Four years ago, Eels frontman and songwriter E penned a collection of intimate, often gentle, and very revealing songs called Blinking Lights and Other Revelations. It reflected songs of personal experience and the human spirit. But E, aka Mark Oliver Everett, never seems to look at things the same way twice. In many ways, Hombre Lobo: 12 Songs of Desire is the mirror image of that album. And, as Everett himself claims, this one is more about animal instinct. That's fair enough as far as it goes, but this recording, while reflecting a more primal side of human experience as it engages the primacy of desire, actually recalls -- and feels like an extension of -- the song "Dog Faced Boy" from Souljacker. That kid, caught in his loneliness because of his difference, seems to be speaking -- albeit as a grownup -- through many of the songs here. His difference is both his gift and his curse and he understands both sides. He's finding his loneliness to be both the bane of his existence and his strength to survive and succeed in finding love no matter what. His protagonist, through thoroughly human, is still regarded as an animal because of his hirsute appearance, and he deals with that in these 12 songs with tenderness, rage, and reckless abandon. The sound of the album seems divided in two, the brazenly rockist set betraying the side of animal instinct in all its guises, from anger to wanton lust, desperation, and swaggering self-confidence, with E using resolute raw, distorted roots rock ("Prizefighter"); piledriving, careening garage rock ("Liliac Breeze"and "What's a Fella Gotta Do"); howling raucous blues ("Tremendous Dynamite"); and the brilliant boasting pomposity portrayed by distorted pop/rock ("Beginner's Luck"). Then there's the other half, meant to portray the very human face of the ache that desire causes. These nakedly sensitive, embarrassingly frank ballads literally pour tenderness and reveal the other side of "Prizefighter." They begin with the self-explanatory wish revealed in the simple four-chord "That Look You Give That Guy" and continue with the lilting "In My Dreams"; the somber, minor-key waltz called "The Longing"; the midtempo pop disappointment that is "My Timing Is Off" (perhaps the finest song on the record); and the resolute truth and acceptance in "Ordinary Man," where he speaks to the absent object of his desire and gives her the benefit of the doubt that on "Another warm day, in the city of cold hearts.../You, you're not like that.../And you seem like you could appreciate the fact/That I'm no ordinary man." Ultimately there's the thread of hope, because the instinct of desire brings it to us in so many different ways, and E understands this better than most. This is a beautifully crafted, stripped-down recording, showcasing once more that E uses searing honesty and a canny sense of pop, rock, blues, and everything else to chronicle his own strange path through life and its labyrinth -- he combines them all with an endearing craziness that most of us feel every day, but dare not speak of. He may be a loopy poet and songwriter, but here, as is his norm, he's spot-on and a joy to listen to. ~ Thom Jurek, All Music Guide
The score for director Peyton Reed's Jim Carrey-starring comedy Yes Man consists of instrumental music by Lyle Workman and Mark Oliver Everett, aka E of Eels, drawn from tracks by Eels. This soundtrack album features the original vocal tracks by the band, including one new song, "Man Up," which makes it something of an Eels best-of. In addition to the group's lo-fi alt-rock, dominated by E's scratchy tenor, there are also four songs by Munchausen by Proxy, the fictional band in the film led by Zooey Deschanel and Von Iva. These are synth pop with attitude in the style of the B-52's and the Waitresses. The best of them, "Keystar," isn't actually in the film. (Everett obligingly pens liner notes touting Munchausen by Proxy, while "Allison Monier" -- Deschanel's character in the film -- writes about Eels.) ~ William Ruhlmann, All Music Guide
