By Mutado Pintado
So yeah, in my last Mutado Pintado review I kind of scolded him with a scaling attack based on a lack of understanding around anything that doesn't sound like Serena Maneesh. I did however promise that I'd tell the story of my youth spent in a picturesque Stockton-On-The-Forest council estate. So here we go.
It was shit.
If there's three things in life I enjoy more than taking food parcels to underprivilaged kids in Batley, it's Eels, churches and crap jokes. The latter I'll save for the end incase I can't find a decent closing line. Churches I like because they're an enigma. For a place that's supposed to radiate warmth through belief and hope, they're the coldest buildings on earth. Many a time I've been sat there unable to enjoy a wedding due to the fact that I'm a bitter twat that hates to see anyone hap..sorry, I meant due to the fact that the arctic conditions ensures I'm sat fighting another deabilitating attack of Raynauds Disease. Once you've got past the despair of white finger however, you start to have a look around, explore and bask in the sheer beauty of the surroundings. It's a bit like travelling through Huddersfield to get to Holmfirth. I guess this analogy is (yet another) clumsy attempt to describe my feelings towars Mutado Pintado. If you didn't get that then either you're far too intelligent or you have the emotional capacity of someone over 12 years old.
The church reference doesn't stop there though (wake up), and this is where Eels come in. 'Blue' (oh yeah, the record that's being reviewed) sounds exactly like Everett playing Dandy Warhols in a church. It's bold, brooding and brilliant, perfectly encapsulating the sophisticated swagger of its author. It also leaves me feeling slightly guilty having written off Mutado Pintado as some novelty crooner, when in reality a maverick (or acid freak, take your pick) is never likely to stick around the same place. Mike Flowers Pops this ain't, the musical equivalent of a goat fondler on the run from the law this is.
Oh, the remixes are excellent too. Alas, we must move on. As promised, it's shit joke time: Why was Beyonce at Wimbledon last year? She was watching all the ladies singles of course. Ouch.