On the sleeve of Heaven Up Here, Echo And The Bunnymen look West but they won't be transported by Jim Morrison's blue bus. Say The Bunnymen, "Set sail in these turquoise days"; their schooner is fit for the journey.

Distorted but not always agonised soul is what they display. They sound as if they're struggling beyond nightmares to more peaceful coloured dreams, hacking away at the Gothic undergrowth of the imagination, clearing the ground for further growth. When Ian McCulloch sings "I can't sleep at night/Come up and hold me tight", you know he's rapt in ways he doesn't wish.

Heaven Up Here is an album of control and decontrol: control because The Bunnymen are in confident charge of their music, thus allowing them the freedom to go outside the decontrol. Will Sargeant's and Ian McCulloch's guitars stutter and panic whilst the singer is claustrophobia. There is angst and there is darkness on 'Heaven Up Here' but The Bunnymen never crumple into brittle self-pity or douse their fires through despondency.

A perfectionist could find faults but they're more apparent in the shadow of the album's undeniable triumphs. Occasionally bassist Les Pattison and drummer Peter De Freitas seem to be following the ideas of their companions rather than enforcing their own contributions whilst there are also moments when the band convinces by the tempestuous commitment of their playing rather than the intrinsic calibre of the material. But those aren't disfiguring blemishes. Generally The Bunymen's aim is winningly accurate, sufficient to mark 'Heaven Up Here' as a proud advance over its predecessor.

They harass the complacent but they also soothe those they trouble. 'Over The Wall', 'A Promise' and 'Turquoise Days' trick and treat the listener through engrossing dynamics that launch you into a world where imagination may just supply the means of spiritual survival. McCulloch may confess "My life's a disease", but the posies he and the other Bunnymen flaunt aren't necessarily fleurs de mal.

His lyrics don't immediately expose themselves to even the most alert listener but particularly on the second side, they seem to record a spiritual search – albeit one that never lapses into morbid, diseased introspection. McCulloch strives and besides the music don't permit backsliding.

Reputations can and have been created prematurely. The propaganda can be so disproportionate as bands are promoted beyond their actual deeds. On admittedly a few listens, The Bunnymen's debut didn't seem to me as earth-shaking as some asserted, justifying their favouritism through its future promise than any fully-formed achievements.

But 'Heaven Up Here' defeats any such scepticism despite stray untidy moments. A definite advance then and if they can continue the upward momentum and avoid rockbiz interference, the next should be a killer. Heaven Up Here: while The Bunnymen breed, the listener can breathe.