In ‘The Ninth Wave’, the dreamy second side of the original vinyl release of Hounds Of Love, Kate Bush borrows a title from Tennyson, only to spin out an entirely unrelated macabre folk tale of a woman lost at sea.
It might well be a metaphor for her entire career, a feminising alchemy within the all boy tree-house of rock. The first album made in her 48-track home studio is a remarkable piece of theatre, combining intricate vocal layers over such exotic instrumentation as the didgeridoo and the balalaika, while more commercial stylings on Hounds Of Love side one make for great hooks and good business (‘Running Up That Hill’ would break America). But mostly this is girl stuff documenting darksome emotional fears (“I’ve always been a coward/And never know what’s good for me”), the sinister intensity of maternal feeling (‘Mother Stands To Comfort’) and everything in between. Even the ‘only a dream?’ denouement plays like an original.