Kate Bush - Rock fairy tales across four octaves

Few women in rock history have managed to combine as many artistic qualities as Kate Bush. Composer, songwriter, performer, producer, arranger, multi-instrumentalist (piano, Fairlight, violin, bass, guitar, drum machine), dancer, choreographer, director: all of this is what the former child prodigy has managed to be over the years, the girl who at just 19 astonished the world with "Wuthering Heights". It was one of those ballads destined to leave its mark, a romantic fable inspired by Emily Brontë's "Wuthering Heights", but above all a showcase for the incredible voice of Catherine Bush, known as Kate, capable of spanning a full four octaves. Such talent, among women in rock, hadn't been seen since the days of Janis Joplin. But Kate Bush's voice had little in common with the anguished singing of the great American blues singer. Her voice conjured up gothic fairy tales and Celtic folk, medieval mysticism and witches' spells, tribal rites and the most ethereal pop. A style that would soon go on to influence entire generations of singers, from Tori Amos to Elizabeth Fraser of Cocteau Twins, from Bjork to Anneli Marian Drecker of Bel Canto, and countless others besides.

"I've always taken pleasure in reaching notes that aren't easy to reach. A week later I hit that note and try to reach an even higher one.

(Kate Bush)

Despite the legendary aura surrounding her persona, Kate Bush has always preferred to avoid the spotlight. So when she had a baby, the British tabloids actually accused her of trying to hide the birth. She responded in an unusual way, with a letter to her Fan Club: "I want you to know that I am very happy and proud to have such a beautiful son, Bertie is wonderful. Far from being secretive, I'm just trying to be a good, protective mother and give him as normal a childhood as possible, while preserving his privacy. Being a mum is a great joy for me, as is working on the new album. I hope you'll be happy for me". A career born from a great passion. "Before I even went to school, before I learned to read, I used to sing Irish and English traditionals. I think music captured my soul even before education ever touched me", she has recalled.

At the Bush family farm near London, in the Kent countryside, music was always present. Kate's father, a doctor by profession, loved playing the melodies of Chopin, Beethoven and Schubert on the piano. Her mother Hannah, Irish by birth and a nurse, played the harp instead, and loved dancing to the traditional tunes of her homeland. Her younger brother, Jay, loved playing guitar and was a follower of the philosopher J. B. Gurdjieff, whose teachings would go on to shape the English singer's repertoire. Her older brother Paddy specialized in building the kind of medieval instruments that would later appear on several of Kate's records. "We had an old organ in a barn attached to our house," Kate Bush recalls, "and I spent a lot of time playing hymns on the pedals. I loved those melodies and harmonies, and I worked out for myself that a chord is made up of at least three notes, and that by changing just one of them you get completely different chords to accompany other notes. That's where my interest in how music can change through the use of different chords came from. As the mice gradually gnawed away at the organ, I lost the use of more and more notes, so I turned to the piano instead." Despite the difficulties she faced within the strict walls of St Joseph's Senior School, Kate revealed her musical genius early on. With no theoretical training behind her, apart from a few violin lessons, between the ages of 10 and 13 she practiced by tinkling away at the white keys and accompanying Paddy on piano while he played violin. "I've always enjoyed reaching notes that aren't easy to reach," she has said. "A week later I'll hit that note and try to reach an even higher one. I've always felt that you can sharpen your senses if you try. The voice is like an instrument. The reason I sang 'Wuthering Heights' with such high notes is because I felt that's how it had to be. The book has a mysterious atmosphere, and I wanted the song to reflect that."

By '71, embryonic versions of songs like "The Man With The Child In His Eyes" and "The Saxophone Song" already existed, later included on the debut album, The Kick Inside.

Lindsay Kemp taught me that you can express yourself through your body, and that when your body is awake, so is your mind.

