Today is a day full of symbol and meaning (as, admittedly, all days should be, from Creation to Apocalypse) and rich in history. Importantly, in the Catholic and Eastern Orthodox traditions, it’s the Feast of St. Cecilia, a martyr as well as the patron saint of music, a guardian of all that is beautiful in this vale of tears and sorrows.
My own family history is tied intimately to St. Cecilia. In the 1920s, my maternal grandfather’s oldest sister, Cecelia, contracted tetanus. The entire western Kansas farm community came together to collect the $200, a huge sum of money, necessary to purchase the shot. Some men then drove to Kansas City to purchase the shot. When they returned, they administered the medicine, but fate had outraced them across the Great Plains. Aunt Cecilia died a few days later, on May 19, 1927, just four months shy of her 21st birthday. She had also been seriously involved with a local boy torn between a love for her and a longing to enter the priesthood. Needless to write, he spent his career administering the sacraments.
Much to my regret, I never asked my grandfather about Aunt Cecelia, and my grandmother never knew her. The events of her life are now completely lost, outside of her tragic death which seems to have defined her very existence. I have visited Aunt Cecelia’s grave many times in my life; frankly, it’s one of my favorite spots in the known universe. She rests under a gravestone with her oval picture embedded in it. Though the porcelain containing the picture is cracked and chipped, the image intrigues me. Despite the distance from her to me, her eyes reveal much. She looks at me with penetrating intelligence and with more than a bit mischievousness. Aunt Cecelia has even visited me a time or two in my dreams, but she is always merely playful. She’s never spoken to me, even under the drug of Morpheus. Her grave faces east in the windswept and dramatic valley of Pfeifer, Kansas, under the shadow of the gothic church built stone by stone by my ancestors, Heilige Kreuz.
In some way I could never explain rationally, I love Aunt Cecelia. I’m eager to hear her speak to me, to tease me, and to look at me through those mischievous eyes.
I think of my grandfather, the single finest man I ever knew, and how close he had been to her, and I think she must have been a truly fascinating woman. From dreams to visits to the Pfeifer cemetery, she has always been a presence in my life, though hers had been so brief and had ended over forty years before mine began. My wife and I named our fifth daughter after her, slightly changing the spelling. Like her name sake, our Cecilia Rose’s life ended all too tragically and all too soon.
Yet, another reason to consider the importance of November 22. Famously, three prominent twentieth-century figures exited time and entered eternity forty-eight years ago today: John F. Kennedy; Aldous Huxley; and C.S. Lewis. The strange coincidence of their deaths ties them together. Kennedy will always be an enigma. In the public mind, he will remain an Arthurian symbol, though in corrupt form. His ruthless womanizing will (or should) always taint our memory of him. Indeed, justly, one should more readily associate him with Lancelot than with Arthur.
Despite his many oddities, Huxley gave us one of the most damning and accurate appraisals of modernity possible in his work of science fiction from the early 1930s, Brave New World. In this dystopian world, a sanitary but sexually-promiscuous and genetically-engineered population with names such as Benito, Shaw, and Marx, reverenced Henry Ford’s production methods by making the “sign of the T.” As one leader noted, “We have the World State now. And Ford’s Day celebrations, and Community Sings, and Solidarity Services.” With the exception of a small reservation of primitives—syncretic pagan-Roman Catholics—in New Mexico, the world resembles a factory. “Primroses and landscapes, he pointed out, have one grave defect: they are gratuitous. A love of nature keeps no factories busy.”
Five years younger than Huxley, C.S. Lewis also wrote of dystopias in his brilliant That Hideous Strength. Published two years before Orwell’s similar anti-totalitarian masterpiece, Lewis’s novel is a theistic 1984. The story revolves around a group of academic and bureaucratic conditioners–known as the N.I.C.E. (National Institute for Coordinated Experiments) who take over a small but elite English college as a prelude to a takeover of Britain. To stop “That Hideous Strength,” a new King Arthur emerges in the form of a philology professor, Dr. Ransom. With the aid of a small group of friends, he awakens Merlin from a fifteen-century sleep. Modernity perplexes Merlin. In a telling conversation,
This is a cold age in which I have awaked. If all this West part of the world is apostate, might it not be lawful, in our great need, to look farther . . . beyond Christendom? Should we not find some even among the heathen who are not wholly corrupt? There were tales in my day of some such: men who knew not the articles of our most holy Faith, but who worshipped God as they could and acknowledged the Law of Nature. Sir, I believe it would be lawful to seek help even there. Beyond Byzantium.
To which Ransom responds:
You do not understand. The poison was brewed in these West lands but it has spat itself everywhere by now. However far you went you would find the machines, the crowded cities, the empty thrones, the false writings, the barren books: men maddened with false promises and soured with true miseries, worshiping the iron works of their own hands, cut off from Earth their mother and from the Father in Heaven. You might go East so far that East became West and you returned to Britain across the great ocean, but even so you would not have come out anywhere into the light. The shadow of one dark wing is over all.
