Echo and The Bunnymen
Heaven Up Here

THE REVIEW

We are in 1981, a time when the new wave seems to have exhausted its most avant-garde and innovative fuel from the early years and becomes influenced by retroactive impulses that bring back ancient flavors, both from this side and the other side of the Atlantic.
After an interesting yet slightly raw Crocodiles, McCulloch and his companions appear to have perfected the recipe for the so-called neo-psychedelia, thanks to a more targeted blend of certain ancient spices and modernist urgencies...
The sound of Heaven Up Here, on first listen, brings to mind many illustrious names.
In the more forceful moments, the jagged rhythm and guitars recall U2 and Gang Of Four, while in the more hypnotic situations, one can see the ghosts of the shadowy Doors, the softer Cure, and some epic flourishes borrowed from the best Simple Minds (in addition to the obvious similarities with their classmates The Teardrop Explodes).

But soon enough, the initial sensation of déjà vu gives way to the enchantment of such twilight and elusive atmospheres that any game of easy attribution is quickly forgotten.
McCulloch's never obvious melodic lines, the guitars now delicately arpeggiated, now more furious and distorted, and the unmistakable post-punk flavored keyboard arrangements create a visionary and nocturnal soundscape that never remains the same, not even within the same song.
Complex and layered arrangements, then, and constantly changing songs (special mention for the initial triptych), which with each subsequent listen, enrich with new layers and reveal almost subliminal details, thanks to the excellent production work of Hugh Jones.

For this album, the adjective "classic" doesn't make one frown for once, and it's a shame that such magical balance amongst such diverse elements cannot be found in the subsequent Porcupine, already tilted towards increasingly over-arranged, grandiose, and less inspired pop, from which the band, unfortunately, would never recover.