THE singer songwriter known simply as E is a strange fish altogether: too geeky to be the new Kurt Cobain, but too sussed to be just another dweeb with a guitar.

At the Red Box on Friday night, E's band the Eels introduced themselves to their Irish fans with a straight up rendition of The Rolling Stones Dead Flowers, reassuring everybody that the LA trio were not too arty and self absorbed to enjoy a good ol' country tinged rock out.

Then it got weird, E taking his seat at the organ, picking up a telephone, and reciting the lyrics to Susan's House in cracked, distant tones, while bassist Tommy squeezed out that dark, downbeat bassline. My Beloved Monster was a study in charming ineptitude, a big, clumsy doofus of a tune which other bands might keep locked in the garage, while Guest List firmly acknowledged the band's place outside America's pantheon of postgrunge heroes.

The Eels are unafraid to flaunt their imperfections, and songs like Mental, Rags To Rags and Not Ready Yet are like rock's factory rejects: somewhere along the line they got skewed and twisted but strangely, the misshapen product sounds better than the polished, plastic alternative.

Novocaine For The Soul bears little resemblance to the recorded version, but still remains full of numb optimism, while Your Lucky Day In Hell finds the band swopping swapping roles onstage and still coming up with some heavenly chemistry.