So you're a big fan of Kate Bush and have been for many years. You're aware that she has a massive cult following and hordes of die-hard fans. In recent years, you've also noticed a resurgence in her popularity amongst hipsters and the mainstream (thanks to Stranger Things and her induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame). Yet outside of social media, you don't know a single person who likes her music. It occurs to you that you could convert some of your more open-minded friends - ones who are not only willing to give her a listen, but also put in the extra time and effort required to appreciate what might be considered an acquired taste. If you were to recommend certain songs to pique their interest, which would you choose?
The origins of your love for Kate Bush and her music are tied to your youth - watching her live performance of Breathing on your family's VHS copy of 1986's Comic Relief, the music video for Peter Gabriel's Don't Give Up on Australian Countdown in 1987, the juxtaposition of This Woman's Work and the penultimate scene of John Hughes' underrated gem, the 1988 film She's Having a Baby. If you're being totally honest with yourself, your interest in Kate Bush is also closely linked, on a more abstract level, to her personality and 'physicality'; neither of which are particularly evident in recent years. Twenty- or thirty-something Kate is very different to fifty or sixty year old Kate. For this reason, let's exclude Bush's later work - the pointless lispy revisionism of Director's Cut and the tedious self indulgence of 50 Words for Snow.
From her debut album, The Kick Inside (1978), to Aerial (2005), there are plenty of great songs you could share with your friends. The question might then be, which should you definitely not recommend? What are the Top 10 Kate Bush songs that new listeners should avoid?
This unpopular single from The Dreaming (1982) may seem like low-hanging fruit, but it would be remiss of me to leave it off this list. Bush has a proven record for including entertaining fictional narratives in her songs; however, comparing this heist/crime tale to another on the same album, Night of the Swallow, it's clear that There Goes a Tenner is vastly inferior. It's not helped by the embarrassing cockney accent she affects (and just as quickly drops, sometimes mid-sentence) throughout the song, nor the fact that she has produced a track that sounds like a children's novelty song; anachronistic and outdated, even upon its release. And time has only compounded that problem.
9) The Big Sky
More
chorus than song, The Big Sky is the fourth and final single released
from Hounds of Love (1985). The worst thing about The Big Sky is that
it's the least interesting track on an otherwise perfect album.
This song from The Sensual World (1989) answers the age old question - What would you do if you met a guy and he asked you to dance by flipping a coin and he was charming and a really good dancer and then you found out the next day that it was Adolf Hitler? According to the lyrics of this track, you would laugh apparently. And so you should. A premise as flimsy as this, that relies on you knowing who Hitler is, but knowing nothing about his fruity little moustache, deserves to be laughed at.
Appearing on Bush's much maligned second album, Lionheart (1980), Delius (Song of Summer) is inspired by the English composer Frederick Delius, who died in 1934. The casual listener is unlikely to realise that the male voice in the song is quoting Delius himself, from a documentary that Bush saw when she was ten years old. All they would hear is what appears to be an old man clearing his throat, some operatic nonsense about syphilis, and a drum machine loop that clicks along like Chinese water torture. Christine Kelley wrote an incredibly detailed and compelling account of Delius (Song of Summer) and its muse here, making Bush's song seem like a work of Delius-like genius. To me, it's the aural equivalent of a head cold.
Also
appearing on Lionheart, In The Warm Room sounds like she's performing
to half a dozen drunk and lonely men in a dingy piano bar. Even if this
were meant as an homage to or satire of sultry lounge singers, it's
unforgivably dull and a little bit gross. If not for it being on a Kate
Bush album, chances are you wouldn't be listening to it.
5) Egypt
In this song from the album Never For Ever (1980), a middle class white woman fantasises about the exotic otherness of the East. There has been some attempt to offset its gushing lyrics with a dark undertone, which was notably emphasised in the video produced for Bush's televised Christmas Special in 1979. Stock footage of pyramids and the Sphinx are intercut with contemporary imagery of dereliction and detritus; the fashionable myth of Egypt, idealised by western housewives of the seventies and eighties, vs the reality of a North African country grappling with rampant poverty. The only saving grace of this song is Bush's video - her cosplaying in 'Arabic' attire and mugging for the camera against a green screen (bug-eyed and blowup doll mouth) is comedy gold.
4) Bertie
You know that one boy in school - you look at him and think, there's a future sex pest. He's malicious, sneaky and a compulsive liar; and due to the fact that his mum thinks the sun shines out of his butt hole, he never has to face the consequences of his actions. Instead, she will inevitably play the victim card and claim her precious son is being unfairly targeted by the teachers. Bertie, from the album Aerial, sounds exactly like that. In it, Bush sings to her seven year old son like she's the first person to ever experience childbirth. You can read between the lines, however, as she prefaces her description of him as being "the most beautiful" with "the most wilful". This kid sounds like a spoilt brat. The song itself sounds like Bravely Bold Sir Robin from Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
It's difficult to split the three tracks that close Kate Bush's 7th album, The Red Shoes (1994). Any of them could potentially be considered Worst Kate Bush Song Ever. I rarely actually make it past the track that precedes them, Constellation of the Heart, before the cringe factor increases to untenable levels.
Big Stripey Lie is Bush's attempt to plug into the edgy early nineties zeitgeist. It is dark, discordant and totally unconvincing; especially when compared to other guitar heavy alternative 'art' music that was being released around that time (Nirvana's In Utero, Nine Inch Nails' The Downward Spiral, Faith No More's King for a Day, Fool for a Lifetime). Even Tori Amos was doing an edgier Kate Bush than Kate Bush was in 1994.
Why Should I Love You?, an unsuccessful collaboration with Prince, sounds like Bush has lost all sense of taste and musically hit rock bottom. That is, until the final track of the album begins. You're the One reminds us that things can always get worse. Even the inclusion of The Trio Bulgarka, whose contributions to The Sensual World helped elevate many of its tracks, can't save this embarrassingly conventional song.
After focusing on Bush's worst songs, you might feel the need to go back and listen to something good. Better yet, watch the 1979 Christmas Special and remind yourself that Bush is at her best when riding the line between greatness and cheese. If you don't have access to the interwebs, you could always amuse yourself with this imaginary View-Master Double-Vue movie cartridge, which includes footage from the Christmas Special and her Tour of Life from the same year (if it were real).
You could even wear your favourite Kate Bush 1979 t-shirt while doing so (if they were also real). More custom designs can be found by following the link, or clicking one of the many convenient tabs at the top of your screen.
Think I've missed Bush's worst song? Been too harsh on your favourite? Then leave a comment below.
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