Porcupine (1983)

My favorite album by Echo & the Bunnymen arguably tends more toward the cerebral side of psychedelia, full of trippy climax and those thrumming string contributions from L. Shankar. But in memory it remains a soundtrack for bleary mind-groping post-midnight party scenes, playing very loud. It's head trip music that fills your head up and is heady too, these woozy dim images playing from wake-up movies, tarted up with exotic Eastern elements and a dense and sludgy production that bursts at will into clarity. The trademark dread of the Bunnymen lurks constantly. They're afraid of something. What is it? A fair argument points out the album attacks with its best, the two singles, "The Cutter" and "The Back of Love," and steps down from there song by song. Maybe—but the mood is consistent, stirring, dramatic, mysterious, infinitely exciting from moment to moment, about to turn another corner. All my favorite adjectives apply. And why not put your best out front? "The Cutter" enters already on a high point like exhausted caravansary entertainment at the encore, functioning on automatic yet with precision and impact, writhing string figures, sharp guitar chord on the upbeat, whammy bar touch, the song wandering yet building, until at 1:45 when it opens like glorious landscape and soars. It was their biggest hit. "The Back of Love" follows with nervous tempo and martial pounding on the drumkit. It seems to be scoffing at love and it never lets up, elevating after the chorus like a jet taking off, until finally it goes flying into colorful cloud-like scenes of meditation and yelping in a certain David Byrne mode. "The White Devil" involves John Webster and follows in a minor key, with thrilling xylophone. The title song (porcupine WTF) turns a great wisdom of the hallucinogen into magnificent soporific chant: "There is no comparison / Between things about to have been." Which translates approximately to "the past looks different in the future." Or perhaps not—proposed as another discussion point for the wee comedown hours. "Heads Will Roll" starts with a Love quote on acoustic guitar, shortly to be intruded upon by Bunnymen anxiety and Shankar's amazing strings again. The 2003 CD tacks on bonus tracks that run the whole thing close to 80 minutes, mostly alternate versions mostly unnecessary. The original is still the best. Put it on after midnight at your very next party. I mean, after the pandemic is over. I don't give parties or go to them much anymore myself.