The Judge RAVES!

Date: 26/11/11

50 Words For "Wow!"

Kate Bush - "50 Words For Snow" (Fish People FPCD007)

After the release of the rather pointless Director's Cut earlier this year (pointless in that the tracks were all reworkings of songs from her two most underwhelming albums), it came as a surprise to read that Kate Bush was about to issue a set of entirely new material. After all, it had been scarcely six years - to the month - since she had broken her silence of domesticity to give us Aerial, perhaps her most fully-realised work to date, and we'd had to wait over a decade for that.

The same uncertainty with which I grappled before listening to that would have surfaced again as I popped the CD into my elderly Aiwa hi-fi, had I not already had a preview from National Public Radio's streaming of the whole thing a couple of weeks ago. I therefore knew in broad terms what to expect; but Kate's attention to detail in terms of production meant that there would likely be a big difference between listening to an online data stream and having it there in full chat.

So what have we here, then? Well - even more so than Aerial's second disc and the second side of Hounds Of Love - this is that long-derided thing, a 'concept album'. Or, rather, there is a theme which runs throughout. Can you guess what that is, boys and girls?

Yes, snow. But, this being Kate Bush, the overall concept is merely a hook upon which to hang songs which are by turn eerie, sensual and wonderfully bonkers.

The first thing which occurs to a Bushite is that there are only seven tracks on this album and that it runs for over an hour. The shortest track - the closer - is longer than all bar two of the tracks on any of her previous issues; and they were both on Aerial. This might cause one to worry - are we about to hear extended self-indulgence of the sort all too prevalent in the CD age, where artists have tended to assume that if they have up to seventy-odd minutes to use, then they must use it all?

So, one presses 'Play' and launches oneself into the swirling tundra.

The opener, Snowflake begins with a piano figure which is both rich and clean at the same time. Then we hear a voice singing. But it isn't Kate's. Here marks the first contribution of Kate's son Bertie (given his props here under his full name of Albert McIntosh). Having been limited for obvious reasons to a couple of small speaking rôles on Aerial, here is the now-twelve-year-old Bertie singing:

"I was born in a cloud..."

Before switching to the spoken register:

"...Now I am falling/I want you to catch me..."

A few moments later, we hear Kate herself for the first time:

"The world is so loud/Keep falling/I'll find you."

And so the tone is set, not only for this song but for much of the album. For snow is not just an artifact of cold, sharp winter; it has the quality of deadening, muffling the normal sounds of the world, producing an effect as if of a sonic coccoon, which quality can be really quite cosy if you have a warm place from which to observe it.

The musings of the snowflake (which ascend into a slightly wobbly boy soprano) and his pursuer (seldom has Bush's singing sounded warmer and more enveloping than it does here) are mingled with slow patterns of piano, bass and the veteran Steve Gadd's superbly understated percussion to produce an ambience which has at one and the same time clarity and a deep texture. I couldn't help but be reminded of the second movement of Grieg's Piano Concerto, which has the same evocative atmosphere.

The track is nearly ten minutes long, but - and here's the important thing - it doesn't seem that way; one's attention is held throughout by the interplay between the two characters and by the whole feel of the piece.

Lake Tahoe then follows, underpinned by piano again (and the piano parts throughout the album are characterised by a sparing, unfussy deftness of touch). Similarly, the first voices we hear are not Kate's, but those of Stefan Roberts and Michael Wood in duet. But soon, our diva takes up the story; a story (at least at the surface level) about a woman who drowns in the aforementioned lake (on the Nevada/California border near Reno), and about her dog who dreams of her.

The piece is underpinned not only by the same sparse piano/bass/percussion combo but also by an orchestral arrangement which is used with a similarly sure lightness of touch.

The length of this track (over eleven minutes) is more noticeable - perhaps because of the somewhat one-paced tempo - yet it still holds the attention pretty well, especially when the texture thickens in the final couple of minutes.

One can always rely on Kate Bush for at least one piece per album which is either overtly or blatantly erotic, be it the Joycean raunch of The Sensual World or the more oblique Mrs Bartolozzi. On 50 Words, that function is fulfilled in both directions by the - appropriately in one sense - longest track on the album. Misty is a snowman, but neither Raymond Briggs nor Aled Jones was ever involved in the sort of relationship described here. He is made by the narrator and - when she is lying abed of a night - he comes in through the window and joins her.

That such an enterprise would be doomed from the outset is obvious enough, but that doesn't stop events proceeding to a syncopated rhythm which is reminiscent of jazz - that piano/bass (acoustic, veteran Danny Thompson providing)/drums once more, but far more lively. The vocals, too, are more soulful and lusty than anything else, and add to the erotic overtones; and I do mean overtones rather than undertones. There is nothing much hidden in the lyrics:

"I can feel him melting in my hand..."

