Silver's light-spreading strings, McCulloch's powerhouse tenor declared the skies blue and his hands untied as the rising wordless backing voices gave way to a refrain so melodic that it had to be kept to la-la-las. They did it: the song is a doorburst of happiness and not a second of it doesn't sound like the band that asked it they were the half of half and half or were they the half that was whole and pleaded to be spared the cutter. And it doesn't let up.
The epic scale strings and acoustics continue but on a Phil Spectorish epic scale. What starts sounding like more Porcupine darkness turns with the vocals into a quite romantic mess of imagery conflating sex and drugs with rock and roll. "Take me internally, forever yours, nocturnal me.
Crystal Days sounds like a major key version of Porcupine's White Devil. McCulloch sings high and pure about looking for hope and hoping it's you. A brief feedback solo gives way to an almost cartoonish '60s interlude on the middle strings.
Yo Yo Man follows with a revisit to flamenco land like Nocturnal Me (and repeats its three time rhythm). It's the closest thing so far to the old Bunnymen with images of flames, snow, bones and prayers but it's again in a major key and the keyboard instrumental at the song's centre adds a Brian Wilson like fairy tale whimsy. When the flamenco strut returns it is with the kind of development with layered vocal lines and a drifting band track before ending on a strident string figure and a droning hum.
Thorn of Crowns comes across as a showcase of the eastern flavours the band had explored on the previous LP as well as furthering the bright clean guitar riffing they'd always taken to triumph. This one was given some working out live and in the studio but never quite takes off. McCulloch's random screeching and shouting feel uninspired and space filling. By the time his impassioned vocals are given over to a list of vegetables you know this one was destined to be the album's hamburger helper. Whatever thinking might have gone into it, this end of side one piece sounds like the kind of Doors-inspired meander that a lot of the '60s influenced bands of the time were trying out (and almost always failing at).
Side two starts with one of the era's stone cold classic anthems. The deathless Killing Moon begins with a tense atonal riff and what sounds like a flub on the guitar but through repetition proves a feature. A tidal drift under the band, aided with a spooky reverbed figure high on the piano keyboard introduces the verse with McCulloch delivering a heartfelt vocal romantic in both senses. This lovelorn scenario happens in the rich blues of a storybook illustration. A brief instrumental led my Will Sergeant's electric 12 string on the lower strings adds drama before the final verse and the first of many farewell choruses in which McCulloch approaches the aching lines about fate variously in higher registers, near spoken word and finally in the full tenor mode that made him his generation's greatest male rock vocalist. The chorus repeats as the voice sinks into the distance and the fade overwhelms it. A point of interest here is how the verses and choruses of this arrangement are played almost identically, with the whammy bar waves and string section rises etc. One thing this band could boast from the first album on was that they never played the parts of the songs the same way. There was always a completely different way to end a chorus or get into a new verse and the middle eights were always offered with great dynamics (all of that can be heard in The Cutter but it's generally how they did it). It feels that the melodic material and emotional commitment to the song kept the riches of the arrangement (the strings are utterly gorgeous) were best left as was. Then again, seldom has a reflection about death felt so much like a love song, so maybe the straight and narrow course had to prevail.
Seven Seas begins with approaching acoustics and electric 12 string before kicking into the verse with crashing piano chords and a propulsive and lithe bass figure. After some lines about tears and happy cavemen the chorus belts into its rising refrain with a glorious intro on tubular bells that lifts an already appealing song into the celestium. The theme of the words is about change, heading from constrains to the open waters of choice and challenge. After a Byrdsy 12 string solo the passionate vocal-ed middle eight sings of burning bridges and smashing mirrors. And then we don't mind that the rest is almost all choruses because they are so infectious.
A three chord organ riff and cinematic piano flourish starts My Kingdom. The words are of conflict, of arguments intense and intimate told with figures of warfare. The electric 12 string in this one is used to clever effect as an intensifier approaching a chorus. The track is the only one on the record to have a distorted guitar solo but, while it gets close to stadium rock manages to stay nice. The stuttering chorus might remind us of the C-c-c-c-cucumber of Thorn of Crowns but here the melodic payoff makes the lines richer and it feels rhythmic rather than dramatic (as it was in My Generation). The trail out solo has some nasty phrases passing between parties as another refrain (ten a penny) comes up like an old drinking song.
The album closes with the title track. This time, unlike Porcupine's massive dirge, Ocean Rain is a gentle arrangement. A pendulous bass swings with the light percussion to suggest the motion of waves. McCulloch comes in weary and observes that he's all at sea again. The verse at first seems simply to be repeated a few times for the entire song but through some subtle substitution whereby you becomes I and your becomes my etc., a world is built around the sadness of the situation. The strings play their most affecting parts on any of the songs on the album, a light statement of a minor third falling to the tonic for the chorus. Before we can really take in the momentum that has been building we are in full crashing tide by the end and McCulloch in full voice: "Screaming from beneath the waves". The lull and easy beauty of the opening has given way to the widest ranging dynamic movement on the album. It might have felt lulling and consoling but by the end it's a scream of pain but also of acceptance. And then the gentler restatement of the chorus leaves us with its difficult message as the song comes to a clean end.
"All hands on Deck at Dawn,
Sailing to sadder shores
Your port in my heavy storm
Harbours the blackest thoughts."
Echo and the Bunnymen continued for a few years longer before breaking up. There have been subsequent reunions and tours but their legacy is firmly placed in four albums that describe an arc of discovery and commitment to power of invention executed with energy of youth and a clarity beyond their years. They are also one of those bands made of solid contributors and collaborators who understood that while you could repeat the lessons of the past it could provide lessons for the future with some restraint and mindfulness that different times called for different measures. The brilliant string arrangements on this record (and the previous one) are far from the big lush washes of the likes of ABC and are better sculpted into the sound and force of a rock band ready for change but loyal to their post punk culture. They contributed to the style and texture of that culture and this record was the apotheosis of that contribution.
Listening notes: I chose the recent hi-res download of Ocean Rain which appeared a few years back on a few of the online hi-res retailers. Beautiful sound.
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