Twenty-one years after they released their 1980 Sire Records debut, Crocodiles, Ian McCulloch and Will Sergeant are still parading their love of Jim Morrison, Arabic scales and quasi-religious imagery. Though far mellower than their debut, their latest offering, Flowers, nonetheless links us back to the Northern England post-punk scene so strewn with memories and the shed skins of so many legendary bands. Gone are the Chameleons, the Teardrop Explodes, and Joy Division. So what have the survivors left to offer us, in a world where Mudvayne and System of a Down capture young hearts and minds?

The short answer is, of course, another 45 minute expression of the band's love of Jim Morrison, Arabic scales, and quasi-religious imagery. At least they haven't gone big beat. Yes, the boys are still doing what they've always done best, and despite the slight Gallagher Brothers influence on "Hide and Seek," only Echo and the Bunnymen could have written the bulk of Flowers. They make their voices heard loud and clear on the opener, "King of Kings," a song which spreads out the three objects of their affection with a vibraphone grasping the few remaining Middle Eastern tonalities that Will Sergeant's guitar hasn't grabbed for itself. McCulloch, unafraid of confronting the listener from the get-go, opens the album with a theological whopper in which Christ confesses his fears of witnessing "what happens when the soul dies."

Though "Supermellowman" lives up to its title (especially when McCulloch strains to sing, "Life came without warning"), we have to wait until the fourth and fifth tracks, "Make Me Shine" and "It's Alright," for the big chorus songs. "Make Me Shine" is "Pale Blue Eyes" meets "Tambourine Man" as if produced by Todd Rundgren; "It's Alright" could have found a place on the Nuggets II box set had it been recorded 35 years ago and its watery effects pedal had been available in those days. Both are classic Bunnymen.

Taking "Sweet Jane" as its model, "Buried Alive" is the Flowers' memento mori. McCulloch sings about childhoods coming to end too soon and how "life is just to die." Such morose sentiments sound believable and less like youthful sloganeering coming from McCulloch these days. A theremin traces through the grinding guitars and singalong chorus of the track, which recalls the band's Gil Norton-produced self-titled album. "Everybody Knows" leans on "The Cutter" as McCulloch happily croons about "going round my last bend." "Life Goes On" has an awkward skiffle-y Proclaimers vibe to it that the band redeems with the slithering "An Eternity Turns." And then, Flowers closes with the mature ballad, "Burn for Me," which reminds us that the band are not actually the bolshy scruffs in long raincoats we adored two decades ago.

Nonetheless, I adore Flowers because of nostalgia. McCulloch and Sergeant have maintained a bridge to the late 20th century, a time when my hair didn't recede and I could get away with back-combing. Of course, because Flowers doesn't maintain the urgency of Echo and the Bunnymen's early records, it's not the place to begin any investigation into their trippy delights. But for us old-timers who remember reading NME before the editorial policy changed to shameless oh-so ironic hyping of teen pop acts, Flowers stands as a gorgeous bouquet of memories.

-Paul Cooper