Mark Oliver Everett, or "E," as he is more commonly known in rock & roll circles, did something magical in 2005 with the brilliant and moving double CD Blinking Lights and Other Revelations. According to his website, E was sitting in his L.A. backyard smoking a cigar, not wanting to tour, when he had the idea for an Eels concert with strings and a band that played melodica, celeste, lap steel, pump organs, and whatever else. And, like everything else he does, he went and put that band together: seven pieces with no proper drummer. This concert, recorded at New York's venerable Town Hall, was also filmed (the DVD contains eight more songs than the CD as well as interviews and other goodies). From the start, the gig feels special. E begins with "Blinking Lights (For Me)." His acoustic guitar sweetly introduces the set; the strings enter on the second verse. The sheer deadpan emotion calls the demons out of hiding and, as he looks at the world around him, he asks them to leave. Then Big Al's autoharp commences to start the theme for "Blinking Lights," and Chet plays a haunting celeste as the strings court the melody. But the drama begins on "Bus Stop Boxer," with its ambiguous introduction and assertive lyrics. One would think that, with nothing but a suitcase percussion kit, this would be the Eels "unplugged," all lilting and tender. There is plenty of that kind of intimacy here -- in fact the set is drenched with it -- but rock & roll makes an appearance on "Trouble with Dreams," and there's a hillbilly shake to "Hey Man (Now You're Really Living)." The choice of covers here is spectacular as well: there's a hurried yet acceptable version of the Left Banke's "Pretty Ballerina" and a moving read of Bob Dylan's "Girl from the North Country." It's Chet's piano winding its way through the strings that provides an elegant yet spare backdrop for E's vocals there. The reverbed electric guitar that accompanies E's acoustic starts off the finest cover on the album, with E's read of Johnny Rivers' classic "Poor Side of Town." The version of "Novocaine for the Soul" on this set is so full of drama and tension that it's almost unbearable. The charm and nuance in these songs make for an essential document for Eels fans, and provide an inaccurate but utterly engaging portrait of E's songs in front of an audience. With Strings: Live at Town Hall has power and subtlety as well as pomp. E is walking the razored edge of his sometimes elegant, sometimes ragged performance, but offers no apologies. But then, he wouldn't be E if he did. The final cut here is also the final track from Blinking Lights, "Things the Grandchildren Should Know," and with the lap steel whining in the background and the strings shimmering around his voice, E lays out an acceptance of his life such as it is, whether he turns out like his father or not. There is something so powerful in his deadpan delivery that it can embarrass the listener. And yes, folks, that's a good thing. This is a document -- nothing more, nothing less -- and as such it's charming, beautiful, ragged, and honest. What more can you ask for? ~ Thom Jurek, All Music Guide
On 2003's Shootenanny!, Eels frontman and songwriter Mark Oliver Everett seemed to approach his work with fresh ears. He cut through his own trademark lyric and production excesses (very evident on the wonderfully messy and rocked-up Souljacker) and came up with an offering of quirky, sparking tunes that were shot through with American roots music and his trademark power pop hooks, while never compromising his stubbornly iconoclastic way of looking at the world. The same cannot be said for Blinking Lights and Other Revelations. Over 90 minutes and 33 songs, E opens his own, personal Pandora's Box and lets everything out musically, lyrically, and emotionally. This is the most searingly personal album E and his ad hoc stable of cohorts have recorded since Electro-Shock Blues -- though it's not as unremittingly dark. The handsomely designed double digipack is adorned with familial photographs -- including a cover shot of his mother as a child. Strings, brass, tinkling bells, and gauzy layers of sonic textures stream through these haphazard songs. In fact, despite the appearance of family, childhood, changing times, and other concerns of personal narrative, Blinking Lights is not a unified album; its tunes are gathered seemingly willy-nilly conceptually. No matter; it is E's world-weary voice that holds the disparate parts of the album together in a loose, soft web that envelopes him and the listener. It sits dead center, allowing the tensions, textures, and moods to grip and release him at will. He expresses it all honestly, without immersion or unnecessary put-on detachment. It is his voice that gives the record a type of spiritual quality, one that seems to gauge lessons learned -- either with acceptance or rejection -- from the various truths revealed. Family and history are woven together over the entirety to create not only introspection but a sense of time's slippage, emotional