“The song was originally called A Deal With God,” says Bush. With a multi-layered vocal over a sparse, tribal drum pattern and synths, it was akin to Bush’s previous songs in that it completely set itself apart from everything else around at the time, and her innovative use of technology saw her lauded as a pioneer within the field.īut it wasn’t just the aural landscape of the track that captivated her fanbase all over again it was also the lyrical meaning – about the fundamental differences between the sexes and how they lead to misunderstanding in relationships. The public’s first taste of the album came in August 1985 when Bush appeared on Wogan to premiere Running Up That Hill, the lead single. She separated the album into two halves – the first being Hounds Of Love and the second The Ninth Wave, a suite of seven songs that would take up all of Side Two of the record, and document the ebbing consciousness of a drowning woman in terrifying detail. It was also while in Dublin that Bush penned most of the lyrics and began to realise a concept for the record – namely, weather patterns and water. Bush began fusing the Fairlight with the folky instruments she’d used in Ireland, crafting the sound that would inform the album. A sojourn to Dublin proved to be equally inspiring – both thematically and sonically. Having used her time out of the spotlight to reconnect with friends and immerse herself in film and literature, a revitalised Bush found herself at her most inspired, revelling in the creative freedom that she’d longed and fought for. Whereas at home, there’s none of that pressure.” If you’re paying for studio time, you feel guilty if you experiment that you’re throwing money away.
#Album or cover kate bush hounds of love free
I felt much more relaxed and free to work in an uninhibited way. “Moving the studio into my home couldn’t have been a better decision,” she said in 1985. Working on her fifth album at home allowed Bush the freedom to write, produce, arrange and perform on her own terms (practically unheard of at the time, let alone for a female artist). This enabled her creativity to run free without the burden of studio costs, which had been a bone of contention with her label, EMI, during the sessions for The Dreaming.īush had also been dissatisfied with the frequency by which she’d been expected to produce new material, and felt that some of her releases could’ve been better with the benefit of time (most notably her second album, Lionheart). “Home” at this point was a 17th-century farmhouse in Kent, and it was here that Bush built a state-of-the-art, 48-track recording studio.
I intend to keep on writing for the first part of the year, so yet again I slip away from the eyeball of the media to my home.” The problem is that if I don’t make an album this year, there will be at least another two-year gap, and the way business and politics are, it would be a negative situation. It doesn’t have the same air of doom and gloom that ‘81 and ‘82 seemed to hold.
Since then, all that had been heard from the singer was a bulletin in her fanclub newsletter in 1983: “This year has been very positive so far. While The Dreaming had been truly ahead of its time, utilising new technology such as the Fairlight synthesiser, it had produced only one UK Top 20 single (Sat In Your Lap) and had alienated even Bush’s most fervent admirers. However, as her work had grown ever more experimental, so her commercial success had dwindled.
The ethereal ingénue who’d transfixed the nation with the almost operatic Wuthering Heights at the height of punk and disco in 1978 had previously been prolific, releasing four albums in five years, as well as completing an extensive European tour – 1979’s The Tour Of Life. In fact, nothing could’ve been further from the truth and, in September of that year, she unleashed what would become her defining opus, Hounds Of Love, on the world. It had been three years since her last album, The Dreaming, and there were rumours that she’d gone mad, developed an addiction to junk food that had seen her weight balloon to 20 stone, or retired from the music industry completely. In July 1985, as the world basked in the enormity of Live Aid, NME – no doubt dismayed at the state of a British music scene dominated by Dire Straits, Queen and Phil Collins – ran an article asking where Bush had disappeared to. Given her current status as one of the most original and dynamic artists Britain has ever produced, it’s hard to imagine that there was a time in the mid-Eighties when Kate Bush was perceived to be languishing in the proverbial pop wasteland.
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