Eels

A blue train rattles forward through the pale grey of winter. Sitting on its roof is a strange creature, singing wistful melodies to the sound of an accordion. Everyone has rejected him because there's no species he can be classified under, but he keeps facing that world of dead souls with the innocence of his eyes and the company of a few friends. His name is Cheburashka, and he's the star of what was, in Russia, the most famous animated film of the Seventies. But he could just as well be called Mark Oliver Everett, because the goofy features of that big-eared creature are the perfect icon for the beautiful freaks sung about by the man known as E.

Who else would have the nerve to treat their audience — packed into the austere setting of a temple of "highbrow" music like the Sala Verdi at the Conservatorio di Milano — to the screening of an entire episode of a Russian cartoon in its original language, with English subtitles? But when someone like E is involved, you have to be ready for anything. He himself has said that when he's on tour he feels trapped in a scene from "Groundhog Day," the American comedy in which Bill Murray, through some mysterious time-loop prank, wakes up every morning to the same day: you always have to come up with something new to keep predictability from winning out.

So, priming hearts for the music of the Eels is the poignant Soviet melancholy of old footage of little Cheburashka and Gena the crocodile, in which it's easy to imagine the echo of the childhood memories of E's wife, the Russian dentist Natasha Kovaleva.

When the lights finally go down, it's only the glowing ember of a lit cigar that announces Mr. E's entrance onto the stage. A reddish shadow barely reveals the bearded profile of his face as he crosses the stage, leaning on an elegant walking stick. A soft play of light greets him in front of the microphone, next to which sits a retro-tinged ashtray. The dark suit, the fedora pulled down over his eyes, and the black tie cinching the white collar of his shirt lend him an aura of rabbinical severity.

While an intense aroma of cigar smoke spreads through the air, all it takes for the eclectic Chet to wrap the room in a warm, pulsing rhythm is a humble tin bucket, underpinned by the dark notes of Big Al's double bass. Then, from the all-female string quartet positioned behind E, the melody of "Fresh Feeling" blooms softly. From that moment on, the Eels' music floats like a single, enchanted chamber-music suite for the entire length of the show, caressing each song with lyrical, measured orchestrations over which E's voice carves a furrow of tears and smiles.

It's easy to get swept up in the infectious playfulness of "I Like Birds", "Losing Streak" and "Trouble With Dreams", which gives Chet the chance to let loose in a driving final solo. It's easy to be lulled by the symphonic sweep of the captivating rendition of "Bus Stop Boxer" or by the Beatlesque cotton candy of "Dirty Girl", as well as by the buoyant sweetness of the cover of the Left Banke's "Pretty Ballerina".

But what truly leaves you breathless is the trio of ballads drawn from "Electro-Shock Blues": "Ant Farm", "Climbing To The Moon" and, above all, "Dead Of Winter", in which E approaches pain in a whisper of such restraint and intensity that it tears out your heart and never gives it back.

Mr. E, Chet and Big Al trade off between guitars, steel, autoharp, piano and Wurlitzer, while Ana, Heather, Julie and Paloma put down their bows only occasionally, to play maracas and various percussion instruments, among which even a vibrator pops up (!). After all, the mohawk sported by Big Al immediately reveals that the apparent solemnity of the band members' evening wear is nothing but yet another of E's Eels-style games.

And yet, the theatrical setting proves the ideal context for recreating the atmospheres of the latest "Blinking Lights And Other Revelations", even managing to suggest new shades within the fabric of classics like "My Beloved Monster". So, while it's understandable to miss the more instinctive thrill of a rock 'n' roll show, one can't help but be captivated by the ease with which the Eels move from the shaggy rock of their most recent tours to the intimacy of a string quartet, without ever losing their unmistakable personality.

Alongside small classics beloved by the Eels cult, there's also room for minor gems like "Taking A Bath In Rust", taken from the soundtrack of the film "Levity", and "Jeannie's Diary", dating back to the era of E's first solo albums, though later included on "Daisies Of The Galaxy". When E had gone back to his parents' old house in Virginia to look after his sick mother, he had started playing that old melody on the piano almost by chance, a tune that had lain buried in his memory. Then E had gone to his mother to ask if she needed anything, and she, by way of an answer, had simply murmured: "Just more of that". Hearing E's musings on Jeannie's diary again, then, is like stepping once more into the most intimate photo album of the Everett family's memories.

Mr. E doesn't seek the spotlight; he prefers to stay in the shadows of the stage, absorbed in his own music, only occasionally breaking away to trade ironic banter with the crowd. So, after luring the audience in with a cocky "Are you ready to rock?", the sarcastic jab of a "Sorry, wrong concert..." immediately follows. At that point, E dismisses his fellow travelers for a solo rendition of "Railroad Man", declaring that he never takes breaks, because his guitar follows him even to bed: exactly what Ray Charles' ex-wife said about her husband's obsession with music, in that biography E says he devoured hungrily before deciding to bet everything on his own songs.

With his gaze forever shadowed beneath the brim of his hat, E sits at the piano to sing the heartbroken elegies of "If You See Natalie" and "I'm Going To Stop Pretending That I Didn't Break Your Heart", together with a dreamy tribute to Dylan's "Girl From The North Country": it's then that the impression of standing before the miracle of a young, wounded-souled Tom Waits becomes irresistible. Then come the ghostly howls of "Flyswatter", voiced by the saw played by the formidable Chet, which stretch out into a torrential improvisation of pure avant-garde noise, during which E straps on an electric guitar to let a distorted version of "Novocaine For The Soul" drift out.

Slipped into the soft embrace of the Eels, one barely notices having already reached the moment of the encores, which first offer up three songs from "Blinking Lights And Other Revelations" (among which a breakneck "Hey Man (Now You're Really Living)" and the closing confession of "Things The Grandchildren Should Know" stand out) and then the electric surprise of a raw "Dog Faced Boy", which satisfies the crowd's hunger to give in, if only for a moment, to the straight-up rock of the "Souljacker" days.

The Eels say goodnight, the lights come up, background music starts playing: it really does seem like it's all over, and the audience begins filing out of the hall, except for the die-hards who crowd together standing beneath the stage, a secret hope still in their eyes... And indeed, after a handful of minutes, with the hall now half-empty, the Eels come back on stage by surprise, wearing the pajamas from the "Trouble With Dreams" video and pretending to rub the sleep from their eyes: with the lights up and the crowd's warmth closer than ever, E launches into a sparkling cover of Prince's "I Could Never Take The Place Of Your Man", sweeping everyone into the party with its cheerful ease. The Eels' pajama party ends with an instrumental version of "Mr. E's Beautiful Blues", during which the band members leave the stage one by one while the others keep playing. For a few lucky fans in the front row, there's even the honor of being handed E's cigar as a gift... but for everyone, there remains a smile that's hard to wipe off one's lips. And to think that Everett claims he wants to do what the Beach Boys did, touring while leaving Brian Wilson at home: "All I need is to find a Glen Campbell to replace me", he jokes in interviews. One can only be grateful he hasn't found one yet... Spaziba, Mr. E.

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