Echo and the Bunnymen
Porcupine

THE REVIEW

One of the most difficult things to do is to review what you consider the least successful work of one of your favorite Bands: the problem arises mainly if those you like the most already have their nice review on these pages and you don't want to incur the wrath of the DeBaser grumblers...

Talking about Echo and the Bunnymen, the album I am about to discuss is not, in truth, the one I appreciate the least, but it becomes so if we consider the career of the Liverpool group closed in '84 with the beautiful "Ocean Rain." One of the most significant Bands of the PostPunk wave that developed in Albion between the '70s and '80s, Echo are to be considered as the Light Side of that Golden Age of British Rock that led to the development of musical and costume experiences (with more or less valid artistic outcomes) still well present before our eyes (and also in our hearts and minds). Talking about the Light Side may seem an exaggeration, but if compared with contemporaries (and of contiguous inspiration) Joy Division or The Cure, to name two of the most important, it is clear that in the darkest (of the Soul) gloom even a faint NewWave flame can appear as a Star bearer of Light: as if to say that there are various intensities of black even in darkness.

Formed in Liverpool between '77 and '78, they gained wide popularity in the early '80s thanks to four Albums: besides the already mentioned "Crocodiles" ('80), "Heaven Up Here" ('81), and indeed "Porcupine" ('83). As mentioned, from '84 onwards they did other works (including a breakup and reunion interlude) but never reached the previous levels.

Let me clarify something right away: despite the above premise, "Porcupine" is not a bad Album; compared to some subsequent derivative rubbish, it still holds its own having in it all those sonic characteristics (that particular intersection of catchy Melodies balancing between Pop and Psychedelia with ample New Wave guitar riffs) thanks to which they are still loved. Unfortunately, it presents some quite objective flaws: among all, the early signs of a first surrender to the Sirens of the Radio World, especially regarding the rhythm, which too often seeks compromises with danceable approaches not very suitable for their Style. While this characteristic on one hand gives a fairly cheerful spirit to the whole, on the other the renunciation of dark concessions (still present in their other albums) in favor of a range of (especially orchestral) Pop sensations makes it all become too frivolous and self-satisfied.

The sensation that remains at the end of the listening is the slightly bitter one of a missed opportunity (a taste evidently also left in the aural taste buds of McCulloch & Co. since with the subsequent "Ocean Size" they seemed to get back on track only to completely lose it already with the Eponymous Album of '87 due also to intrinsic humoral factors of the ensemble): A missed opportunity because the ideas were there for sure, and, for example, hearing the brilliant Rock, almost street-like, of "The Back Of Love" too gentled down by an overly excessive arrangement is a bit disappointing. But you know, crying over Spilled Milk is adding wet to wet, so looking at the glass half full, songs like the "exotic" "The Cutter" or "God will be Gods" with its darkwave "sgaganga" are still of absolute substance.

A three that becomes three and a half out of sympathy and also because, if one exists, to U2 or Simple Minds how many degrees below zero should we give? If you don't understand the reference, I'll be happy to explain it in the comments... but in the meantime, think about it...

Mo.