and physical displacement, and grief that is offset in places by poignant humor. Disc one's standouts include the glorious "Railroad Man," a country-ish lament for that quickly disappearing way of life, while "Son of a Bitch," with its elegant saxophones, weepy pedal steel, and stately pace, offsets the painful revelation of the protagonist, "Going Fetal," a new dance tune (à la the Twist) features a vocal sample by Tom Waits and a faux, live rave-up setting fueled completely by a loopy Wurlitzer and a lyric that expresses with true irony the perceived joy of escape. "Mother Mary" is a stomping organ and rhythm-driven track that references reggae and carnival music. Its subject matter is offset by the musical attack and the eerie sound of an empty playground swing weaving its way through the mix. The second disc begins with the elegiac yet shimmering "Dust of Ages," which feels like a demo from Peter Gabriel's second album. "I'm Going to Stop Pretending That I Didn't Break Your Heart" is gem-like pop/rock balladry, while "Dusk: A Peach in the Orchard" -- co-written with the Lovin' Spoonful's John Sebastian -- is a modern folk song that comes from the broken heart of memory, and could have been written during the Civil War era. R.E.M.'s Peter Buck co-wrote and performs on the ironic "To Lick Your Boots." The set closes with the bittersweet personal testament "Things the Grandchildren Should Know." It's unfocused and leaky lyrically, but it gets to emotional places most songwriters only dream of. Blinking Lights and Other Revelations is blessed because of -- not in spite of -- its excesses. It's not like anything else out there right now. It makes no apologies, it's shaky in places, and there are cuts that don't seemingly belong on either disc but fit within the context of the album as a whole. It feels like E and his collaborators have made an honest to goodness indie rock record, one that is immediate yet whose depths cannot be fathomed immediately. It's unwieldy, too long, irritating in some places, graceful in others, and sometimes clumsy. But it is utterly original and startlingly beautiful. At this juncture, records like this are almost museum pieces, mistakenly and cynically written off to the delusions of pop grandeur of earlier eras. Thank goodness rock music as we once knew it still exists in the minds and hearts of some of our more perceptive artists. E is one of them; he put everything into making Blinking Lights and Other Revelations, and the payoff is that it shows. ~ Thom Jurek, All Music Guide
Of the legions of artists and characters to emerge in the great alt-rock explosion of the '90s, the man called E is one of the oddest, partially because he's etched a career that is both doggedly obstinate and strangely predictable. Throughout his career, E has followed his muse wherever it takes him -- it just happens to take him to places that seem familiar. Just as the alt-rock circus kicked off in 1992, he released A Man Called (E) to little more than power pop acclaim, but once he formed an ad-hoc band called the Eels in 1996, he gained a hit with "Novocaine for the Soul" and earned a cult following that he sustained into the 21st century when, once again, he was a one-man band, only this time retaining the commercial cache (or at least recognition) that came with the Eels' name. His 2003 effort, Shootenanny!, is the first where he doesn't make much of a pretense of this being a band affair -- the notes say it's "performed by Mark Oliver Everett (you can call him 'E')" -- and it does not seem like a coincidence that it's also his best album since his dark night of the soul, 1998's Electro-Shock Blues. In many ways, it's a lot more listenable, since the doom that hangs over that album makes it a little impenetrable. This has a sour temper and a black humor, as well as a general sense of self-satisfied gloominess, but he's more tongue-in-cheek about it these days, as the impish title suggests. This record isn't folky, the way hootenannies were, but it does have a strong blues and singer/songwriter element to the record. Since he's been saddled with this comparison countless times, it feels both trite and unfair to say he often sounds like Beck on Shootenanny!, but he does -- he sounds like a combination of Beck and Tom Waits, put through a power pop prism. So, even if it isn't entirely original, it is an appealing sound, but E has turned into a good editor, trimming away his excesses, emphasizing both his hooks and his atmosphere, and bringing it all in at 40 minutes. It's not as poppy as some of his other albums, but it is more focused and appealing, and one of the stronger testaments to his ornery talents. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide
