Eels @ Mandela Hall, QUBSU Belfast on 19.03.08

We all knew we were going to see an Eels gig. At least that’s what it said on the ticket anyway. If Kanye West had come out instead I would have been a little bit miffed. Though I’d like to think the crowd would have given it away. Nonetheless, scrapping the support act altogether to show an award winning documentary about a revolutionary physicist seemed a little far even for Mr Mark Everett, aka Mr E of Eels, to have veered. Even when the physicist happens to be Everett’s emotionally estranged father it still just tentatively resides in the realm of sense.

Fortunately any fans of Everett’s music know that most of it does not usually inhabit this realm anyway, so it seemed less confusing to a crowd who had indulged in the absurdity enough on CD to actually buy a ticket to the event in the first place. It emphatically said, “Welcome to Eels, you knew it would be an experience”. And indeed it was, from start to finish it was a catalogue of Eels hits from the years gone by. Only conspicuously absent was ‘Mr E’s Beautiful blues’ while It’s A Motherfucker, Souljacker, My Beloved Monster and even the idiosyncratic ‘I Like Birds’ were on full display. ‘It’s A Motherfucker’ especially held the crowd in its fist, fully penetrating the room after the support film had reminded everyone of its origins.

Many of the tracks were performed true to their originals while some were given live overhauls. At the end of a fine rendition of Flyswatter, the diminuating outro was thrown back into life as Everett exploded on the drums for another 2 minutes (Imagine the Gorilla from the Cadburys advert). This caused at least 3 people in my line of sight to nearly topple from their seats in surprise. Everett and his playing partner Chet followed this by, nearly seamlessly, swapping between drums and piano mid song. Twice. And these were not the parts which fulfilled the promise of Eels showmanship. It was coming.

Choosing to speak to the crowd infrequently, the Eels experience went on a rush of songs before tailing off to either a short acceptance or, back in the absurd, a pseudo-sermon. Everett, confessing that it would be far too pretentious to read from his own autobiography at his own gig, proceeded to make his partner Chet read out selections to the crowd atop a makeshift pulpit. Possibly the only way it could have been any more self-indulgent. But of course, that was the idea. Even when a typical Belfast heckler tried to impress his drunken mates with moronic asides Everett cut them down. None may interrupt when the gospel according to E is being read. On account of this performance, Amen indeed.

 
Words by Jonny Milliken