Let’s take a moment for historical perspective before we begin
this review.
The last time Kate Bush released a CD, 1993’s
The Red Shoes, the number one song for the year was “A Whole
New World” from the Disney movie
Aladdin. The Internet was an infant. Bill Clinton was one
year into his eight-year presidency; Conservative John Major was
three years into his seven year tenure as Prime Minister of Great
Britain. We had not heard of 9/11, home convection ovens, the
Playstation 2 or the XBox, Paris Hilton, the Arizona Diamondbacks,
Emeril Lagasse, or ANY of the damned Simpson sisters.
The last time Kate Bush released what in this reviewer’s opinion
was a GOOD CD (1989’s
The Sensual World) was even further back.
So despite the fact I’m a fan, it was really hard for me to
envision (or is that ensound?) what a new Kate Bush CD would sound
like. I mean, it’s been twelve years; Kate’s gotten married, had a
kid, and (one assumes) grown up. Having always appeared somewhat
ethereal, a creature of Faerie and fancy, what would that kind of
grounding do to her sound?
One word: breathtaking.
This is not the Kate Bush we all remember. If I could put it in
spiritual or mythological terms, Kate’s moved from Maiden to
Mother. There is a simple strength to her sound that was not there
before. Her website calls this the most difficult album she’s ever
done, and I can see why; Aerial is almost naked in its
documentation of Kate’s maturity and growth. There are still
moments of typical Kate fancy, but this is stripped down, basic,
and simply beautiful.
This is a much more acoustic CD than anything Kate’s done
before. There’s a lot of times when it’s just her and her piano,
clear documentation of the sound that everyone from Tori Amos to
Vanessa Carlton has built on. It’s also a gentler CD; the
production spare and elegant, the instrumentation somewhat muted.
There’s no “The Big Sky” or “Constellation Of The Heart” here;
Aerial is introspective and pristine in its simplicity.
But oh, the songs. And oh, the voice.
Kate’s voice is even greater than it was before. She may have
lost a couple of notes in the higher register; somehow I doubt she
could hit those dog-torturing crescendos in “Wuthering Heights”
nowadays, though I might be wrong. But when she opens up and sings
— the intro of the unbelievably lovely “Nocturn” comes to mind —
there’s a sense of barely restrained power and of wonder. This is
not the girl who sang “James And The Cold Gun”; this is a woman in
her full power, and it’s a magnificent thing.
The songs and the lyrics are wonderful as well.
Aerial is, in many ways, a succession of powerful images. An
entire love song to what I presume is her son (“Bertie”); the
incredible poetry of “Learning To Be Invisible” (‘You stand in
front of a million doors / And each one holds a million more /
Corridors that lead to the world of the invisible / Corridors that
twist and turn / Corridors that blister and burn’); “The Painter’s
Link,” “The Architect’s Dream” — if there is a theme to Aerial,
it’s about frozen moments of time. And it’s wonderful.
Get this CD. Now. It’s exhilarating, sobering, and a true work
of art.
