ECHO & THE BUNNYMEN
Beacon Theatre, Bristol, March 6
Spare us the patter! A garrulous Ian Mcculloch eventually regains his swagger
LIKE faded aristocrats fallen on hard times, Echo & The Bunnymen can no longer muster the same levels of glamorous mystique, psychedelic alchemy and motormouth charisma they once routinely delivered live. Even so, they retain something of their old regal swagger. At 64, Ian Mcculloch still cuts a convincing rock god silhouette, even if he is dressed down in dad jeans and scru y trainers, spending most of this performance hiding under crepuscular purple stage lights.
Famously unburdened by modesty, Mcculloch talks the talk more than he walks the walk. Indeed, he spends far too much of this show veering o into barely coherent Partridge-esque musings about Bargain Hunt, Jan Mølby, his schooldays, u y towels and other seemingly random topics. He rambles so much that exasperated punters eventually try to shout him down and steer him back to the music.
Fortunately, the Bunnymen back catalogue contains a sucient number of kaleidoscopic classics that remain unbreakably great. When he nally deigns to sing, Mcculloch can still command that gorgeous, grainy baritone croon, investing even minor tracks like “Going Up” and “Flowers” with booming, widescreen conviction. Aer a choppy opening, the rst reassuring glimmer of magic in this show is a hurtling, punchy “Rescue” and a sweeping, majestic “Bring On The Dancing Horses”, which closes the short preliminary set.
Aer a 20-minute recess, the second set is longer, stronger and more anthem-heavy. “Over The Wall” seethes with jagged, crashing melodrama, while the roaring shanty “Seven Seas” triggers the rst big audience singalong of the night. The Bunnymen’s mighty postsplit comeback single from 1997, “Nothing Lasts Forever”, still sounds like the greatest song Oasis never wrote. Indeed, the studio version actually featured Liam Gallagher on backing vocals. Which makes sense, given that the young Mcculloch was essentially Liam with a library card, sharing the same brittle arrogance and Beatle-sized ambition. In Bristol, this massive tune feels a little underpowered, but still epic enough. As is now traditional, Mac switches gear midway through to interpolate a few lines of Lou Reed’s “Walk On The Wild Side”, cooing: “Hey Bristol, take a walk on the Merseyside”. Which is slightly cringe, but earns a ripple of obligatory cheers.
Guitarist Will
Sergeant, the sole other surviving original member in the current Bunnymen lineup of faceless new recruits, spends most of this show quietly plucking away in one corner of the stage, virtuosic but businesslike, barely acknowledging Mcculloch at all.
Relations between the duo have been notoriously cool for years, but Sergeant becomes noticeably more animated on a spine-tingling “The Killing Moon”, layering delicious teardrop-shaped 12-string guitar jangles over radiant autoharp strums. “The Cutter” packs a real punky bite too, with Mac bellowing and yelping while Sergeant’s vivid wall-of-sound shudders ricochet around this cavernous venue.
Perhaps surprisingly, the two new songs in this set are both excellent. First aired live two years ago, “Brussels Is Haunted” oozes melodic melancholia, while “Unstoppable Force”, making its debut on this tour, is a wistful romantic reverie. If these are signposts towards a future Bunnymen album, both suggest all is not lost to booze, ego, internal friction and diminishing powers. And a hushed nal encore of “Ocean Rain” is a tremulous beauty, sultry and luminous, hanging in the air like heady perfume long aer the lights come up in Bristol. During these rare moments of Merseydelic alchemy, when the old magic still works, it really works.