As with the band's previous albums, Souljacker bristles with pop euphoria and cracking production, and proves Eels' frontman, E, to be a superb songwriter, but just like those previous albums, Souljacker ultimately falls a bit flat over the course of its extended running time. Album opener "Dog Faced Boy" exemplifies the weaker half of the album's 12 tracks. Though it's a decent punk glam take on T-Rex dynamics, it doesn't exactly beg for repeat listens like the album's better half. "That's Not Really Funny," "Woman Driving, Man Sleeping," "Fresh Feeling," "Friendly Ghost," and "What Is This Note?" are as strong as any songs in the band's back catalog. On these songs, lush strings, found sounds, children's toys, spy themes, surf music, elaborate piano segments, and fuzzy harmonicas mingle in the band's trademark, innovative way. Easily besting almost anything in Beck's quirky bag of songs, these songs display the charm, polish, and sincerity of E's original vision. Sadly, there's too much skronking punk-pop noise in the remaining songs that serves to drag the album down. This limited-edition release adds a bonus disc of four songs, one of them superb, two of them downright horrible, and one of them a useless remix. Only "I Write the B-Sides" warrants seeking out the limited edition. Its opening lines show E at his most poignant and wise, as he sings "I write the B-sides that make a small portion of the world cry/I like the seaside and singing songs that make you not want to die." Punchy, exuberant, and smart, the song would have made perfect sense on Souljacker in place of the somewhat mindless filler that permeates its cracks. Souljacker is certainly a welcome addition to any fans Eels collection, but due to its weaker batch of tracks, it's hard to recommend it to newcomers. ~ Tim DiGravina, All Music Guide
The Eels were always a vehicle for a songwriter called E, but by the point of their third album, 2000's Daisies of the Galaxy, they were his and his alone. The transition occurred on the previous album, 1998's Electro-Shock Blues, where E exorcised the demons that had haunted him since the death of his family (his parents from cancer, his sister from suicide). Such an intimate, tortured record is hardly the province of a band, and when the Eels came out of it, they were just -- E. When it came time to deliver a follow-up, E couldn't help but deliver a lighter album. Unlike its predecessor, Daisies of the Galaxy doesn't play as if the listener was invading E's private diary; instead, it feels as if one is rummaging through his sketchbook. And, like many sketchbooks, there are some moments that have blossomed and others that remain just an intriguing, unformed idea. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide
The Eels' second release, Electro-Shock Blues, is a much darker album than their underrated debut, 1996's Beautiful Freak, but just as rewarding. Singer/guitarist/songwriter E experienced many upheavals in his personal life between albums (the passing of several family members and close friends), and decided to work his way through life's tribulations via his music. The result is a spectacular epic work, easily on par with such classic albums cut from the same cloth -- Neil Young's Tonight's the Night, Lou Reed's Magic and Loss. For some of the most introspective and haunting tunes of recent times, look no further than the title track, "Last Stop: This Town," and "Elizabeth on the Bathroom Floor." And although the lyrics deal almost entirely with mortality, the music for "Hospital Food," "Cancer for the Cure," and "Going to Your Funeral, Pt. 1" is comparable to Beck's funky noise, while "Efils' God," "The Medication Is Wearing Off," and "My Descent Into Madness" are all ethereal, soothing compositions. One of the finest and fully realized records of 1998, a must-hear. ~ Greg Prato, All Music Guide
Eccentric and quirky are the best ways to describe the Eels' debut effort, Beautiful Freak. Concise pop tunes form the backbone of the album, yet tinges of despair and downright meanness surface just when you've been lulled into thinking this is another pop group, as titles like "My Beloved Monster," "Your Lucky Day in Hell" and "Novocaine for the Soul" indicate. All in all, Beautiful Freak is a satisfying first record. ~ James Chrispell, All Music Guide