WHY KATE BUSH MATTERS

Don't run with the pack, whatever your talent

What on earth has Kate Bush got to do with a column named Why Sport Matters?

When I was in my early teens, my auntie Val lived a few doors away from Kate Bush’s house where South East London meets Kent. A parcel for her had been misdirected to Val’s house. Maybe it was from David Bowie or Elton John. 

The family knew I was a big fan and gave me the parcel to take to her. I was a bit too young for her early work but mesmerised by the Hounds of Love album. It was a time where celebrities were mystical and elusive. They were stars because of their work, not their social media activity. And that’s how she still is.

I walked up her path like Charlie Bucket on his way to Wonka’s factory, clutching the parcel like a golden ticket. She wasn’t there. Elusive to me on that day, elusive for us now. But you don’t need to see Kate Bush to feel Kate Bush. She connected with us. Me, you and a new generation. Millions of people drawn in by her talent.

If it wasn’t for Running Up That Hill having an integral part in Stranger Things, her work may never have been discovered and appreciated by new generations. It’s been a phenomenal re-emergence, like a magic spell on new ears, taking it to number one in the charts four decades after the original release.  

But the sheer undeniable quality of this track didn’t happen by accident. Kate Bush reached this artistic high by never being afraid to express her true self, and never running with the pack. For that, Kate Bush has an influence on me beyond her incredible compositions.

Recently I re-watched a brilliant BBC documentary about her unique life and music with one of my teenage daughters – she is the same age now as I was when I walked that path to Kate Bush’s house in the ‘80s. 

One by one the contributors spoke of the profound effect of her music, and the inspiration her artistic bravery has had on them. Guy Garvey from Elbow, a people’s poet himself, quietly re-read lyrics with a lump clearly in his throat, as if any more force would open his floodgates. Bat for Lashes artist Natasha Khan spoke of the profound impact she’s had on her, John Lydon marvelled at the layers, Elton John said one of her songs Don’t Give Up, in collaboration with Peter Gabriel, saved his life. And then there was Adrian Thaws, better known as Tricky.

The innovative Bristolian said his music is driven and based around his mother’s suicide, and that it was Kate Bush’s music that helped him articulate it. I don’t know if you’re aware of his album Maxinquaye but it’s sublime. A jaw-dropping piece of work that sounds like nothing else and spins a web around you. Her songs helped him to get his truth out there, and his contributions to the programme were deeply moving.

I wonder how far her new admirers will seek treasure in the back catalogue, unrivalled jewels dazzling over the decades. The Hounds of Love album feels like a zenith, where genius is fully unleashed, and talent, bravery and recognition come together in perfect form, such a difficult and wonderful moment for an artist, a creator supreme.

To use the original term, ‘side one ‘of the album, from Cloudbusting to the title track to Running Up That Hill, is sonically mindblowing, and not just because of that voice. That production! From 1985! I bought the tape version from the Our Price record shop in Eltham High Street. A friend Simon said he used to regularly see her in WH Smith across the road, frozen in awe. She described learning her trade by playing some of the rougher venues in Lewisham, where I was born, in her soft speaking voice laced with humility. She’s one of us, really she is.

Kate Bush is a middle class doctor’s daughter so why does it feel like I get her? It’s the bravery. Recognition is not an exact science, it isn’t often fair, sometimes requires luck, and quantity and familiarity are too often confused with quality. To believe in yourself, to genuinely be a trailblazer and push boundaries in whatever you do, whether or not you’re given credit, requires strength and integrity.

On a plane across the Atlantic recently, I listened to the second side of Hounds of Love, as Brett Anderson of Suede suggested we do. I had never given it the time and space in the past. Half of me wishes I had. Half of me is glad that my proper introduction came in and out of sleep on that plane. It’s otherworldly, beautiful, lush, so distinctively her.

Kate Bush left the spotlight to devote herself to bringing up her son, an intensely personal decision, one which seems to fit her sense of perspective, but that doesn’t feel appropriate to speculate on. It’s personal. And some things should stay that way, even for oversharers like me!

How beautiful that when she returned to stage for some triumphant shows at Hammersmith eight years ago, 35 years after her last tour, she was joined by her son Bertie in her performances (he’d sung on some of her later recordings).

Steve Coogan said that unlike a lot of ‘rock’ performers, she doesn’t write about herself,  but what she imagines, like Keats. I agree to an extent, but to me her dna, her truth, comes in the personal nature of those songs and performances, and her honesty. She’s not just an observer, a conduit, she’s showing us how to convey our own feelings. Open yourself up and you will be able to empathise, feel.

