The Sigla Blog

I know the Observer Music Monthly beat me to it with their review of Aerial last Sunday, as did Pete Paphides in The Times but I think this might well be the first Kate Bush review to come out of Ireland (don’t quote me on that whatever you do).

Talking to wood pigeons, lyrics about laundry, bird sounds, homages to Elvis and Joan of Arc, Rolf Harris duets? It can only be the new Kate Bush album…

Kate Bush
Aerial ****
Like millions of Kate Bush fans I’ve been waiting a long time for Aerial, her new double album. I have all of her albums on vinyl; I own two video collections, which I dug out, carried away by waves of pre release publicity; her birthday is the day before mine and I take some sort of cosmic solace in this. Not only does her back catalogue stand up in 2005, the videos even at their most cheaply theatrical, prove that Kate Bush was always ahead of her time. I was a teenager (just about) when she last released an album and The Red Shoes, while it has its moments, is not considered one of her best. Wavering between excitement and trepidation, I trekked out to EMI’s Dublin office.

As the door closed and ‘King of the Mountain’ filled the room, I sat back trying to decide on the ratio between scribbling notes and just soaking it in. The single, released this Friday, is already heavily playlisted and is seen as a positive precursor of what’s to come on the album. Bush presents the story of Elvis the lost genius, through swooping strings and a wood percussion sample (marimba? xylophone?) adds a playful note. One song down, it’s so far so good. ‘Pi’ reminds us that we’re in Kate Bush land, where song titles about circles and numerical rambling are delivered via Bodhran beats and keyboards stabs. By song three, you begin to notice something. The velvet pitch of her voice not only sounds as good as expected after a 12-year hiatus, it has a deeper, bewitching resonance. Production on some of the earlier albums tended to accentuate its shrill quality, not doing justice to Bush’s capability as a vocalist. Here, every nuance is teased out, arching along the spectrum of imagination.

‘Bertie’, named after her son (whose drawings adorn the ‘King of the Mountain’ cover) oozes pride and spirituality. Mandolins punctuate the line “you bring me so much joy/and then you bring me more joy”, repeated like a maternal mantra. ‘Mrs. Bartolozzi’ is a real surprise; on the surface a simple domestic tale of washing machines - “splashy splosy”/ get those cuffs and collar clean” - hints at something darker. Could anyone else sing about doing laundry and make it sound so beautiful?

This is in part, due to a camerilla of contributors who she has worked with consistently over the years. The musical arrangements by long-time (and sadly late) Michael Kamen echo the multi-layered orchestration of The Sensual World. Most obvious on the single and ‘Joanni’ (about Joan of Arc), strings and drums build to the kind of epic mysterious highs we’ve come to expect. ‘A Coral Room’, a reflective piano piece recalls her mother and strikes the same poignant chimes as This Woman’s Work.

There are dips, and they come in the usual guise: a jarring commercialism that sounds as though session musicians bearing big 80s snare drums and sliding bass guitars have gatecrashed the studio. ‘How To Be Invisible’ and ‘Nocturn’ suffer this fate, but thankfully amid 16 tracks, they are in the minority.

If A Sea of Honey is classic Kate, CD 2, A Sky of Honey is the conceptual ante room. Recorded in seven parts, it’s a cyclical snapshot of the dawn-dusk-dawn journey. In ‘Prelude’, vocals mimic wood pigeons and a child cackles happily, ‘Prologue’ boasts a cello echo bouncing off strings and grand piano. Much has been made of Rolf Harris’ appearance on the album - on ‘An Architect’s Dream’ and ‘The Painter’s Link’ - but this time he’s without his didgereedoo, offering subtle vocals instead. The latter is troubled by more overbearing bass but it segues in to the chameleon ‘Sunset’. All three contain the same recurring motifs, rhythms and sounds. Kate tells us “this is a song of colour”, apt imagery for her broad canvas of moods and sounds. The tempo quickens and out of nowhere Spanish guitars usher in a mariachi skiffle.

It’s obvious CD 2 is a test site of sorts for Bush’s continuing interest in non-linear musical form and eclectic instruments. ‘Aerial Tal’ continues the birdsong and the electronic flashes surface briefly. Before it all gets too vague and unhinged, Kate delivers the best track on the entire album. ‘Somewhere In Between’ consolidates the overall epic rush of Aerial, but its off kilter drums, bass-heavy beats and dreamy incongruity make this the most original piece here.

Having left us waiting so long, the last and penultimate tracks both feature laughter, whether she’s glad it’s nearly over or happy to back, remains to be seen. Nocturn’s only highlight is a big ominous choir (we won’t mention the Clannad feel to it) while the title track ‘Aerial’, is sheer hysterical abandon. Violin loops fade in and out, tribal beats steer bird tweets and mandolin. By the end, you literally can’t help yourself stamping your feet.

Kate Bush is an original, a one-off and it’s not hard to see why everyone from Tori Amos to Allison Goldfrapp owe a stylistic and compositional debt to her. While she takes risks with the varying mood, overall the album is rooted in contemplation of the the world around us. She has come along way since the wide-eyed pop urchin who plundered Emily Bronte’s novel, but she has not lost her childlike view of things. These are songs of the imagination that transport you to a place where you want to daydream compulsively.