It would be difficult to ignore the prophetic elements of Huxley and Lewis, as our culture drowns in its sexualized and pornographic advertising, clothing, and entertainment.
Our Republican politicians continue to pander to the lowest common denominator as they gradually dismantle the Republic in favor of a flabby empire without purpose or meaning. Indeed, for many of our leaders, “democracy” has become a term of religious significance and intensity, and “freedom,” not the natural law as St. Paul told the Christians of Rome, “is written in the hearts of every man and woman on this earth.” Our Democratic politicians have no regard for the dignity of the human person as they advocate, without the slightest hint of remorse, the murder of the least of us.
With only a very few exceptions, our academics remain trapped in their own subjective realities, publishing only for each other.
Our corporations pursue their “dreams of avarice” as we walk through the Wal-marts of the world, mesmerized by Muzak and the shrines to the materialist gods, made, of course, in the People’s Republic of China.
Abroad, things remain wretched. Europe falls prey to a centralized bureaucracy of its own secular devising, mobs shout without purpose, and its citizens of a Christian heritage no longer seem capable of being fruitful and multiplying.
Russia, over two decades after the fall of communism, remains a nightmare—economically, culturally, and politically. Its leader at the beginning of the 21st century is a former member of the KGB, an operative, during the 1980s, in East Germany. As chess master Garry Kasparov claimed in early December, 2007, Putin and his followers are “raping the democratic system.” Things have not improved in the last four years.
Indeed, despite the western victory in the Cold War, systems of tyranny remain alive and well throughout Asia, Africa, and Latin America. Under the leadership of the three presidents following Ronald Reagan, the West failed to explain the demise of capitalism or lay a solid foundation for a post-Communist world. Instead, the leaders of the United States treated the fall of communism in Eastern Europe and Russia as just one more passing event in the history of the world. 1989 should be remembered in history as one of her greatest dates, an annus mirabilis, and, yet, scholars ignore its implications and the significance of its leaders, most of whom where Christian. Even more tragically, numerous governments throughout the world kill and torture Christians daily outside of the western hemisphere, while Cuba remains the important and tragic exception within this hemisphere.
It all seems terribly bleak right now, the world swirling around the abyss and Americans only pushing it faster and faster.
And yet, no matter how terrible things might look on this November 22, the symbols, history, and myths surrounding this day offer much in the way of hope. Communities “share symbols and myths that provide meaning in their existence as a people and link them to some transcendent order,” political theorist Don Lutz has written. “The shared meaning and a shared link to some transcendent order allow them to act as a people.” Indeed, the man “who has no sympathy with myths,” G.K. Chesterton argued, “has no sympathy with men.” One cannot, it seems, separate men from myths.
The choice is ours: We can choose corrupt symbols and myths suited to our pursuits, our lusts, our own wills, and our petty nationalisms, or we can choose those attached to what is eternally true and dignifies the uniqueness of each person, made in the Image of God. Indeed, no matter how corrupt and bleak and depressing the world may appear, we can always turn to the many Cecilias and the Laura Smiths of the world and see the goodness that is possible through grace and love. Properly remembered, these true symbols and true myths can re-orient our souls, our cultures, and perhaps even the world itself toward right order.
This day, of all days, should teach us this.
*****
All great systems, ethical or political, attain their ascendancy over the minds of men by virtue of their appeal to the imagination; and when they cease to touch the chords of wonder and mystery and hope, their power is lost, and men look elsewhere for some set of principles by which they may be guided. We live by myth. ‘Myth’ is not falsehood; on the contrary, the great and ancient myths are profoundly true. The myth of Prometheus will always be a high poetic representation of an ineluctable truth, and so will the myth of Pandora. A myth may grow out of an actual event almost lost in the remote past, but it comes to transcend the particular circumstances of its origin, assuming a significance universal and abiding. Nor is a myth simply a work of fancy: true myth is only represented, never created, by a poet. Prometheus and Pandora were not invented by the solitary imagination of Hesiod. Real myths are the product of the moral experience of a people, groping toward divine love and wisdom—implanted in a people’s consciousness, before the dawn of history, by a power and a means we never have been able to describe in terms of mundane knowledge.— Russell Kirk, “The Dissolution of Liberalism,” Commonweal (January 7, 1955), 374
In this post, Tad Wert, Carl Olson, Erik Heter, Kevin McCormick, and Bradley Birzer review that 1985 classic, Hounds of Love, by the inimitable Kate Bush! She was brilliant then, and she remains brilliant to this day. We are honored, and humbled, to consider her music as 1980’s perfection. God bless, the Fairlight!
