl from the
North
Country" gives a nod to this venue's most famous pop player. And, like Dylan,
E then proceeds to test his audience's patience to snapping point. A twitchy,
theremin-haunted "Flyswatter" is dragged into free jazz, stygian discordance,
which resolves into a raw, barked "Novocaine for the Soul". There goes the
big hit.
The first encore gives some needed relief. A rattling "Hey Man (Now You're
Really Living)", about pain as the price of life, is a glimpse of the
depth-charged pop career he could have had. But it's the third encore that shows
E's sly
convention-splintering at its best. The lights are up and I'm on my way home
before I hear "Mr. E's Beautiful Blues", and return to find the band playing
it in their pyjamas, to a half-empty hall of grinning fans. One of pop's
Greatest malcontents couldn't resist the last laugh.
The Daily Telegraph
EELS
SHIMMERING SONGS IN A HOMBURG
The last time I saw Mark Everett, he was on stage with his band, Eels, who
were hammering away at their instruments while he grappled with a very
heavy-looking keyboard, rocking it so hard that it was at risk of toppling over.
That was some years ago; now he's touring the world with the latest
incarnation of his band in a show which is subtitled "with strings" -- a rather
gentler
affair than his fans may be accustomed to. This was the first of two UK
shows, before an appreciative, packed Albert Hall. And very lovely it was, too.
As if to accentuate the restrained, refined nature of the evening, the
bearded Everett sauntered on stage dressed like a German novelist from the early
years of the 20th century: a brown buttoned-up suit, black shoes, a homburg hat,
big round glasses. He carried a silver-topped cane and smoked a cigar.
Behind him: a double-bassist with a Mohican haircut, wearing a suit; an
equally besuited multi-instrumentalist, whose initial task was to drum on what
looked like an upturned dustbin with a flat cushion on top (later he would tap
out
a rhythm on the metal clasp of a suitcase, as well as playing a saw, a
guitar, a pedal steel guitar and a mandolin); and four very glamorous female
string
players. There was also a piano (which was played at various points by all
three of the men in the band) and a battered-looking celesta.
The sound they made was warm, rich and textured. By contrast, Everett's voice
was thick and scratchy, even more so on stage than on record, but his
enunciation was good, so that lines such as "Daddy was a drunk -- a most
unpleasant
man" (from Son of a Bitch) came over loud and clear.
Although there were periodic forays into the back catalogue for songs such as
Bus Stop Boxer and I Like Birds, both beautifully rearranged for the
ensemble, a good deal of Everett's material came from this year's harrowing
autobiographical album, Blinking Lights and Other Revelations.
At times it was bleak stuff (especially I'm Going to Stop Pretending that I
Didn't Break Your Heart), but towards the end of the show Everett brought us
out into the daylight with the strong, purposeful Hey Man (Now You're Really
Living) and Things the Grandchildren Should Know, on which he sang with almost
excruciating honesty about moving from darkness into acceptance, over music that
simply shimmered. What a strange, interesting man. And what a rich, rewarding
show.
EELS AT ROYAL ALBERT HALL
October 14, 2005
by Nick Hasted
Royal Albert Hall
London
Eels' Mark Everett is one of pop's greatest malcontents
October 14, 2005
by David Cheal
Royal Albert Hall