(Kate Bush)

But Kate had another passion: dance and mime. After taking a course at the Elephant and Castle school in London, she met Lindsay Kemp, already a mentor to David "Ziggy Stardust" Bowie, one of her idols. "I went to see one of his shows, and it was then that I suddenly realized this was exactly what I'd been looking for, that kind of movement combined with music. So I started attending some of his classes. He taught me that you can express yourself through your body, and that when your body is awake, so is your mind," Kate Bush recalled in her "Biography". And Lindsay Kemp remembers her this way: "I saw this little shining thing: she reminded me of Tinker Bell, or Wendy from Peter Pan, or something like that. In class she gave herself completely. Out of that slight, fragile, shy person came this expressive potential. She loved drama. I just helped her a little to dance, to be a bit sharper than she had been before." Kate Bush's passion for dance and for the esoteric (she is said to still enjoy the art of tarot cards) combines with a wide-ranging musical universe, one that goes well beyond folk and classical. Roxy Music, Beatles, Rolling Stones, King Crimson, Pink Floyd, Steely Dan and Fleetwood Mac are her favorite rock stars. But her true muse is Billie Holiday: "She was a hugely important discovery for me. Her voice touched me. So moving, so heartbreaking. When I sang at 18, I always wore a flower behind my ear to look like her: I felt it would bring me luck. Even today she's a huge inspiration." A devotion Kate Bush translated a few years ago into a cover of one of the great American singer's classics, "The Man I Love".

Her "guardian angel", meanwhile, was David Gilmour, guitarist of Pink Floyd. It was he who was struck by the qualities of the 14-year-old girl he'd heard singing on a crackly demo. It was he who produced some of her songs and put her in touch with Terry Slater, the head of EMI. He recalls how the idyll began: "One day I was walking past the office of my colleague Bob Mercer when I heard the demo of 'The Man With The Child In Her Eyes'. I threw the door open and asked Bob: 'Who is this little bird?!', and he said, 'It's a girl named Kate Bush.' I said: 'This song is great: what do I have to do to get in touch with her?' He gave me her phone number and I called her."

Thus began the career of one of the greatest rock singers of all time. A curious circumstance marked the gestation of her debut album, The Kick Inside (1978). EMI wanted to push "James And The Cold Gun" as the first single. But Kate wouldn't hear of it: she had chosen "Wuthering Heights". "I told her that her job was to write songs, while mine was to bring them to market," Bob Mercer recalls. "I felt that if she experienced failure at such a young age, she wouldn't be able to handle it. Those were busy days for me. I was dealing with the fallout of the Sex Pistols fiasco and didn't expect this kind of behavior from her. I was about to lose my patience when she burst into tears. At that point I told her: 'Fine, but when you hit the wall, you'll learn not to interfere again.'"

But Kate Bush didn't hit the wall: "Wuthering Heights" (1978) became a smash hit, staying at the top of the British charts for four weeks. The success was such that sales of Emily Brontë's novel of the same name saw a significant boost as well. From then on, EMI was forced to listen to her.

I’m so cold!

Let me in-a-your window…

Ooh, it gets dark! It gets lonely

On the other side from you

("Wuthering Heights")

The Kick Inside (1978) stunned audiences with its richness and originality. It's the debut album of a formidable sixteen-year-old, capable of singing across a four-octave range, moving effortlessly from "witchy" registers to the sweetest tones of a fairy-tale narrator. A record that is perhaps immature (how could it not be!), but overall highly innovative. Rarely had a singer-songwriter been seen blending ethnic sounds, pop melodies, near-Gothic arrangements and the verve of a true folksinger. There's the imprint of David Bowie (in the melodic sense, in the taste for pantomime, in the pursuit of effect and shock), but also a gift for synthesis very close to Peter Gabriel's syncretism (considered by many to be her real mentor). The unsettling "Wuthering Heights", built on an odd time signature, is a supreme display of vocal range and romantic melodicism, a poignant evocation of the myth of sweet Cathy, cruel Heathcliff and their stormy love: “Heathcliff, it’s me – I’m Cathy/ I’ve come home. I’m so cold!/ Let me in-a-your window… Ooh, it gets dark! It gets lonely/ On the other side from you/ I pine a lot. I find a lot/ Falls through without you/ I’m coming back, love/ Cruel Heathcliff, my one dream/ My only master”. But the real "heights" are those reached by Bush's vocal cords: her soprano climbs to extremely high pitches that seem almost to leap off the stave, painting a wonderful melody.

The thirteen tracks are so many stops on a fantastical journey in the style of "Alice in Wonderland": a romp through folk legends and glam colors, through lost innocence and occult magic. On this latter front, "Strange Phenomena" stands out in particular, one of the two tracks produced by Gilmour (the other being the smooth "Moving", which instead caresses the more tenderly childlike side of Kate's personality).