Brad: Tad, Erik, Kevin, and Carl, so good to talk to you again. As always, a true pleasure. Hounds of Love was my introduction to Kate Bush. I realize that several of her albums had appeared before Hounds of Love, but it was Hounds of Love that awakened my soul to excellent music in 1985. At the time, I was a senior in high school. And, I mean this without hyperbole. I had loved Rush, Yes, Genesis, Thomas Dolby, ABC, and The B-52s prior to discovering Kate Bush, but it really was Hounds of Love that made me realize what music could accomplish. I really liked side one of the album, but I was deeply in love with side two: “The Ninth Wave.”
The fact that so many outlets gave it a high review suggested to me (then, as well as now) that prog was a delight for all concerned, even if they shunned prog in their formal reviews. Bush’s Hounds of Love was ultimate prog for those who hate prog!!!
Tad: Brad, thank you for suggesting we discuss this wonderful album! I have fond memories of it as well – for me, 1985 was one of the greatest years for music ever. Just consider some of the albums released that year: Arcadia’s So Red The Rose, Bryan Ferry’s Boys and Girls, Clannad’s Macalla, Cocteau Twins’ ep Aikea-Guinea, The Cure’s The Head On The Door, The Dream Academy’s eponymous debut, Joni Mitchell’s Dog Eat Dog, Marillion’s Misplaced Childhood, New Order’s Low-life, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark’s Crush, Prefab Sprout’s Two Wheels Good, Propaganda’s A Secret Wish, R.E.M.’s Fables of the Reconstruction, Scritti Politti’s Cupid and Psyche ‘85, Simple Minds’ Once Upon a Time, Talking Heads’ Little Creatures, Tears for Fears’ Songs From the Big Chair, The Waterboys’ This Is The Sea, … I could go on and on! It was a watershed year, when it seemed like the sky was the limit when it came to what you could hear on the radio. Warm jangly guitar rock rubbed shoulders with icy British synthpop, while there was a revival of psychedelic rock happening (remember Prince’s Around The World In a Day?) and girl groups like the Bangles were breaking into the bigtime.
And yet, despite the incredibly high bar that was being set by all of these artists, Kate Bush’s Hounds Of Love really stood out as an exceptional work. Like you, Brad, this album was the first time I heard her music. I was working in a record store at the time, and when it came in, our import buyer immediately put it on the store sound system. As those whooping synths that introduce “Running Up That Hill” came blasting out of the speakers followed by her unique voice, I knew this was something special.
I confess that I was prejudiced against Ms. Bush at the time, due to my copy of The Rolling Stone Record Guide, which I considered the definitive authority on all things rock. I remember it brutally panned her earlier albums, and described her voice as sounding like a “Hoover vacuum cleaner”. I think 1985 was the year I tossed my book in the trash, because its biases against any music with a hint of complexity were too great to ignore! As time has passed, Rolling Stone Magazine’s original critical faves and pans have become simply embarrassing.
Anyway, rant over! I’m happy to say that “Running Up That Hill” was an immediate cure for my initial anti-Kate Bush prejudice.
Brad: And what a rant it is/was! Astounding, Tad. So glad you put her into context: Tears for Fears, Songs from the Big Chair; Brian Ferry, Boys and Girls; New Order, Low Life. Astounding stuff. From every direction, astounding stuff. And, as great as Tears for Fears, Brian Ferry, and New Order, Kate Bush still delivers the best. Well, I’m not sure that Hounds of Love is better than Songs from the Big Chair, but I can still admit that one is worthy of the other. What a year 1985 was! Incredible.
Carl: Yes, great rant! Before getting to Bush and Hounds of Love, I want to give a rousing “Hear, hear!” to this: “Rolling Stone Magazine’s original critical faves and pans have become simply embarrassing.” I clued into that after reading their stupid “reviews” of Queen and Kansas, two of my favorite groups of my late teens (and still on regular rotation, all these years later). Plus, the albums they seemed to laud and drool over were, for me, almost all incredibly boring (and usually overtly leftist politically, which only added to the boredom). C’est la vie!
I graduated from high school in 1987, and didn’t hear anything by Kate Bush until late 1988, when I saw the film “She’s Having a Baby.” The movie itself was so-so overall, but the delivery scene, during which Bush’s song “A Woman’s World”—specifically written and created by Bush for the John Hughes’s film—played, was powerful. I was simply stunned by the song, which was both strikingly ethereal and emotionally raw. It was simply beautiful. And that voice! There was no other voice like that.
I got a copy of The Sensual World album (1988) as soon as it came out–and then bought everything else by Bush, including The Hounds of Love. There simply wasn’t anyone else like Bush; her music was (and is) remarkably unique, idiosyncratic in the very best way. And while I certainly have favorite songs, Bush has always been an Album Artist for me. I’ll say more about a couple of songs later, but here’s my highest praise for Bush: really good artists, even great artists, will create wonderful and memorable albums. But the truly best artists create complete worlds. They transport you somewhere, somehow. And that’s what Bush has always done for me: she demands complete and absolute attention, with characters and narratives that are wild, rich, bewildering, poignant, and always engrossing.
