Dear Kate Bush,
There is a plethora of plethoras of reasons why you drench our spirits in highly flammable musical kerosene before setting them alight, why you can put a spring in our step on a rainy November morning in Manchester, why you can leave us gasping for air after being dragged on a non-stop-tour through emotions we didn’t know we could experience, but one of them is that you just don’t get it. You don’t see why people have spent decades building up a lavish mythology surrounding your creations, your art, your personality and lifestyle, because you’re just a little middle-class girl from Kent who got lucky and landed a very flexible recording contract. You giggle uncomfortably when a journalist asks you why your fans actually consider you a deity on earth. Dazzlingly, this has the simple effect of making us love you even more.
One thing we don’t love about you is the unfortunate realisation that we will never witness you reproducing your work in the same room as us, in a theatre of live music. We will never be able to absorb the love, adoration and utmost respect emitting from everyone else in that room, nor will we be able to punch our fist into the air with undiluted joy or embarrassingly wipe away the tear dribbling down our cheek when we hear you sing one of those hundreds of songs which have affected us so when it’s just us, our headphones and iTunes. However, it is something we have come to accept, if not entirely respect. We can still see Madonna shoot a crucifix-shaped guitar pick from her vagina into the audience or watch Björk strum an eighteen-foot-tall harp using swan veins instead of strings if we so wish.
However, when we discovered you were to be releasing an album formed of re-recordings of tracks from two previous records, we were filled with glee. You proclaimed these were not self-covers, they were how you had always intended the songs to sound – hence the name – but we chose to interpret them as versions of the songs that you would probably be performing if we were to see you in concert tonight. Whereas other artists, like aforementioned Madonna and Björk, constantly re-visit and re-invent their back catalogue so it bores neither them nor their audience, we’ve never had a chance to hear how your take on an old album track would sound. But now we do. There has been much said about your decision. Some have proclaimed it as a waste of time and energy, others have noted that the songs you have re-visited are sheer perfection in their original form and require anything but a re-vamp. Others have simply moaned it’s not new material, to which you thankfully responded with the news that you’re actually not very far from finishing your next studio album.
So yesterday, we listened to the album in it’s entirety for the first time. Naturally, there some observations we would like to discuss. First up, there is a distinctly different mood and atmosphere in each of these songs from what they were inhabited by on their respective original albums. They feel a lot more relaxed, sparser, perhaps very similar to Aerial in that respect, perhaps due to your choice of recording them onto analogue tapes like the majority of your work (The Sensual World and The Red Shoes remain the only Kate Bush albums originally recorded digitally). On the other side of the penny however, much of the dramatic tension seems to have been lost. For example, while the thrilling mandola introduction remains in “The Red Shoes”, the energy seems to have been sapped from the vocals, leaving the listener a tad... deflated? The theme recurs in a personal favourite of ours, “Never Be Mine”. In parts the electric atmosphere of the song increases, and luckily it still has the power to invoke goose pimples, yet why were the gut-wrenching anguish-laden vocals of the chorus replaced with a rendition making you sound like you can’t be arsed? It’s a blessing you chose to keep the Trio Bulgarka harmonies – there possibly would have been spilt blood if they were lost. So far, while there have been good moments and there have been disappointing moments, we still believe these are an excellent example of how you would perform the songs if you were to tour. In that respect, it is a fascinating insight into how you view your back catalogue and is part of what keeps us listening.
“The Sensual World” has famously been completely replaced with “Flower of the Mountain”, a song now featuring lyrics lifted from Ulysees as you so wished to include in 1989. This seems to be the only track on the album which actually feels legitimately part of your vision for the album – a collection of songs sounding exactly how you had always hoped they would sound – as it features elements that were genuinely always intended to be part of the song. Again, we’re grateful the simmering eroticism of the song has not been lost. The introduction still stirs, the vocals still shiver. Deeply interesting that the song which is in fact the most different from the original – seventy five percent of the lyrics appear to be brand new – seems to most successfully replicate the listening experience of the original. But like before, with one incredible track there must be one diabolical one. For all the defence we want to give you, for all the criticism we will deflect, there is not one word of praise we can give to “Rubberband Girl”. We’re genuinely hoping your notorious sense of humour is at play here – it must be yours, or someone else’s, because we’re actually still in shock that you would allow something like that to be put out under your name. Kate, it’s absolutely horrific. You said in an interview you were considering leaving it off the final track listing. Had you had a bottle of elderflower wine when you decided to keep it?
“This Woman’s Work” and “Moments of Pleasure”, the emotional feasts of both respective albums, thankfully shine. The former basks in its space, allowing every word to concentrate power and impact, while the latter seems to revel in its reputation as being perhaps Kate’s most introspective song. Gone are any notions of unaware professions of joy and sadness, replaced with knowing sadness and reflection. The effect is truly remarkable, and to surpass the throbbing tragedy of the originals is a feat previously unimaginable. Over the next few days, we will be listening to the record more and more, hopefully discovering new things each time. For an artist who never looks back, this album is a rare gem, one to be treasured for all its flaws as much as its beauties. It is a peek through the window of what might be – how Kate might choose to reproduce her work on stage at the Royal Albert Hall. Because somehow I believe that will never happen, this is as close as we are going to get. And above all, if there is any living artist working today to be shown the utmost respect regardless of their artistic decisions, it is Kate Bush. By God she has earnt it, and none of us mere mortals are in any position whatsoever to question her choices. For all of the jarring elements, it is our duty to accept that there is a reason for all of them, and that’s just something we must tolerate. We can’t wait for album nine.
All of our love,
Shiny & New
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