Bunnyman: why you should read Will Sergeant's brilliant memoirs

“There is supernatural power in the bricks and mortar of the place.”

Happy birthday to Will Sergeant. In tribute, here’s my review of volume 1 of his memoirs.

Bunnyman came out in 2021. The second volume, Echoes, came out last year. I can’t help wondering what he’ll call the third volume. “The”, perhaps. Whatever, I’ll look forward to it, because it turns out that Will is a really good writer and a lot of fun to read.

I originally wrote this review for my personal blog, Older Than Elvis.

Bunnyman: a review

I don’t often write about music books written by men, because there are plenty of other people to do it, and I’d rather promote women’s history of pop. But I’m going to make an exception for Echo and the Bunnymen guitarist Will Sergeant’s memoir Bunnyman, because I Was There.

Not, like Will, growing up in a council flat, closer to Kirkby than Liverpool. Not going to a comprehensive school that decided who was thick. Not getting a dead-end job in 1970s Liverpool. But I was at Eric’s, the punk-era music club that grew Echo and the Bunnymen, and many more post-punk Scouse stars. I remember it as a golden era, and Will’s book confirms it.

There were a lot of loud voices at Eric’s. Pete Wylie, being enthusiastic. Pete Burns, being bitchy. Julian Cope, being pretentious. But Will’s wasn’t one you heard, until now. He was one of the quiet ones. Now you get to hear his voice: wry, reserved, unobtrusively opinionated, often funny. There are some great throwaway lines. On being a teenager: “A lot of wall sitting was done in those days.” On David Bowie: “During the cocaine years, he was in danger of becoming a complete knob.”

But the highlights are the chapters about Eric’s. This is probably the most authentic description of that time and place that I’ve read. There are bits that I could have written myself (“The northern punk aesthetic is very different. It’s all homemade, as was the idea of punk from the start”; “There is supernatural power in the bricks and mortar of the place”). And bits that I wish I had written (Pete Burns is like “a demon that’s got on the wrong bus and just popped into town for a few bits”).

I was a bit frustrated that you don’t get there until halfway through the book. You have to read about Will’s dysfunctional family and schooldays first. I know the back story is important because it sets the music story in context, and tells us a bit about who Will is (damaged, inventive, artistically curious), but I wanted to get to the music.

As for many of us who grew up in the 1970s, the music creeps in gradually. The Beatles as first musical memory. Tape-recording Top of the Pops. Going round friends’ houses to listen to records (heavy rock, prog and glam). Saving up for LPs. First gigs. I love Will’s description of the build-up to the band coming on: “It starts with butterflies in the stomach, then a deep apprehension swells up, fed by the atmospheric murmur of a full house.”

And then you get to “The Birth and Death of Punk”. That’s the chapter title. One chapter. Because the real thing was over “in the blink of an eye”, and: “After punk, we all woke up better for it, refreshed and aware of where we were going or at least where we were not going.”

That’s the crux of the book, because the important music that came out of Liverpool at that time wasn’t punk but post-punk: unconstrained, imaginative, individual. And the next chapter is called “Discovering Eric’s”. Right time, right place. The club becomes a second home, a hotbed of inspiration, creativity and everyone forming bands. I could go on, because I remember it all and I recognise so much. But I won’t say any more, because the rest of the book is about the early days of the Bunnymen and it’s a great story and you’ll want to read it yourself.

Oh, and I mentioned great throwaway lines. The last one’s the best.

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