Eels - The Deconstruction (2x10") - Yellow Vinyl

Eels albums have always felt like postcards from the front lines of one man’s inner life, and The Deconstruction lands as one of Mark Oliver Everett’s more openhearted missives. Released April 6, 2018 on E Works in partnership with PIAS, it arrived four years after The Cautionary Tales of Mark Oliver Everett and plays like a quiet reset. Everett, better known as E, dismantles and rebuilds familiar Eels colors across these songs, trading bitterness for something closer to hard-won grace.

The title track sets the tone right away. “The Deconstruction” drifts in on a gentle swell of strings and light electronics, the kind of hushed opener that reminds you E can make small sounds feel widescreen. He produced the record with longtime collaborator Mickey Petralia, and you can hear that careful touch in the way the orchestral parts are tucked into the mix. Nothing pushes or crowds the vocal. It feels hand-built, then sanded smooth.

Eels fans who come for the tart pop hooks get their fix with “Today Is The Day,” a single that strikes a bright, resilient chord without losing the band’s scruffy charm. It’s the pep talk you give yourself on the morning you finally decide to move. “Bone Dry” leans into a slightly jittery groove, all clipped rhythm and grin, a reminder that this band can smuggle a bruised heart into an earworm. On the other end of the spectrum sits “Premonition,” which whispers its way into your chest, close and fragile. That push and pull between buoyant and tender is the core of the album’s appeal.

E has threaded orchestration through Eels records before, but here the strings and occasional choir feel like a supporting cast rather than a costume change. They frame the songs instead of decorating them. When a chorus blooms, it does so in service of the lyric, and when a melody retreats, you can still feel the air moving in the room. Petralia’s return is part of that balance. He was key to some of the group’s formative work, and this reunion yields a production style that’s both classic Eels and quietly refreshed.

If you’ve followed E across the decades, the themes here will ring familiar. Loss, recovery, the stubborn human habit of seeking light. What’s striking is how patient these songs are about it. The writing keeps circling small truths, and the arrangements give those truths a place to live. Even the most anthemic moments sound like they were captured in the corner of a studio at 2 a.m., the tape rolling as a good feeling finally landed.

Critical reception reflected that sense of a gentle step forward. Reviewers picked up on the album’s mix of ornate textures and unfussy songcraft, and on E’s choice to ease back into the world rather than roar. It isn’t an attention-grabber in the way a big stylistic pivot might be. It’s the kind of record that sneaks up on you over a week, then sticks.

For vinyl heads, The Deconstruction is a rewarding spin. The dynamics matter here, those soft-loud blooms and the space around a brushed snare, and that breathy vocal that benefits from a little turntable warmth. If you’ve been building an Eels vinyl shelf alongside staples like Beautiful Freak and Electro-Shock Blues, this belongs there. Search for The Deconstruction vinyl and you’ll find a pressing that flatters the production’s depth without smearing the delicate edges. It’s also the kind of record that makes you want to buy Eels records online one minute and then go hunting for Eels albums on vinyl the next, just to compare eras and let the band’s long arc unfold across a couple of sides. Whether you stumble on a copy at a Melbourne record store or you’re browsing vinyl records Australia listings late at night, it’s worth the grab.

Twelve albums in, E has earned the right to work at a humane scale. The Deconstruction isn’t trying to solve anything larger than one person’s heart, and that’s its power. It feels lived-in, stubbornly hopeful, and comfortable trusting the small moments. Put it on when you need to loosen your grip, take a breath, and remember that rebuilding doesn’t always start with a bang. Sometimes it starts with a string line, a soft drum, and a voice that has been through it, still here, still singing.