One might reasonably expect Ian McCulloch, a profoundly Liverpudlian kind of rock star who has spent twenty years dispensing Lennon-esque witticisms this way and that, to have spent his early childhood in that state of intense precocity that seems peculiar to the children of Liverpool. Surely, you would think, he would have been a freckle-faced oik, practically exploding with sheer cheek and guile, pressurising visitors to the city to, "mind your car, mister...10p," scampering around the backstreets, fuelled with mischief rather than blatant naughtiness, streetwise and vocally hyperactive. Such is the Liverpool stereotype, but it is good to report that Ian Stephen McCulloch was, in fact, born into shyness...into sensitivity even. During his first decade, he was a curiously solitary figure, content to occupy the corners of his bedroom, happy to languish in the shadows, out of the way, away from the spotlight. Today, perhaps, legions of amateur child psychologists would instill an urgent paranoia into the parents of such a child, encouraging them to filter him into groups, forcing young friendships. But Ian McCulloch's parents, although perhaps mildly worried, wisely allowed the child room to develop at his own pace, to mix with others when and where he chose.

This early Ian, the child who would turn his bedroom lights off, sit by his window gazing endlessly out into the street, searching for some kind of magic in the yellow streetlight glow, and gently sing to himself, apparently lost in his own imagination is, undoubtedly, the very same Ian who haunts the albums of Echo and the Bunnymen. Anyone who has ever sat in a room, sipping a bottle of wine perhaps, listening to, say, Ocean Rain, will have been deeply affected by the numbing solitary quality of the voice and the courageously poetic lyricism. Ian McCulloch, pop star, feverishly grasping the spotlight and Ian McCulloch, painfully introverted five year old, gazing into the street light, singing, dreaming of something else. One and the same.

It is, perhaps less of a surprise to discover that Ian, born 5th May, 1959, grew up within the warmth of a working class family in Liverpool 8, latterly, perhaps notoriously, known as Toxteth. At the start of the Sixties, Toxteth was still a tightly packed mesh of terraces, brimming with a genuine sense of community, where front doors would be left open and the notion of 'looking after one's neighbours,' an absurd idea latterly, was simply the natural way of life. His father, Robert, worked as a corporation inspector, securing enough income to shunt the family out of Toxteth and into the relative spaciousness of Norris Green where town planners had seeded patches of green, here and there, and had already engaged in building a pattern of cubic flat blocks, paving the way (literally) into thoughtless and deadening modernity. But, at the time, Norris Green seemed a fresh, liberating, up-beat area. His mother, Evelyn was naturally delighted with the move and the McCulloch's - including his brother, Peter, two years Ian's elder - settled comfortably into the Sixties. By all accounts, they were a stable, respectful, loving family and, despite Ian's solitary driftings, enjoyed the contentment of quiet normality.

Ian McCulloch: "I suppose we were nice kids....if that doesn't sound too bland. For one thing, and this might sound really strange these days, we never swore. We had a certain respect...for elders and things like that. We weren't little angels or anything, far from it, but we certainly weren't horrid little sods, either. We never swore..and I think a lot of kids did. But that was never part of our house. I couldn't imagine my mother swearing...it just wouldn't have seemed right and I'm really grateful for that. For that kind of standard."

Ian McCulloch: "I have always been a loner, even though we had a fairly close family, but it wasn't all hugs and kisses. It was quite a large family in a little house, and I was the middle kid of three. I always had mates and I had a great relationship with my brother and sister, but I was a loner in many ways. A sense of humour evolved from my Dad, because he was a very funny man with all these one-liners. That influenced me in lyrical tongue-in-cheekism. All along there have been lots of lyrics, especially with Bunnymen stuff, where I'd think, 'This is a funny line. they'll love this one.' When I look back now, I wonder how on earth I thought people would find it funny. It was more ironic, I suppose."

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