The Brag

EELS, LAURA IMBRUGLIA
Enmore Theatre
Saturday August 14

I tried to get to the Enmore earlier than I did, because the first act on the bill tonight was listed as “Ventriloquist”. I can only assume it was not an actual ventriloquist, but I cling to the possibility that it may have been [it totally was – ed.]. That would have been AWESOME. Promoters take note: more novelty acts before gigs. The scene would benefit from a little of the vaudeville spirit.

I’ve tried to get into Laura Imbruglia for a while now, but I just can’t do it. She’s going for the same chatty, self-deprecating sharehouse-pop angle as your Smudges and Darren Hanlons, but she can’t quite get the balance right. If you’re going for troubadour you need more coherent narratives in your songs, and if you’re going for that Hanlon-esque punchline-folk, you need to be funnier. Imbruglia eschews sophisticated structures for an easy chattiness, and the melodies aren’t quite complex enough to balance out the often cringingly conversational lyrics.

I always think of Eels frontman E’s default setting as Miserable Bastard. While last year’s Hombre Lobo had a growling blues backbone, newer offerings End Times and Tomorrow Morning are admittedly skewed more towards the Miserable side, so I did expect a slightly morose set – maybe peppered with crowd-pleasing treats from Daisies of the Galaxy and Electro-Shock Blues, but consisting mainly of recent material.

Mark Oliver Everett (E) arrives clad in white boilersuit, giant ridiculous beard, sunglasses and low-over-the-eyes bandanna, and gives us a couple of low-key numbers by himself – beginning with Daisies’ ‘Grace Kelly Blues’. The crowd is quietly appreciative, happy with Morose E because even on his own he’s a world of sad and sweet and eloquent with that scuffed-leather voice.

Then we get the rest of the band, and the band fucking rock. They’re wearing suits and sunglasses, and ooz flawless Southern rock. “Are you sick of winter, Sydney?” E enquires huskily. “Well, fuck winter! We’re here to blow some sunshine up your asses!” They bust into a big, filthy cover of The Lovin’ Spoonful’s ‘Summer In The City’ – bookended later in the set with a ‘Summertime’ that’s sexed up with distortion and fuzz and E tossing icecreams into the audience from a cooler. Even Billie Holiday’s looking down and thinking “Damn, that looks fun.”

Old favourites appear in new clothes too – ‘Mr E’s Beautiful Blues’ meshes seamlessly with ‘Twist & Shout’, which feeds into a manically fun, punked-up ‘I Like Birds’. ‘Fresh Blood’, from Hombre, drips red menace before personnel introductions erupt into a five-minute jam, sounding a bit like Grand Funk Railroad’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.

The new material is lovely and the show doesn’t lose too much momentum with the more downbeat interludes, but it’s the rock’n’roll that really brings the fun.

Caitlin Welsh