The record is a succession of mysterious, dreamlike, fairy-tale figures, like "James And The Cold Gun" or "The Man With The Child In His Eyes", the centerpiece of the album's second big hit: a sweet pop ballad in which the theme of childhood purity returns as an ideal condition of humanity. The arrangements are consistently rich and imaginative, clearly shaped by Bush's passion for the sensual, melodramatic atmospheres of glam (Bowie and Roxy Music, in particular).

I don't want to stand on stage feeling like myself, I don't think I'm an interesting subject to look at. What I want is to feel like the character in the song.

(Kate Bush)

Success is confirmed a few months later with Lionheart. Less focused and more muddled than its predecessor, the album is dominated by pop melodicism that's on the whole a bit saccharine (a typical example: "Oh England My Lionheart"), with the exception of the hit single "Wow", a showcase for her sublime voice as it magically rides through the chorus, and of other highly "fairytale-like" tracks such as "In Search of Peter Pan" and "Kashka From Baghdad", forever poised between pop melodies and folk orientalism.

In April 1979 Kate Bush made her stage debut at the Palladium in London. She wrote the lyrics, music and choreography, designed the costumes, and won over audiences and critics alike with the way she sang, danced and acted.

Her performances are a blend of dark sensuality and tenderness, poetry and kitsch provocation. An explosive charge the singer explained like this: "I don't want to be on stage feeling like myself, I don't think I'm an interesting subject to look at. What I want is to feel like the character of the song. I think it's more interesting for whoever comes to see the show, and it's also more of a challenge for me. By feeling like the character of the song, I suddenly feel a strength and energy I might not normally have. It's very hard for me to be myself 'on stage': I'd just stand there twiddling my thumbs".

The following year brought the triumph of the single "Babooshka", a magical, bewitching nursery-rhyme ("staged" with a full kitsch get-up in the accompanying video), which definitively crowned her a star of world rock. The album that followed, Never For Ever, also graced by the tender anti-militarist ballad "Army Dreamers", is perhaps her most complete work. "It was my first record that I was able to listen to while relaxed and really enjoy it," she recalls. "It represented my first step toward controlling the sounds. I was far more involved in the whole production process, so I had much more freedom and control." The album is the perfect synthesis of Bush's pop melodicism and her "ethnic" sensibility, her taste for traditional folk and her futuristic-electronic drive. Her singing, further refined, is ever more spectacular: her witchy vocal flights are frightening, as is her vocal range, which puts 99 percent of her peers to shame.

Never For Ever is steeped in a typically "British" theatrical flair (which is precisely why it would go down poorly in America), once again a descendant of the glam of Roxy Music and David Bowie. Besides the single "Babooshka", there are more classic ballads like "Breathing" (which, despite its "light" sound, tackles a dramatic subject like the consequences of nuclear war) and the superb anti-militarist ode "Army Dreamers", magnificently whispered by Bush's little voice amid gentle acoustic arrangements and the sound of rifles being loaded in the distance. The "lightness" of this album is also evident in a track like "All We Ever Look For", which sounds as if it stepped straight out of a Shakespearean comedy.

From 1980 Kate Bush began collaborating with Peter Gabriel, with whom she reportedly also had a long relationship. The fruits of that partnership are evident in the ethno-folk project The Dreaming (1982), inspired by a centuries-old Australian Aboriginal tribal painting. It's one of Kate Bush's most experimental and daring records, and she would go on to gift the former Genesis frontman a memorable duet on "Don't give up" (from "So", 1986). Not all the tracks, in truth, show songwriting skill equal to their ambitions. But the intent is nonetheless praiseworthy: a thoroughly original (and vaguely "pop") reinterpretation of the most tribal "ethnic" music (especially African). Rhythm and percussion dominate, but so do Bush's usual theatrics: "Sat In Your Lap" is perhaps the most frightening and effective, while the vocal acrobatics of the title track also remain memorable. "Leave It Open", meanwhile, doesn't forget the "gothic" attitude that has always run through her records.

In general, Kate Bush no longer sets limits on her vocal cords, which by now seem to possess the range of a piano. In the meantime, though, the English singer gradually withdraws from the spotlight, rationing her TV appearances and concerts.

