You have to feel for Eels bandleader Mark Everett, who in recent years has had to deal with the deaths of all his immediate family.

It's understandable, then, that his latest album, Blinking Lights and Other Revelations, is underpinned by a sense of melancholy. What is surprising is that the 33-track tour de force is full of hope, defiance, and the feeling that a brighter future is just around the corner.

In typically contrary style, Everett - equal parts difficult and dryly hilarious - has chosen to promote his most recent offering with a very unconventional live set-up.

Backed by a string section featuring violin, cello and double bass, along with intermittent blasts of lap-steel guitar, drums and theremin, E alternates between acoustic guitar and piano.

Dressed in sharp grey suit, cigarette rarely straying far from his lips, Everett evokes the crooned storytelling of Scott Walker and Jacques Brel, and his gruff baritone is softened slightly by the sumptuous string arrangements.

Tapping into a rich vein of Americana, the subtly layered confessionals and instrumentals that adorn Blinking Lights perfectly crystallise Everett's singular vision, and most of the material performed is drawn from that spectacular record, although the set is peppered with older favourites such as Flyswatter.

Hey Man (Now You're Really Living), with its added handclaps, almost ratchets up the mood to one of jubilation, on an evening which is mostly rather poignant.

After 90 minutes and two encores, the message of the opening film, a tale of lonely Russians and talking animals who eventually become friends, makes a lot more sense, as it seems to mirror Everett's emotional triumph over adversity.

When the Eels main man intones that his losing streak has come to an end, you can't help but feel relieved, because few people deserve it more than him.

Simon Harper