Echo & the Bunnymen - Porcupine

A review of the 1983 album “Porcupine,” by Echo & the Bunnymen

By Evan Ferstl

Though they don’t have the titanic legacy of some of their counterparts, Echo & the Bunnymen are still a widely celebrated name from the early alternative scene. Their massively influential albums “Heaven up Here” and “Ocean Rain” are arguably the two pillars upon which the Liverpool band built their reputation. “Porcupine,” released in 1983, exists in the space between those releases, serving as a bridge between the former’s aggressive chaos and the latter’s orchestral textures.  

“Porcupine” is by and large a collection of perfectly good, but not special, songs. There are a few solid offerings, such as the title track and “The Back of Love,” but neither is quite like the opening track, “The Cutter,” which, in addition to being one of the more well-known Bunnymen songs, is also an all-time great piece of music. It builds off a subdued opening to a gut-punching bridge, reminiscent of the tactics that made the band’s previous album so dynamic. Then it explodes into a transcendent, untouchable instrumental that blows everything else away. Singer Ian McColloch’s signature wailing, which he employs on many of the album’s choruses, closes the song with just as much power, evoking deep emotional turmoil in his tone that transforms his vague lyrics into the most meaningful words in the world. 

Even in an artist’s prime, some albums get a much better reputation than others. “Porcupine” is a case of a decent album getting overshadowed by its best song, but if it takes nine other attempts with varying results to get one masterpiece, it’s a worthy trade every time.