Tad: Thanks, gentlemen, for affirming my anti-Rolling Stone polemic. Back to the music! Carl, you hit the nail on the head when you assert that Kate Bush creates complete worlds. Hounds of Love sounds like nothing else, and it transcends its time. From those afore-mentioned whooping synths to the spritely melody of “The Morning Fog”, we are invited to explore her world of maternal love, dreaming, cloudbusting, witchhunting, and Celtic dancing, among other things.
As I’m listening to this album again, it’s hard to pick out any individual song for special attention. Every track has its beautiful moments – each one adds to the overall atmosphere of ecstatic joy on side one, and mysterious suspense on side two. Side two is a suite entitled “The Ninth Wave”, and the back cover of the album has the following quote from Tennyson’s “The Coming of Arthur”:
“Wave after wave, each mightier than the last
‘Til last, a ninth one, gathering half the deep
And full of voices, slowly rose and plunged
Roaring, and all the wave was in a flame”
If any other artist quoted Alfred, Lord Tennyson, I would consider them unbearably pretentious, but not Ms. Bush. In her hands, it makes perfect sense.
Brad: I remember hearing Kate Bush for the first time–again, Hounds of Love–during the fall semester of my senior year of high school. Some friends and I, all deeply rooted in progressive rock, were always looking for New Wave music that somehow touched on all things prog. We found it in some of Thomas Dolby, U2, Wang Chung (To Live and Die in L.A. soundtrack), INXS, and in lots of Rush, post-Gabriel Genesis, and Yes, etc.
But, we also found side two of Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love to be extraordinary. Bush wasn’t just playing at being progressive, this side of the album, “The Ninth Wave,” as Tad noted above, was nothing but prog–-whole and complete and utterly compelling. To this day, I never get tired of side two of the album.
To be certain, I never tire of side one, either, but I’m more drawn to side two. “Running Up That Hill”–the opening track of the album–has been a Birzer family car mix staple for at least twenty years now. We, as a family, already loved Stranger Things, but we were completely blown away by Season 4’s gorgeous integration and employment of the song, itself always waiting to be fulfilled by the most noble heroism.
Additionally, my freshman year of college saw the release of Kate Bush’s greatest hits compilation, The Whole Story, and I devoured it. As it happened, my junior year of college, a good friend, Greg Scheckler, made a mixtape of all pre-Hounds of Love Bush. Why I’d not already explored her pre-1985 music at that point remains an autobiographical mystery to me. I still treasure that cassette that Greg made me, and I followed up by buying the complete catalogue of her work.
[To this day, I proudly own all of her CDs–separately and as a part of a comprehensive two-box set, complete with b-sides and live renditions]
Carl, I loved “She’s Having a Baby” when it came out. I saw it three or four times, believe it or not. I was a total John Hughes junkie! And, I loved “The Woman’s Work” from Kate.
Regardless, I despise Rolling Stone–aside from the articles by P.J. O’Rourke–and always have. Not only is it predictably leftist, but it’s predictably boring. Its weird hatred of Rush and then love of Rush at the end of the band’s career is nothing short of bizarre.
But, back to “The Ninth Wave.” Here, Kate Bush is at her absolute best, rivalled only by disk two of her later album, Aerial. As many times as I’ve listened to “The Ninth Wave,” I’ve never totally understood it. And, it’s in the mystery of the whole concept that titilates me. I think if I knew exactly what Kate Bush wanted, I’d be a bit disappointed.
As it is, it strikes me that a woman is lost, trying to navigate by various means–some supernatural (“Waking the Witch”), some by invoking the weirdest of the Beatles “(Watching You Without Me”), some by folklore (“Jig of Life”), and some by utterly natural means (“Hello, Earth”)–well, with a little German devil thrown in.
Hello earth Hello earth With just one hand held up high I can blot you out Out of sight Peek-a-boo, Peek-a-boo, little earth With just my heart and my mind I can be driving Driving home And you asleep On the seat I get out of my car Step into the night And look up at the sky And there’s something bright Traveling fast Look at it go Look at it go Hello earth Hello earth Watching storms Start to form Over America Can’t do anything Just watch them swing With the wind out to sea All you sailors (Get out of the waves, get out of the water) All life-savers, (Get out of the waves, get out of the water) All you cruisers, (Get out of the waves, get out of the water) All you fishermen Head for home Go to sleep, little earth I was there at the birth Out of the cloudburst The head of the tempest Murderer Murder of calm Why did I go? Why did I go? Tiefer, tiefer Irgendwo in der tiefe Gibt es ein licht Go to sleep little earth
All of it comes together in the album’s final track, the gentle and harmonious “The Morning Fog.” All seems well, as the protagonist is “born again” and remembers her unwavering love for her mother, her father, and her brothers. Indeed, all “loved ones.” What better way to end the album? No, not possible. It is the perfect ending to a perfect album.
