I’m writing this review the day after four people of varying degrees of public fame, infamy and recognition ”“ Steven Wells, Sky Saxon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson ”“ have died. In the wake of this cluster of morbidity, aside from chuckling to myself about the thought of these four sharing a boat across the River Styx and rummaging around my parents’ tapes for some Michael Jackson (found: Thriller, natch, but also tape two of HIStory. Odd, though 'Stranger in Moscow' is obviously his best song), the thought of writing about a new Eels record seems like a logical one. For two decades now, E (born Mark Oliver Everett) has made a career of being blue, weaving his own stories of loss, depression and isolation into some of the most candidly bleak and curiously uplifting songs of recent times. Eels’ most recent album Blinking Lights and Other Revelations, marked the start of a two-year catharsis for Everett, which also involved a documentary, a two compilations and, most strikingly of all, publishing his memoirs ”“ Things the Grandchildren Should Know ”“ all of which had been in the works since the start of the decade. Catching up with Everett in 2009, however, I suppose it’s no wonder that Eels’ newest album Hombre Lobo (subtitle: “12 Songs of Desire”) concerns itself more with matters of the heart than matters of life and death. While this is hardly unique within E’s vast repertoire ”“ the swift succession of the Souljacker and (the vastly underrated) Shootenanny! albums are similarly less personal ”“ it seems like Hombre Lobo, with its extremely group-oriented sound, is the start of a new phase of the band’s career. The lush sounding popscapes of earlier work are few and far between, with the majority of the tracks here being stripped down to the bare essentials, with production as raw and guttural as Everett’s voice; bluesy numbers like the addictive two-chord stomp ‘Prizefighter’ (“I’m an up-all-nighter...”) and the piledriving ‘What’s a Fella Gotta Do’ (an even dumber version of Beautiful Freak’s ‘Mental’) are interspersed with ‘Frankie Teardrop’ screams and fuzzfucked guitars.The main frame of reference for a lot of Hombre Lobo seems to be classic sixties pop, albeit through a filter of filth; ‘Lilac Breeze’, for example, is a brisk, Kink(s)y belter, in which E making no bones about his desires ”“ “Birds do it, bees do it, I wanna do it/The only thing we need to do is get down to it.” Conversely, the second half’s one-two of 'My Timing Is Off' and 'All the Beautiful Things' tone things down somewhat, making for an extremely pretty pairing indeed. The former rides a bouncing Beatles bassline, while the latter is laced with Elliott Smith-style gossamer guitars (and a charming bit of studio banter at the start), and both feature some of the album’s most affecting lyrics; “We don’t have a choice in matters of the heart”, E sighs. “You’ve just gotta be brave...”.However, the simplistic stylings of most of the tracks have a tendency to sound disappointingly interchangeable. Sure, most of the material is strong on its own terms, but there’s just something lacking across the course of the whole record; the country/Motown strut of 'Beginner’s Luck' would be the best thing here, did it not so closely resemble Bright Eyes’ 'Let’s Not Shit Ourselves', in all but sheer length. Meanwhile, although the sugar-sweet ballad 'That Look You Gave That Guy' could have come straight from the pen of Bacharach and David, they probably would have known to cut it off after two minutes, rather than have it ramble on for four.On the whole, then, Hombre Lobo is not without its charms and, after Everett’s personal odyssey of the past few years, you can’t fault him for taking a step back from himself. However, the admirable-on-paper concept of simplifying “the Eels sound” doesn’t mask the fact that the songs aren’t nearly as memorable as most of Everett’s previous efforts. It’s a sound that you can definitely imagine E refining for the next album, if he doesn’t make another volte-face entirely; as it is, however, this is an album full of things that the grandchildren probably shouldn’t know. At least, not until they’re a little bit older. 60%Eels on Myspace