After three years of silence, the more accessible Hounds Of Love, her first work recorded entirely in her home studio, brings her back into the spotlight and the charts, finally (!) even in America. Setting aside the ethnic experiments of The Dreaming, Bush offers up a set of more rhythmic and aggressive pop-rock, bordering on dance (it's no coincidence that some tracks would later be remixed). There are chiefly three points of reference: the ethno-funk of Peter Gabriel, the hazy electronics of post-Dark Side Of The Moon Pink Floyd, and a melodic grace closely related to the Beatles. Bush's singing itself is transformed too, almost entirely giving up the high notes that made her famous, "dropping" a few tones.

The mid-1980s saw major pop stars moving millions of people on the dance floor and flirting with audiences on MTV through ever more aggressive rhythms, but with Hounds Of Love the new Kate Bush, even provocative on the glossy cover art, would fear no comparison. An unprecedented dynamism grips the listener the moment the album opens with its first, unforgettable single. The martial, galloping beat of "Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God)" underpins a dreamlike landscape over which Bush's voice settles restlessly, at times dramatically, yet without ever losing the funky phrasing that makes it, in effect, a track of undeniable radio appeal. A song that stands as a symbol of pop sophistication forever vivid through time. A sensual, unreachable light. The track would indeed be seized upon by wildly different bands, as shown by the most celebrated covers released from the 2000s onward (Within Temptation, Placebo, Chromatics, First Aid Kit). The video is also fantastic, with Bush dancing like a dazed Goddess alongside dancer Michael Hervieu.

The same dynamism can be found in the title track, a crackling, slightly more populist ride built on swirling strings and vocal extravagances (the baying of hounds turned into backing vocals), and in the sweeping crescendo of "The Big Sky", where Bush's singing starts out gentle before giving itself over to an ecstatic sabbath, amid tribal rhythms, hysteria and cutting guitars.

Soothing such a propulsive incipit is the ghostly tableau of "Mother Stands For Comfort": a pitch-black bass line, sparse piano notes and Bush's Fairlight taking centre stage amid elastic vibrations and shattering glass. A scenario that's anything but reassuring for a meditation on maternal overprotectiveness. The father figure, on the other hand, is the focal point of the superb "Cloudbusting" (the second single, accompanied by an equally memorable video featuring Donald Sutherland), in which the fascinating figure of the cloudbuster, inspired by Peter Reich's book "A Book Of Dreams", is staged through a relentless bolero caught between Eastern and Celtic fascinations.

Family dynamics, the search for unconditional love that transcends the roles of a couple, the harmony of nature as a yearning for the divine. With five exquisitely crafted pop songs, Kate Bush seems intent on gathering fixed points of reference ahead of even more demanding and sinister narratives. What follows is an entirely different story, practically an album within the album, in which the progressive soul of the artist from Kent, held in check until now, returns to the territory of The Dreaming and overwhelms us forcefully with one of her most ambitious works, the seven-part suite titled "The Ninth Wave". A crystalline voice echoing into the void belongs to a woman shipwrecked and adrift at sea, torn between staying alert while waiting for rescue and giving in to a comforting but fatal sleep. In just under three minutes, the bittersweet piano ballad "And Dream Of Sheep" rivals the stormy peaks of her past work and leads us into the psychological depths of someone at risk of losing everything they hold most dear. This marks the beginning of the album's aforementioned second half, made up of floating movements, halfway between chart-ready delicacies and the longed-for pursuit of a conceptually higher artistic elevation. An escape from one's own ghosts, with water serving as the pivotal element in which to let go or "drown". In the opening "Under Ice", the second of these two possibilities takes the upper hand. The mood is dark. The swan has turned "black". "Waking The Witch" signals further perdition, anguish, dismay. Bush is at the mercy of negative waves. She seeks shelter between one piano note and the next, a prayer and an invocation, before an android rhythm takes over in support of an alienated dance, as if, still tiptoeing, wanting to mark out "other" territories. One could invoke certain instrumental insights of Eno and Fripp on the disorienting "My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts", doled out here and there with a feminine "hysteria".