That said, I still gravitate toward disc 2 of Aerial. . . .
Erik: Before I start in on the main topic, please let me chime in (pile on?) on the rant again on the vapid, droll, banal, and way-past-its-sell-by-date Rolling Stone, staffed by reviewers that write reviews for other reviewers in the hopes to look cool. I’d more trust Britney Spears’ opinion on the implications of quantum mechanics before I’d trust a music review from Rolling Stone at this point.
Now, to the subject proper. When Brad asked me to participate in this, I had to sheepishly admit that I had never heard Hounds of Love or any Kate Bush album for that matter, risking my credentials in the prog-lovers club. That turned out to not be entirely true, as once I looked at the track listing for this album, I quickly realized, thanks to the Netflix show Stranger Things and wider cultural echoes it made, that I had heard the first song on this album a number of times. But alas, that was the only song, so I’m going to be coming at this album from the perspective of a newcomer.
So far, I’ve only given it one listen (but have more planned tomorrow!). So for now, I’m going to add a few initial impressions.
To the surprise of exactly nobody, I will first start by saying Kate has an incredibly beautiful voice, with a vocal range that only a few possess. She can seamlessly transition between soft and subdued to exceptionally powerful and just as easily slide anywhere within that range. She uses her voice to such great effect as not only a vehicle to deliver her lyrics, but as an instrument in the larger orchestra. Some of the backing vocal arrangements in this album are simply otherworldly. I’m always a sucker for innovative vocal arrangements and good harmonies – think Good Vibrations by The Beach Boys, Leave It by Yes, and Seven Bridges Road by The Eagles. Kate has several tracks on this album with vocal arrangements – all of her own, multi-tracked voice – that stand with the best of any of them.
Another initial impression of this album is the way many of the songs combine catchy hooks associated with pop songs with the complexity of prog. The artists that can pull that off are few and far between, but Kate again shows another area in which she shines. Two tracks where this really hit me were The Big Sky and the album’s closer, The Morning Fog. The former includes some of the vocal arrangements that I have discussed above, and if I may paraphrase a line from a Eurythmic song, those arrangements have gotten into me like a poison dart. After even a single listen, I can’t get them out of my head – nor do I want to. “The Big Sky” also has a nice, thumping bass line that propels the listener along. With respect to the latter track, there is something about it that draws me in, and I can’t quite place my finger on it. The Morning Fog is somewhat subdued, but in a way that demands the listener’s attention. And in a glorious, wonderful contradiction, it sounds very much like something from 1985 while also sounding like nothing at all from 1985. I absolutely love that.
So there you have it – my very first impression of Hounds of Love – and boy, it’s a good one. I’m looking forward to digging into this and finding more hidden treasures. I’ll be sure to tell you about them in my next entry!
Tad: Erik, it is so nice to get the reactions and perspectives of someone who has never heard Hounds Of Love. I tend to have the same taste in music you do – I love a good hook! So, I agree that “The Big Sky” and “The Morning Fog” are exceptionally good tracks. When the chiming opening of “The Morning Fog” bursts out, after following the dense, dark, and mysterious “”Ninth Wave” songs, it is a cathartic moment for me. Brad, I love your characterization of it as a “born again” moment.
I’d like to mention Kate’s use of samples and processed vocals. That was something relatively new in 1985, and I think she does a nice job of employing them judiciously. They all serve the song, and they aren’t included for the sake of novelty. Let’s face it, by the mid-80’s there was an undeniable “sound” of echoing drums, soaring synths, and choppy guitars that, 40 years later, sounds pretty dated. Ms. Bush avoided that pitfall, and as a result Hounds Of Love is timeless in its allure.
Brad, like you, I’m not sure what the core meaning of “The Ninth Wave” is, and I don’t think I want to know. As you so aptly put it, the mystery of the concept is what’s key.
Kevin: One observation if I might sneak in here. I find Kate Bush’s storytelling craft to be most compelling. While there are many great songwriters over the last sixty years of modern popular music, Kate Bush uniquely approaches her subjects as a narrator walking her audience through wonderful short stories. If she’s then a songwriter, she’s just as much a screenwriter. Her albums play like great short films. Her lyrics are frequently dialogues with which she brings her listeners into intimate conversations or moments. What sets her music apart is her ability to lower her guard through her characters engaged in intense exchanges and fleeting moments. And she is totally invested in revealing that narrative–whatever the subject may be. It is no surprise that her first success was with the quite unusual (even to this day) and not-so-subtly literary “Wuthering Heights.” She’s a powerful storyteller and knows how to encase those stories in these extraordinary soundtracks.
