Music Review | Echo & the Bunnymen
An Echo From Another Era, Full of Romantic Nostalgia
By BEN RATLIFF
In the early ’80s Ian McCullough and Bono were both working on a new kind of strident romanticism in pop, a confident version of the moody-poet archetype. But Mr. McCullough’s group, Echo & the Bunnymen, from Liverpool, England, didn’t make it to the end of the decade, and U2 became the eighth continent.
Claiming its achievements, Echo & the Bunnymen has returned this year to playing its 1984 album “Ocean Rain” in full, with an orchestra and in style: the Royal Albert Hall in London last month, Radio City Music Hall on Wednesday, a homecoming in Liverpool next month. (Like most reunited bands, this one is only partly so: it consists of Mr. McCullough; the band’s original lead guitarist, Will Sergeant; and four newer recruits.)
The band claimed at the time that “Ocean Rain” was the best record ever made. Some of its members might even have had the self-possession to believe it. Certainly Mr. McCullough, the band’s singer, sounds by his baritone exhalations, croons and operatic wails — not just on “Ocean Rain” but on pretty much everything he has ever done — as if he believes he is the best singer ever made.
It is not the best record ever made. Not even close. But it is surely in the who-knew-they-had it-in-them class of artistic achievements. If it didn’t stretch the musicians’ technical abilities — below the surface these songs are garage new wave, often built on two-chord stomps — it exercised their imaginations. Echo & the Bunnymen learned to be subtler, delaying or diffusing the moment of gratification, adding strings and yet making strong, coherent pop songs that were no less grandiose.
Its show on Wednesday started with earlier songs — like “The Cutter,” “The Back of Love” and “Rescue,” short, powerful things written with strong bridge sections and surging payoffs — and one old-sounding new song, “I Think I Need It Too,” from Echo’s forthcoming album, “The Fountain.”
Then the string players walked on, the “Ocean Rain” part began, and screens near the stage projected a slide show of black-and-white images from the band’s early days. It looked more like a memorial service than a revival; it’s rare in rock to see nostalgia sold so honestly. But here it fit. Nostalgia is romanticism.
Mr. McCullough, who sang well and clearly, still played the poet. He performed in sunglasses and a long, dark coat, mumbling in thick Liverpudlian between songs. (Singing, he enunciates like a champion; speaking, forget it.) The band was backlighted for effect, and the guitarists kept to their spots, connected to their amplifiers by physical cords, ’84-style, rather than wireless connection.
An antique echo on the drums was built in to the live sound, and Mr. Sergeant played his famous guitar parts carefully, like the reverberant, drone-based solo in “My Kingdom.” This is a band that reaches a fragile, sensitive place in middle-aged listeners, and the band seemed to know that its performance would be judged on how faithfully it reproduced the details.