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Time for Kate's 'comeback' - and when I was really first impressed by her song & dance - in my mid-teens. (Still thought 'yum' though! - but the tape - as was - blew me away). Think this one sticks in the memory for most as much as 'Wuthering Heights':
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"Running up that Hill" is a crackin' song (IMHO) and lovely choreography for the dance work - note the (semi) removal of gender in the 'costumes'...
Next up is "Cloudbusting" - am sure most know the story behind this with Wilhelm Reich, with Kate Bush there playing the son to Donald Sutherland - (directed by Terry Gilliam no less - though I think you tell with the 'cloudbuster'!)
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One more from "Hounds of Love" - the title track "It's in the trees, it's coming!":
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Bloke who does Rubi's Fantasy League. SEE LATEST TABLES HERE: PREM,CHAMPS & now the CUP
This sums up my feelings about the gig far more eloquently than I managed.
With thanks to Charlie Brooker
Charlie Brooker
The Guardian, Monday 6 October 2014 Kate Bush live at the Hammersmith Apollo, London in The other day I was talking to a music fan who’d recently gone to see one of Kate Bush’s widely praised live appearances. Naturally I was keen to hear a first-hand account of this era-defining event, so I asked what it was like.
“The first half was great,” she said. “But the second half got a bit boring.”
Well that was jarring. For weeks I’d been told by seemingly everyone on the internet that witnessing Kate Bush live was a life-changing event; a transformative experience of staggering magnitude. Attendees described a sort of positive version of the climactic ark-opening sequence from Raiders of the Lost Ark, of thousands of people simultaneously overpowered by a work of supernatural genius. Apparently these people didn’t simply attend a rock concert – they were French-kissed by God. So majestic was the performance, all the molecules in their bodies were disassembled and temporarily rearranged into a pulsating jellyfish of pure enjoyment, basking helplessly yet blissfully on the shores of Lake Kate, before the stunning finale finally healed and reformed them and sent them on their way. They crawled from the venue on all fours, uncontrollably weeping and soiling themselves all the way home. Hours later, once they’d finished shaking, they went on Twitter and explained how even the typographical layout of the ticket stub had made them cry nine times. And yet here was someone shrugging at it all.
And make no mistake, the person I’d spoken to was a bona fide Kate Bush fan herself, yet one who described feeling so disconnected from the feverish level of excitement and sense of occasion other audience members were displaying – even on their way in, before a note had been sung – she was left feeling almost like an imposter. I suspect that partly explains the shrug. It’s too big a build-up. Nothing can match that level of expectation.
Perhaps the impossible-to-live-up-to tidal wave of praise came about in part because Bush had been clever enough to ask people not to stand around like mindless absorption pods, dumbly filming the gig on their smartphones. Maybe, with those smartphones tucked away, a sizeable percentage of the audience was being shocked by the reality of their first non screen-parlayed experience of the past five years.
“To say that these men paid their shillings to watch twenty-two hirelings kick a ball is merely to say that a violin is wood and catgut, that Hamlet is so much paper and ink"
JB Priestly 1929