Carl: Always fascinating to hear first impressions of great music (or books, art, film, etc.), Erik, and I enjoyed your observations!
Last night, I revisited the exceptional 2015 biography (nearly 500 pages long!) titled Under the Ivy: The Life & Music of Kate Bush by Graeme Thomson. I highly recommend it for anyone with any interest in Bush. Thomson highlights some aspects of Bush’s work and this album in particular that helped put a few of my final thoughts in perspective.
He reports (the book is very well sourced, as he talked to many of the musicians who worked with Bush over the years) that Bush writes most songs very quickly—sometimes in just hours or a few days—but that it is the production, playing, and arranging that takes months, even years. And part of that, which is so evident in Hounds of Love, is her ground-breaking use of the Fairlight, electronics, and using eclectic instrumentation and vocals.
He also emphasizes that Bush is remarkable for her vision of what she wants an album to be sonically, stylistically, etc. That should not be passed over too quickly, as there are many exceptional musical artists who simply don’t possess that quality. For example, the fantastic singer/songer-writer Seal (I’m a huge fan, as Brad knows well), has frankly admitted in recent interviews that he happily turned over song sequencing and related decisions to the legendary producer (and musician) Trevor Horn because he (Seal) simply doesn’t see that as an ability he possesses. Many have emphasized (rightly) that Bush set a new standard for women in “pop/rock” music; I’d say she simply set a new standard, regardless of sex.
Thomson also hits on something I was already going to mention, which is how deeply this album draws upon nature. Water, for example, is referenced throughout; it obviously has a huge role in the second half of the album. This is connected, without doubt, to both Bush’s Catholic upbringing (she no longer considers herself Catholic, but has spoken about Catholicism’s “powerful, beautiful, passionate images”) and her longtime interest in mythology, folklore, the occult, and so forth. Her eclectic musical tastes and styles seems to reflect her quite syncretistic approach to religion and spirituality.
As a practicing Catholic, I find this quite intriguing and if I ever had a chance to talk to her (completely theoretical, obviously), I would be most interested in her worldview and how that informs her artistry. And that is because she has always struck me as someone whose entire work flows from how she sees reality; that is, she doesn’t write and create music for a certain audience. She just creates—and what she has created has been one of most unique and timeless bodies of “popular” music we’ll ever have the privilege of hearing.
Erik: Carl, Bradley, Kevin, and Tad, thanks for all your kind words – and thanks even more for bringing me into this discussion. For in doing so, you have introduced me to something that has just blown me away in a way that only the truly great albums are capable of doing.
Between my last post and this one, I gave Hounds of Love a couple more listens, and did a little research as well. My initial impressions have only been reinforced, while new ones have come to me to lead to an even deeper appreciation.
For example, while I had read above that this album had (at least in its vinyl incarnation) a pop side and a progressive side, my additional listens made that all the more clear. While the first five tracks have more of a pop bent (and I don’t mean that in any disparaging sense at all), it’s the last seven tracks where Kate really begins experimenting. Her voice is positively lovely and mesmerizing in the opening track of this sequence, And Dream of Sheep. The next track, Under Ice, is haunting, ominous, and … beautiful, beginning with the staccato string section that dominates the song. Is she dreaming here? I’m not sure, but the ‘wake up!’ that sets the next track in motion suggests as much. Waking the Witch might be the most offbeat track on the album, with some interludes that are suggestive of similar ones from Pink Floyd’s Echoes. Watching You Without Me is another track that draws one in and demands to be listened to, while also having a subdued quality to it. It’s almost like a whisper. Kate then does another sharp turn into Celtic-flavored folk on Jig of LIfe – completely unexpected and yet it works so perfectly. Hello Earth is an incredible track, beginning with Kate in her beautiful, soft voice, and transitioning through different moods. The inclusion of just a touch of the Celtic folk from the track before and the addition of the choir add flavor to this song. And as I mentioned above, The Morning Fog that closes the album is a thing of pure beauty.
One of the things that really jumps out at me is the temporal context in which it was made. While 1985 produced some excellent music, the kind of music that appears on much of Hounds of Love, especially The Ninth Wave that makes up the second vinyl side was terribly out of fashion. Yet Kate was obviously undeterred, determined to make the album she wanted to make, to make music on her terms. Not only did she do it, but she managed to receive commercial success and critical acclaim in doing so at precisely a time few others would have (and I’m not referring to just the nimrods at Rolling Stone). Artistic integrity and having the courage of one’s convictions are beautiful things in and of themselves, and Kate shows it in spades here.
