Echo & The Bunnymen: "Never Stop"

7 July 1983

"With a bit of cello, heartfelt vocals, some disco percussion, a name-check for Russian writer Maxim Gorky and what sounds like someone tapping out a tune on the ribs of a skeleton, this is probably the finest Bunnymen single ever."

— Dave Rimmer

It has now been just short of a year since I first launched VER HITS and we've already come across a few acts more than once (and that's not even including the so-called "cop" picks I've been making). In these cases, it's been interesting seeing how each managed to progress — assuming, of course, that's what they were striving for. ABC's second effort ramps up the loucheness of their first, while Kim Wilde's second kick at the SOTF crown is a tinkering of her patented gloomy song stories that had made her a darling of the Smash Hits staff. The Jam were progressing towards their demise, "Beat Surrender" being as far as they could possibly go. (Only Bobby O's pair of star singles hints at a static level of creativity; for all I know, he could well have cut his two entries at the same session)

Clearly, I am still several years away from growing disillusioned by having to write about five Cure singles (even if they were all pretty good) or four by Billy Idol (and only one of them was dreadful) or another four from Manic Street Preachers ("Motorcycle Emptiness" aside, I don't give a shit about any of the others). Oh the days when doing this blog was a pleasure and not a burden. It seems like such a long time ago.

We last encountered Echo & The Bunnymen here back in September with David Hepworth anointing a SOTF upon "The Back of Love" which also happened to be their first hit single. I describe it as a "breakthrough" for the Bunnies and Heps seems particularly pleased to discover that they at last seemed "fed up with loitering in the backwaters of hipness". Jump ahead eight months later (fifteen if you insist on going by what the calendars recorded) and there's Dave Rimmer pleasantly surprised that they've finally come out with something you might want to dance to rather than ponder over. Ian McCulloch and his Bunny chums seemed to have a lot of trouble shaking their reputation for making music that isn't necessarily to be enjoyed but should make their fans feel vastly superior to those poor, uninitiated sods.

This was never the case with a group like The Jesus & Mary Chain, perhaps because the Reids never considered themselves to be above it all. By contrast, the Bunnymen always seem to exist in a world in which they might enjoy the music they make and they may respect their ever loyal fanbase but they really don't seem to have much regard for anyone else. Pop stars are throwaway, stadium rock acts are self-important and indie artists are so pathetically tragic. And all of this may be true but it applies all the more to this Scouse act who managed to be throwaway, self-important and pathetically tragic all at once. But good on them for recording a handful of brilliant pop songs. I'd even dance to something like "Never Stop" if I didn't think that dancing was so stupid.

Rimmer is so pleased by this apparent shift that he might be guilty of overdoing the praise a touch. While it's hard to disagree that it's "probably the best Bunnymen single ever", I don't know that I'd go so far as to describe the opening as "joyous" or that I'd sum it all up by saying that it's "sheer bliss". Nevertheless, there's plenty here to admire. Musically damn-near flawless (now who's overselling), the cello, disco percussion and "what sounds like someone tapping out a tune on the ribs of a skeleton" manage to overshadow some fantastic Will Sergeant guitar playing (the instrumental break in which he does some fast-paced chugging followed by some fun with a whammy bar is remarkable). Rims is also taken by McCulloch's "heartfelt vocals" but they sound like Mac doing what he always did (and probably still does): a more powerful Terry Hall, a less melodramatic Bono, a Robert Smith you can relate to (yet, strangely, not close to as compelling as any of them). Distinctive enough — when a random song comes on I certainly know when it's not him — if not exactly individual, his histrionic wail couldn't have suited the Bunnymen sound better. If he's heartfelt on "Never Stop" then he's equally affecting elsewhere. (Still, I suppose it provides the only Top of the Pops clip of McCulloch untucking his shirt mid-performance — or is it? — so perhaps that gives his nibs points on the soulful scale)

As stated above, I'd only been at this Singles of the Fortnight blog for about a year when I got to "Never Stop". How it never occurred to me, then, that it is a pretty obvious steal from Haircut One Hundred's "Love Plus One" (a fellow SOTF from a few months' earlier) is anyone's guess. Rimmer doesn't seem to notice it either. Did Ian McCulloch think that Nick Heyward's songs are "woolly"? It feels like something he'd say. Not that I don't blame him for pundering such a fine pop song (one that I had already claimed owed more than a little to Paul McCartney's "Listen to What the Man Said"). You do you, Ian.

I get the feeling that hacks at ver Hits really had high hopes for Echo & The Bunnymen and that goes some way to explaining why they held their weaknesses — the ultra-hipness, the penchant for philosophy — against them so much and celebrated when they were able to overcome them. From the perspective of three and a half decades on, it's difficult to fully comprehend why they were so esteemed. A fine frontman, an inventive guitarist, a tight rhythm section, sure, but there's something missing that kept them from being special. McCulloch may reckon that they could have easily been U2 but I'd say it's much more likely that U2 could have been Echo & The Bunnymen.

Oh, my one substantive point on the Bunnymen. U2 could have been them. I'm proud of this observation even if I've never heard anyone agree with it or (imagine that) quote it back to me. In all honesty, I just wanted to write an essay in which I could use it. What else is there to say?

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Prefab Sprout: "Lions in My Own Garden (Exit Someone)"

"Doubt they'll get far with a name like that," pipes Rimmer, who was getting this 'Prefab Sprout is a crap name' obsession underway as early as possible. (For the love of god, Mark Ellen yammers on about it to this day) This idea that their name held them back from becoming a bigger deal is nice and all but it ignores Paddy McAloon's rather impenetrable compositions. Scritti Politti were only a little more successful and they had Green's Michael Jackson-like falsetto to aid their cause and mask his love for Derrida. McAloon composed "Lions in My Own Garden (Exit Someone)" as little more than an exercise to try to spell out LIMOGES, a town in France. His melodic gifts were already on display, though they would only get better, but so too was his attraction to obscurity, no matter the name of the band he has been fronting.

(Click here to see my original review)