By contrast, "Watching You Without Me" tempers the neurosis with its Eastern-tinged gait, arriving at more conciliatory destinations. As Bush herself explained, the song imagines the "homecoming of a shipwrecked woman". A longed-for dwelling, in this case an actual pagoda. "Watching You Without Me" is indeed the most exotic track of the bunch. A warm stopover before various hallucinations kick back in, as well demonstrated by "Jig Of Life", amid "celebrating" violins and visions of the future clashing with memories of the past. Thoughts to be shed, that is, in order to live again. Sensational, too, is the "continental leap" softened by the musician, flying in a single bound from the Orient to her beloved Northern Europe, complete with folk dance as a counterpoint to the obsessive beat. The sampled dialogue of American astronaut Daniel Brandenstein with NASA mission control, in turn, opens the doors to the album's other ballad: "Hello Earth". The work's concept, built around the figure of a woman metaphorically drowning in her own troubles, finds its defining note in the exhortations of a choir arriving to rescue a wounded soul.

The planet, with all its wonders, is thus a mirage, an anchor of salvation. The trick is to flee from pain, "simply" burning through life with every passing second. A positivity that returns in full force in the album's closing stretch. "The Morning Fog" is precisely that: the morning mist that hides landscapes while simultaneously revealing new ones. The atmosphere is luminous, between the sweetest acoustic phrasing and promises to be sung with no more psychodrama on the horizon. It's the desire for an authentically fulfilling future that takes over in the words of the British musician.

Kate Bush returns to the fore also thanks to the almost simultaneous release of The Whole Story, an excellent anthology retracing her hits. But from that point on begins her decline, briefly interrupted (in part) by the refined The Sensual World (1989), which makes use of the Bulgarian radio orchestra and choir and tells "of the sensuality of the world and how much pleasure it gives our senses if we surrender ourselves to it". Its sound continues along the lines of Hounds Of Love, but with fewer melodies up its sleeve. Nonetheless, there are at least two splendid tracks, such as the intimate "This Woman's Work" (with excellent lyrics) and the sensual "Never Be Mine", in keeping with her romantic fatalism.

Kate Bush's only album of the 1990s is The Red Shoes (1993), which marks a slight decline, taking refuge in hushed and, at times, somewhat anaemic pop songs. There are nonetheless episodes worthy of her class, such as the opening single "Rubberband Girl", rhythmic in her typically distinctive style, followed by the passionate slow-paced novelty of "And So Is Love", the ethnic "Eat The Music", almost danceable amid its instrumental chaos, the nostalgic elegance of "Moments Of Pleasure", right up to the romantic, aching "You're The One". Episodes that, even if they don't recall the pathos of the peaks reached before, at the very least entertain with real craft.

Not her best work, then, but yet another testament to her fairy-tale pop artistry, which would also earn her a Best Female Artist nomination at the 1995 Brit Awards.

When I'm completely satisfied with one of my works, it'll be the end, the death knell.

(Kate Bush)

A vegetarian, Kate Bush believes in reincarnation, claims to be fascinated by religion while describing herself as “not a very religious person”, and maintains that when she's completely satisfied with one of her works “it'll be the end, the death knell”.

Her fans would wait twelve years for the new album to arrive, with Kate mostly occupied with her new job as a mother.

The ambitious Aerial (2005) puts an end to the long wait, with two CDs (the first “A Sea Of Honey”, the second “A Sky Of Honey”) for a total of just over 80 minutes. It opens with the single “King Of The Mountain”, a poor attempt to redo “Running Up That Hill”, with which it shares the measured cadence. The second track, “Pi”, is actually puzzling: good bass work and a very curious lyricism as Kate sings about numbers (obviously 3, 14...), with a sprinkling of electronics around it: nice sounds, but little else. A complete change of register comes with “Bertie”, one of the best tracks, with a curiously Renaissance atmosphere, complete with cello and “renaissance guitar”. It really sounds like a John Renbourn track from Pentangle. “Mrs. Bartolozzi” shows off a gorgeous voice as usual, with romantic, somber piano, a rise and fall dense with sweetness and tension. “How To Be Invisible” brings back a rhythmic dimension, with an almost bluesy aftertaste and rich arrangements, but built on a nonexistent melodic line... Then comes “Joanni”, the low point of the record: electronic rhythm, affectation piled on to dress up a dull, pointless song. At the close of the first disc, though, comes a gem, “A Coral Room”, piano and voice, heart on sleeve and great poetry, an abyss of spleen. The mood and style of “A Coral Room” also pervades the opening of the second disc. “Prelude” is exactly what the title says and introduces “Prologue”, deeply intimate with a thread of restless darkness, then “An Architect's Dream”, almost suspended on a bed of keyboards and percussion, and “Sunset”, introduced by the very brief “The Painter Link”, again focused on piano and voice, crystalline beauty with a mock-Latin finale. These are the record's finest moments, with oblique, elusive melodies, sounds and voice full of nuance. The mood lightens a little with “Somewhere In Between” (introduced by “Aerial Tal”), a small detour toward a more conventional pop that doesn't quite fit the tone of the record. “Nocturn”, which brings back an electro-acoustic mood, proves engaging, but ultimately drags you along for eight minutes in a somewhat inconclusive way, and the closer, the title track, with its synthetic, at times pressing rhythm, leaves you rather puzzled in its evanescent obsessiveness. A work that is at times highly refined, often intimate and not easy to take in fully, it stands as certainly the Kate Bush record furthest from pop/rock stereotypes, the most committed and perhaps the most demanding and courageous, but just as certainly not the best.