I was previously unaware that Kate was also the producer of this album. That really jumped out at me, since in taking on this role she assumed complete responsibility for the finished product. Many musical artists, even great ones, need the right producer to turn their creative inspiration into a finished product. To use one example, 90125 from Yes isn’t the same album without Trevor Horn. Self-producing is fraught with pitfalls. And yet, here is Kate, not merely avoiding these pitfalls, but taking on the role that bridges the gap between creative inspiration as an input and a masterpiece as an output, and executing flawlessly.
The producer’s role is even more impressive when you consider the technical innovations that are found on this album from start to finish. As Tad mentioned above, innovations such as samples and processed vocals were relatively new in 1985, so employing them on a project this ambitious was not without risk, to say the least. Combining synthesizers, Celtic folk instrumentation, and choral arrangements was equally risky. And these risks were taken in the context of making music that was unlike anything else contemporary to 1985. And despite all these risks, the album is a complete artistic triumph, a masterpiece that still reverberates, as evidenced by the resurgence of its leadoff track thanks to Stranger Things (which was insisted upon by one of its stars, 80’s child Winona Ryder, who described herself as “obsessed” with Kate Bush).
So guys, if you were trying to make me a Kate Bush fan, congratulations – mission accomplished. I’m going to spend more time absorbing this album, but I’ll happily take your recommendations on where to go next. Thanks again!!
Tad: And with Erik’s ringing endorsement of Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love, we’ll bring our symposium to a close. You can purchase a hard copy of this album from our friends at Burning Shed. Buying music from them helps support artists like Ms. Bush.
In the immortal words of Ferris Bueller, life comes at you fast. In this case, it was 10 years that came at us fast – for it was 10 years ago that I wrote the piece linked below about one of the seminal albums of the 1980s. Those 10 years have allowed for additional perspective to develop.
If anything, my appreciations for this album has only grown. As the original piece notes, 90125 brought in scores of new fans of both Yes the band and the genre of prog in general. In the latter area, I would be hard pressed to name an album whose ripples had more of an effect than 90125. Moving Pictures from Rush might give it a run for its money, but that’s the only one I can name that’s really in the same ballpark. 90125 attracted millions of fans who would have had no reason to pay attention to the genre and who now are aficionados of the same.
Many people (myself most definitely included) love to talk about albums that had a lasting impact. Sgt. Peppers by The Beatles is certainly one that gets a lot of ink spilled, as does Led Zeppelin IV and Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon. And by Yes themselves, Close to the Edge is often cited as an album whose impact has continued to resonate long past its release date. And now, 40 years after its release, I think its time we put 90125 on the same shelf. And now, let’s move onto the main topic of discussion to learn some of the reasons why.
Brad Birzer, Carl Olson, and Tad Wert are all big fans of Bruce Soord (check out Brad and Tad’s earlier dialog on the deluxe reissue of The Pineapple Thief’s first 7 albums!). Bruce has released his third solo album, Luminescence, and so, of course, we had to share our thoughts on it.
Tad: Brad and Carl, I really enjoy Soord’s solo work; sometimes I think he saves some of his best songs for it! They tend to be more lowkey and relaxed than his music with The Pineapple Thief – more straightforward rock/pop. I’ve been listening to Luminescence quite a bit, and I find it very charming. “Olomouc” is a winner, in my opinion, with its lush string accompaniment. On the other hand, the stripped-down (and aptly titled) “So Simple” is a real gem of acoustic beauty that ends too soon. What are your first impressions?
Carl: Gents! A couple of quick thoughts about Soord’s impressive, beautiful album. I expected it to be “good,” but I’ve become a bit obsessed with it, having now listened to it at least 30 times or more. The songs are subtle, but perfectly constructed. The playing and production are both exceptional: warm, intimate, engaging. There are a lot of layers, but also a lot of space, which is no small feat sonically. I especially like the combination of electronica sounds and beats with acoustic guitar (see “Lie Flat”). Vocally, Soord is both understated and emotive in perfect pitch (both musically and emotionally). Who knew a “prog” guy would create such a remarkably good pop album?
Brad: Tad and Carl, great to be talking with you both! And, what a beautiful album to discuss. I only started listening to it about a week ago, but I’ve been listening to it non-stop. Carl, I will admit, I’m not surprised that Soord–a prog guy–could create such a remarkably good pop album. The album, for what it’s worth, reminds me very much of mid-period Tears for Fears, especially Raoul and the Kings of Spain. Soord, like Roland Orzabal, is really a master of mixing beautiful melodies in complex ways. Tad, I think “charming” is exactly the right word for this album.
