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BY RICHARD MARTIN |
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Eels, Lisa Germano LaLuna, 215 SE 9th Ave., 241-5862 9:30 pm Wednesday, Nov. 11 $8 advance Electro-Shock Blues Slide Y'know why airlines offer discounted rates to bereaved travelers? Because the grieving passenger isn't all there. The stewardesses, the pilot, the guy sitting in the next seat--they're like silhouettes in 3-D, functioning at full-speed in a half-speed world. The somber realm between is only accessible to those in the grips of tragedy, which explains how the morbid interior of a funeral parlor filled with somber relatives can offer infinitely more comfort than the most lushly cushioned airplane seat. It's rare even for a stricken artist to capture the esoteric aftermath of loss, to emerge with an insight to share with the masses. But on Electro-Shock Blues (Dreamworks), Mark Everett--who goes simply by "E"--transforms a series of personal tragedies into a startling song cycle that enters and evokes this murky space. That he does so with an undercurrent of humor and an abiding appreciation for life makes this album all the more remarkable, if not revelatory. E's Los Angeles band Eels bounced onto the scene a couple of years back with a sneeringly upbeat single, "Novocaine for the Soul," which, like the rest of the album Beautiful Freak, exuded a playful vibe despite sardonic lyrics like "Life is hard, but so am I." His alternating singsong drawl and soaring demi-falsetto placed E in a league with Beck--another monosyllabic musician who relied on the Dust Brothers' whimsical production to animate his songs--and landed Eels on modern-rock radio. But unlike other musicians who ride the wave of success with constant touring until the accolades begin to fade and it's time to write and record a follow-up, E became entangled in family drama. At 30, with his father already dead from a heart attack, E endured the loss of his sister, who committed suicide after years of mental illness. Several friends passed away, and E's mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. The intelligent young artist was suddenly surrounded by fog. And I looked at the sky last night Much of Electro-Shock Blues takes place in hospital rooms, funeral parlors and that place suspended between reality and the unknown. Keyboards, guitars, drums and electronic beats flow into a contemplative sphere that orbits around sad, elliptical melodies. Occasionally, E confronts the madness with amusement; in the rattling rock track "Cancer for the Cure," he adopts an ominous tone and spits out the lines, "A heart attack may be something to fear/But take a look out back/'Cause Courtney needs love/And so do I." Yet more often, he dwells on the death of his sister, examining her insanity and demise from all angles but returning thoroughly perplexed. Somehow, death opens the door to an obtuse spirituality. In the skittering single "Last Stop: This Town," he leads off with the invitation, "You're dead but the world keeps spinning/Take a spin through the world you left." For the clanging "Hospital Food," Eels whip up a jazzy, horn-fed stomp that's like vintage Tom Waits. And in the send-off, "P.S. You Rock My World," E struggles to the top of some lost, mist-enshrouded mountain and finishes this brilliant record with a wink: "Maybe it's time to live." On her fifth album, Slide (4AD), Lisa Germano seesaws from the notion that the world's not an entirely hopeless place to the abject sense that it is. She possesses a distinctively childlike voice and an ability to paint absurdly colorful landscapes with her music and words. Tuned-down guitars tangle with resounding percussion; carnival organs dance around oblique melodies; pretty piano figures mingle with softly sung lyrics--it's a fallow film score walking the empty streets in search of the cinema. Germano's past work focused on heart-rending scenes of lovers parting, men preying on women, humans standing thunderstruck with their weaknesses fully exposed. On Slide, she's similarly dramatic, melting into despair in the piano ballad "Wood Floors," singing along listlessly to an acoustic guitar in "No Color Here" and succumbing to anguish after a break-up in "Guillotine." Yet like bright rays breaking through the clouds, songs such as "Way Below the Radio" and "Turning Into Betty" find Germano settling into wary peacefulness. On Slide's most striking track, "If I Think of Love," a lolling keyboard line accompanies strings of clipped expressions, then a guitar swaggers to the fore and propels the song into an almost giddy gallop. Like her friend E, Germano may be predisposed to what she refers to in one instant as "self-inflectedness," but she'll be damned if it stands in the way of conveying a halting, wondrously 'rich artistic vision.
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