Eels, Brixton Academy, London

Oh god, they’re not? Yes, yes, they are. They’re playing ‘Itchycoo Park’. Eels are playing ‘Itchy-effin-coo Park’. E - who wrote all those tender and broken songs - is jamming on stage with his band through that dire 60s rock standard. Eels, right now, might as well be Oasis. Which is surprising. But not as surprising as the fact that, tonight, it’s actually not that surprising at all. Tonight is odd, and ‘odd’ is the best way a confirmed Eels fan can say ‘tonight is really not very good’.

Look, we understand the pain that informed those early records was a long time ago, we understand it doesn’t hurt like it used to, and we understand reluctance to revisit that stuff, even if the reasons might be as prosaic as simply not wanting to play those songs you’ve played a million times before. But, c’mon man, give us something here. We don’t want to see someone have a breakdown, we don’t need tears, we don’t want to wallow in another guy’s misery (much) but we do want to see a hint of the soul that made those records so special and so affecting.

Instead, we’re watching a weirdly laddish group, all in matching tracksuits (which seemed Royal Tenenbaums at the start, but feels increasingly Dad Rock pretty quick) having the time of their lives with some good-ol’-boys, super-cheesy, rock’n’roll carousing. It’s great they’re happy, it’s great they’re having fun, but it doesn’t always translate from stage to audience. We’re definitely invited to the party, but mainly it’s to watch some frat guys goof around and dominate the stereo with their god awful taste in music. And, yeah, obviously, it’s Eels, so obviously it’s not all bad. ‘Souljacker pt1’ does the rock thing and does it right, and the ever wonderful ‘Fresh Feeling’ and ‘In My Dreams’ bring sweet respite from the trad-rock barrage, but mostly, with eight tracks from the new record and two covers (there’s Fleetwood Mac here too) it’s hard not to feel a bit short-changed, a bit like we’ve been cheated out of their best moments. Even with a choppy version of ‘Mr E’s Beautiful Blues’ thrown into the second of three encores, you can’t help but think, given E’s unrivalled knack for upbeat poppy tunes (no matter for what abject misery and tragic history might be disguised within) that there could have been ways to make this more generous and inclusive, without compromising on the intended fun.