Carl: I cannot speak to the Tears for Fears comparison (although I completely believe you!), but will bring up two artists that this album brings to mind, in very positive ways. The first is Charlie Peacock, a very eclectic American singer, songwriter, producer, keyboardist, etc., who is known for his work in contemporary Christian music, but has worked in jazz, country, Americana, and more. He’s a brilliant producer/writer, as can be heard on the 2021 album “Skin and Wind,” which mixes electronic and acoustic instrumentation—including strings—brilliantly, in the service of concise songs filled with longing and questioning, just like Soord’s fabulous album. The other is the better-known Duncan Sheik, especially his first three albums (1996, 1998, and 2002), which were quite successful commercially. Their voices are similar, and songs such as Soord’s “Instant Flash of Light” is very “Sheik-ish,” right down to the really lovely small chamber strings. These comparisons are, in my book, very high compliments.
Tad: Holy cow, Carl, your evocation of Charlie Peacock brought back some nice memories! I was very much into his music in the early to mid-90s, and now that you mention it, there is a lot of similarity between his style and Soord’s. And, Brad, you also made a connection I hadn’t thought of, but is very true: TFF’s Raoul and the Kings of Spain is a worthy ancestor and influence of this album.
Carl, you mentioned Soord’s use of electronica, and I’d like to jump off of that to say a little bit about another song I really, really, like: “Nestle In”. It begins with a police siren wailing, and as it becomes slightly distorted, a gentle wash of electronica begins to pulse. Soord’s vocals are mixed up front, and if you listen on headphones, it’s as if he were singing right at your shoulder. Whoever is playing drums on this track is outstanding – beautiful fills as Soord sings “The storm is approaching/And no one dares to look”. The distorted siren returns, and the song is over. I know my description makes it sound like it is cacophonous and noisy, but it isn’t at all. It’s oddly comforting, as a song entitled “Nestle In” should be.
Brad: Tad, the first time I heard “Nestle In,” I was immediately sure that a police car had just passed by, and I offered up a quick prayer for the person involved in whatever altercation there might be!
Then, I realized my mistake.
Also, Tad, I should note that I think both Orzabal and Soord share an absolute earnestness in their music. I especially think the influence is strong with Tears for Fears’ “Falling Down,” arguably the most earnest (the beautiful) song Orzabal has written.
Carl, thanks, too, for such good insights. I’m not familiar with the artists you mentioned, but it sounds like I should be.
I must admit, as much as I love the entire Soord album, I’m most partial to the album opener, “Dear Life.” The song just immediately grabs me and wants me/begs me/asks me to listen to the rest of the album.
I like the lyrics, too:
This sight
Barely changed
Just the shadows cast over our remains
With the wounded leaves
We’re still clinging on for dear life
Don’t wish it away
Don’t wish that it will all be over
In the sweetest blink of an eye
This light
The reddest glow
Barely time to dry those saddest eyes I know
After all we have seen
We’re still clinging on for dear life
For this dear life
They’re not only nice lyrics, but they match the music, perfectly.
Carl: All three of us had a similar experience with “Nestle In”! I live in the country and we never heard police sirens. But when the song first came on, I was out of my chair and opening the door: “What is that…?” I continued to be really riveted by the combination of intimacy and space in this album. Tad, you highlighted this perfectly in saying it’s like Soord is singing at your shoulder. It would be fascinating to talk to Soord about how he recorded and produced the album. It sounds so incredibly good.
Every song is excellent, but “Lie Flight” is probably my favorite, at least at the moment. It’s deceptively simple, but with a wonderful drums/bass sound that really locks you in. I tend to like lyrics that allow multi-interpretations/levels, and these certainly fit the bill:
Finally I’ve made some sense of it all
How could I not have known this all before?
I’m coming home
Is it too late for me?
It plays so differently with one eye on the soul
It could be about a romantic relationship. Or could it be about something more spiritual, pertaining to God and transcendence? “It plays so differently with one eye on the soul” is so good; it’s both simple and very mysterious. And maybe that’s this album’s greatest attribute: it’s immediate and accessible, but really mysterious at the same time.
Tad: Okay, since we began this discussion, I bought a hard copy of Luminescence (if I find an album I really love, I don’t trust streaming services to keep it always available). I’ve had some time to go over the lyrics, and they seem to be documenting the collapse of a relationship. There is a consistent theme of loss and regret running through every song. However, I like the tack you take, Carl, and I’m going to assume there’s a higher yearning involved here.
Also, that drummer I singled out for praise is Soord himself! The only instruments he doesn’t play are the strings that accompany him on several songs.
I have one more thing to add to our conversation – I have fallen in love with two songs near the end of the album: “Stranded Here”, and “Read to Me”. To my ears, they go together, because the acoustic guitar line from the former flows seamlessly into the latter. Soord has overdubbed a couple of acoustic guitars in this mini-suite, and their interplay is simply wonderful.
Gentlemen, it looks like this is a good place to wrap things up. Gentle readers, please take our advice and give Bruce Soord’s Luminescence a listen!
Here’s the video for the first single, “Dear Life”:
Spirit of Cecilia 
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