Kate Bush's next break from silence comes in 2011, with the compilation Director's Cut, on which she reworks a handful of songs taken from “Sensual World” and “The Red Shoes”. It's an elegant remake, but not a particularly rich one artistically, with few moments matching the rhythmic surges of “Lily”, which almost goad Bush into the occasional, always controlled, shriek.

On the other hand, the usual tribal-folk rides of “The Red Shoes” leave you fairly unmoved, with vocal harmonizations that had already been fully explored back in the days of “The Dreaming”, in 1982, when it was time for another masterpiece. A good pillow, though, can cushion the drowsy blows dealt by the dreamy sprawl of “This Woman's Work”. There's a lot of academicism running through the pianistic soliloquy of “Moments Of Pleasure”, with that mysterious choir weaving between the arpeggios and gently sliding the song into the depths of sacred music. And there's a likeable Hollywood bluster to “Top Of The City”, with sudden orchestral explosions, as well as the guitar jabs that season the Bush-style gospel of “And So Is Love”. The conventional, rock'n'roll-ish close of “Rubberband Girl” is formulaic, but precisely for that reason perfectly in tune with a project that otherwise feels like little more than tired routine.

Also in 2011 comes an album of new material, 50 Words For Snow. One of her most eccentric works ever, aided by a hazy, sophisticated sonic backdrop that carries the listener into the coldest, most melancholy winter on the whispered notes of minimal songs, of stretched-out melodies that often spin like whirling dervishes on tiptoe. The electronics are still there, but only in the background, in small, faint brushstrokes: the protagonist of the soundscape is almost always the piano.

While on one hand Kate Bush cleverly avoids the clichés of seasonal records (this is not a Christmas album and contains no standards), on the other she perhaps leans too heavily on developing certain ideas already hinted at on Aerial (think of “Mrs. Bartolozzi”). The opening track, “Snowflake”, is an evocative poem sung together with her thirteen-year-old son Bertie, “Lake Tahoe” has a whiff of Joni Mitchell about it, and “Misty” tells of an unusual erotic encounter between Kate and a snowman, with a predictable, sad ending.

“Wild Man” is the beating heart of the record and partly recovers the songwriter's dormant rock soul – though it recalls “King Of The Mountain” more than “Rubberband Girl”. The guests of honour are Andy Fairweather Low, former member of Amen Corner who later became a session man for Roger Waters and Eric Clapton, Elton John (who lends his voice to “Snowed In At Wheeler Street”, a song that finally strikes an emotional chord) and actor Stephen Fry, who recites fifty real and invented names for snow. Amid ups and downs, the collection closes with the gentle “Among Angels”.

Once again, this is a work that has divided audiences and critics. Some call it yet another masterpiece, others say the Queen is naked and has little (if anything) left to say. The truth probably lies somewhere in between: 50 Words For Snow is background music, beautifully recorded but often indulging in a rather colourless new age sound. From the author of “The Ninth Wave” (and of “A Sky Of Honey”), one is entitled to expect a great deal more.

Contributions by Michele Chiusi (“Aerial”), Davide Sechi (“Director's Cut”) and Alessandro Liccardo (“50 Words For Snow”)

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