I write about sport. But I don’t really. I write about life. And without Kate Bush, without the artistic boldness and freedom of artists, writers and performers like Stewart Lee, Sean Scully, Coldwar Steve, Ruth Millington, Ryan James (Man Without Country), Kanga, Jo Tilley and Caitlin Moran, without them and their work, I might forget what it’s like to tell the truth. Fearlessly, relentlessly. Be brave. Be yourself. Trust yourself.

Two years ago I left thirty years of staff jobs. It wasn’t an accident. The working-class boy needs stability yes, but like the central character Gethin in Trevor Griffiths’ play Comedians (which had a huge effect on me as a teenager) you have to be true to yourself too.  Gethin took a look at what was around him, the bluffers and sell outs, and chose HIS path.

I don’t want my writing on the inner workings of sport and society to be one-dimensional. I couldn’t couldn’t just witness and report, I needed to find the human story. Some people get it, some people don’t, but you know what?  It makes me real. If any person reads this column, reads my book, feels my truth, knows me, knows themselves one per cent more, expresses themselves back to me, feels, then I’ve achieved something.

Kate Bush invites you to find your own meaning in Running Up That Hill and all of her songs. She said exactly that when she graciously agreed to be interviewed on BBC radio recently about the success. She didn’t disappoint with her down-to-earth manner, quietly describing her delight at new listeners coming to her work.

She had binge-watched Stranger Things with her family having been encouraged to by friends, and spoke with such generosity about it. Typical of her. The interview was pure joy. Emma Barnett, a brilliant and fearless broadcaster when interviewing the likes of politicians, was clearly adoring Kate and understanding the rarity of the opportunity, like having a precious bird in her hand.

Kate Bush admitted, if that’s the word, she doesn’t really do social media, has a phone like a brick. In a world where we chase endorsement, likes, clicks, recognition. Where everyone is talking but nobody’s listening, she is a beacon, a reminder of how things could still be. She treasures the purity and integrity of her work. Doesn’t compromise. It doesn’t then become all about the response.

While Hounds of Love feels like her creative peak, I’m intrigued that the critical response to her material in the period directly before was far from positive. This doesn’t appear to have had a detrimental effect on her, because it was part of the process. And led to what’s seen as her best album.

It felt she was ridiculed as much as adored early in her career, an easy target with her huge fame and deliberately ostentatious, dramatic performances. She had learned performing from renowned mime artist Lindsay Kemp (not revealing her identity as a budding pop star at the back of his classes), she found the movement to bring the music further to life. It just fits. In the way Abba fit now, so does she. Her dance performance to accompany Running Up That Hill is as brilliant, stylish, unique and effective as it ever was.

We’ve been blessed to have heard a note of her music. Much of it inspired by literature. Wuthering Heights demonstrated the impact of Emily Bronte on her. Cloudbusting, one of my favourite songs by anyone, can rip your heart out without the need of a video. But in combination the song and story are overwhelming, she is captivating in her depiction of a small boy doting on his father, a concept based on ‘A Book of Dreams’ by Peter Reich, son of Wilhelm.

Army Dreamers is a fist in a velvet glove, and like so much of her work the beauty of her music is enhanced by the visuals, the camera pulling away from her eyes and red lipstick to reveal her in the role of a soldier, the song about the tragic loss of young men in service. Breathing, reflecting fears of nuclear devastation, feels as relevant as ever, and is somehow more beautiful than it is haunting. Once heard, once seen, it’s never forgotten. This is not a normal body of work.

The first time I heard This Woman’s Work was my most personal connection to her. I knew I was going to experience that position of helplessness, the only premonition I’ve ever had. But I knew. It’s the only song of hers I sometimes can’t make it through. Typically of her, she manages to capture the man’s experience with a maternal, intuitive feel.

How did she write The Man with the Child in His Eyes as a teenager? How?  Please let us never take that intro, that chorus, the whole beautiful thing for granted. Less heralded is The Sensual World, where her voice seems to merge with birdsong for the quite incredible finale, soothing and making everything seem better, anything seem possible.

As for the song that helped save Elton, the sublime ‘Don’t give up’ with Peter Gabriel. When she sings: “Rest your head, you worry too much, it’s gonna be alright…..I believe there’s a place, there’s a place where we belong” there’s something about her voice that feels almost impossibly personal to her listeners.

Yes I write about sport, but I write about life. Belonging, finding a place, everything’s going to be alright. These are themes that close my book. It takes bravery to show yourself, be yourself, bare your soul, be an open book.

Thank you Kate. For the way your songs make us feel, but also for showing us how to believe in our creativity and ourselves. For reminding us that whoever we are, whatever our talent, whatever we write about, we don’t need to run with the pack. Recognition can come when you least expect it.