Kate Bush
English singer-songwriter, musician and record producer; sister of John Carder Bush.
I must work on my mind. For now I realise:
Everyone of us has a heaven inside.
Oh! Don't you throw my love away,
I need your loving, I need your loving...
Her subjects come tripping from library shelves, television and cinema screens and musty books of fairy tales, the stuff that dreams are made of. She spins tunes that haunt, twist and turn the mind, triggering long forgotten moods. Listening intently to her albums is an experience akin to having a lucid and feverish dream. Jungian symbols of youth, innocence, spiritual escape and the dark, feminine realm abound. Ghosts haunt the black vinyl grooves... But it's not all brooding intensity. There are jokes, too...
When that feeling of meaninglessness sets in,
Go blowing my mind on God:
The light in the dark, with the neon arms,
The meek He seeks, the beast He calms,
The head of the good soul department.
All for love
Just for the sake of love.
How I'm moved.
How you move me
With your beauty's potency.
You're a coward, James.
You're running away from humanity.
You're running away from reality.
It won't be funny when they rat-a-tat-tat you down.
The light
Begin to bleed,
Begin to breathe,
Begin to speak.
D'you know what?
I love you better now.
I spend a lot of my time looking at blue,
The colour of my room and my mood...
Bad dreams in the night.
They told me I was going to lose the fight,
Leave behind my wuthering, wuthering
Wuthering Heights.
I want you as the dream,
Not the reality.
That clumsy good-bye kiss could fool me.
But looking back over my shoulder
at you happy without me.
Although she had piano and violin lessons at school, Bush is essentially self-taught. I have always been fascinated by the difference of dynamics at work between popular artists and conventionally trained classical musicians, and had a similar experience with the Edge, of U2, when we worked together on the score of a film called Captive. In fact, gifted "pop" musicians like Bush and U2 are far more demanding of themselves in the studio than classical musicians can afford to be, and will spend days working on a tiny fragment.
All is revealed
Not only women bleed.
"Don't you know you've kept him waiting?"
"Look who's here to see you!"
I'll kiss the ground.
I'll tell my mother,
I'll tell my father,
I'll tell my loved one,
I'll tell my brothers
How much I love them.
You don't want to hurt me,
But see how deep the bullet lies.
Unaware I'm tearing you asunder.
Ooh, there is thunder in our hearts.
I cannot sit and let
Something happen I'll regret.
Ooh, he scares me!
There's a man behind those eyes.
I catch him when I'm bending.
Warm and soothing
That's how I remember home.
Walking into arms through the back door
Hearing voices I know well and long for.
The tambourine jingle-jangles.
The medium roams and rambles.
Not taken in,
I break the circle.
I want this man
To go away now.
Rosabel believe,
Not even eternity
Can hold Houdini!
"Rosabel, believe!"