(An experience with which many women could identify, I'm sure). And then, on the morning after:

"I can't find him./The sheets are soaking."

The song climaxes (and I had to use that word in this context) with the narrator clambering out on to the window ledge to try to find her icy beau again, because it's still snowing.

That this track is nearly fourteen minutes in length doesn't matter a heap; the song tells a story, and must be given enough time to do so, which it does with no sense of haste, moving along in its own compelling pace.

We then come to the first of three tracks featuring the sort of guest appearances which have become almost de rigeur on Kate Bush albums. Roy Harper, Rolf Harris, Prince, Lenny Henry; all have contributed to past endeavours. On Wild Man, that rôle is taken by Andy Fairweather-Low, veteran of the pop scene since Amen Corner in the late sixties and latterly featuring (along with Steve Gadd) in Eric Clapton's live set-up.

Fairweather-Low duets on vocals in a song which marks a sharp change of pace from all that has gone before, which tells of a group of people tracking the Yeti through the Himalaya who - upon finding evidence of the creature - deliberately cover up all traces of it to protect it from being pursued and killed by those to whom the Wild Man is naught but a demon.

The instrumentation and arrangements are more in tune with standard rock styles, but the production is similarly less sparse and quite a jolt by comparison to the tracks preceeding it.

Next comes one of two tracks which has divided reviewers somewhat. Snowed In At Wheeler Street has the storyline of a pair of lovers constantly meeting and being separated at various points throughout history (the Fall of Rome, the French Revolution, World War Two and 9/11); a sort of counterfactual which reminds one of Heads We're Dancing, where the narrator realises that she has been dancing with Hitler. Not an unusual take for Bush, on the whole, but what has caused raised eyebrows in some quarters is her duetting partner, namely Elton John. Although you wouldn't readily recognise him straight off, because he is found here singing in a lower register than that traditionally associated with him. His contribution to a dramatically-scored love ballad like this can be said to work, but only just, because the boy from Pinner's attempts to sing as if he were a US soul man are not altogether convincing. The song itself, however, is powerful enough to overcome whatever shortcomings Sharon (*) may have.

The penultimate and title track of the album has also caused ripples, for here La Bush's partner in vocals is none other than that most ubiquitous of modern Englishmen, Stephen Fry. Playing the part of Professor Joseph Yupik (an in-joke - the Yupik are a race of east Asian and north-west American people), Fry intones (and seldom is the word better used than when it describes Fry's diction) fifty words (or, rather, terms) for the white stuff. Some of them are mundane ('drifting', 'avalanche' and the satirically prosaic 'bad for trains'); others are truly poetic ('robber's veil', 'shimmerglisten' - she's been reading Joyce again, I think); while some are just beguilingly daft ('spangladasha', 'Zhivagodamarbletash', and the appalling 'phlegm de neige'). Throughout, Fry/Yupik is urged on by Kate:

"Come on Joe, you've got 32 to go/Don't you know it's not just the Eskimo/Let me hear your 50 words for snow."

All this to a chugging rhythm which might go over quite well in the clubs. Does it work? Well, it's certainly a wonderfully off-kilter piece, but it does seem to run out of steam before it reaches its terminus at eight and a half minutes, which is a pity.

The closing track, Among Angels returns us very firmly (I actually typed 'firnly' there the first time. Freudian typing, anyone?) to where we began.

The track actually begins with a false start; a single piano chord, followed by Kate saying, "Right.". We then have an almost Satie-esque piano leading into a slow song which is the most reminiscent on the whole album of her earliest published recordings, in terms of arrangement, vocals and theme; love and the need for love. It concludes the whole work on a strong note, reminding us of the emotional depth of Kate Bush at her very best.

To sum up, then; is this Kate Bush's best album? No, not quite; Aerial still just edges it by dint of its greater variety of styles and pace. Is it a very good album indeed? Emphatically so. Bush's piano playing is measured and never intrusive, the other musicians - Gadd especially - are on top of their game, the arrangements are never overegged and the overall production succeeds in conveying the appropriate atmosphere throughout. The histrionics and over-reliance on technology which had a tendency to be millstones as much as signatures of much of her previous work - especially from the mid-eighties onwards - has been replaced by a more mature sound and a more measured and organic feel.

This is an accomplished, fascinating and beautiful album. We're lucky to have you, Kate.

(*) 'Sharon' is Rod Stewart's nickname for Elton; by way of revenge, John refers to Stewart as 'Phyllis'

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