This article was originally published in The Courier on 23rd August 2014.
The
Kate Bush Story: Running Up That Hill: Friday,
BBC Four
Paul
Whitelaw
In keeping with her status as an
elusive living legend, Kate Bush was satisfyingly absent from her own
documentary tribute last night. Having largely shunned media
attention for the last 20 years, during which she's released just two
albums of original material, seeing her pop up on BBC Four to
cheerfully pick over her life and career would've rather dented her
mystique.
Instead, her only contributions to
The Kate Bush Story: Running Up That Hill came via archive
footage and, of course, examples of her unique artistry. Believe me,
I don't use such terms promiscuously. Unique, original, iconoclastic,
maverick: these adjectives are oft overused and abused. I creep upon
the word 'genius' as one might approach a hammer-wielding Boris
Johnston. But how else to describe an artist who sounds like no one
else before or, blatant imitators aside, since?
As correctly pointed out by Elton
John, who was just one of many celebrity fans queuing up to sing her
praises, Kate Bush is hardly your average million-selling art-pop
songwriter. “They're not normal songs,” he said, almost in awe,
like a craftsman examining a bizarrely imaginative sculpture with
envious admiration.
Elsewhere, author Neil Gaiman
described her work, lovingly, as “book music”, a point proven
quite literally (no pun intended) by the likes of Wuthering
Heights and the James Joyce-influenced The Sensual World.
Steve Coogan, a Byron quote never far from his lips, cut to the chase
by stating, “Liking her makes you feel a bit clever.”
Delivered by non-musicians, both
quotes were rather telling. As evinced by his self-mocking turns in
The Trip et al, Coogan is entirely aware of his own
pretentiousness and elitist tendencies. Perhaps more than any other
contributor – in a roster including Peter Gabriel, John Lydon,
Brett Anderson of Suede, and popular Kate Bush tribute act Tori Amos
– his comments tapped into Bush's singular appeal: yes, she's
literate and arty, but her eccentric sense of humour – that
controlled yet natural 'madness' – is what elevates her above mere
po-faced experimentalism.
It's a pity, then, that the programme
occasionally veered into Pseud's Corner territory. I welcomed the
lack of patronising narration – replaced instead by the occasional
explanatory caption – and I don't doubt the sincerity of her
gushing apostles. But one could easily picture Bush chortling along
at home, both flattered and amused by such blanket fealty. Presumably
aware of this, the director pointedly closed with a gently ribald
quote from Coogan to puncture the often church-like drift of the
preceding 60 minutes.
Nevertheless, the level of insight
from our esteemed talking heads was, at its best, of a higher
standard than your average hagiography. The worshipful tone was a bit
much at times, but we should all be thankful for the dearth of
clueless hack comedians spluttering, “Babooshka? What were
all that about?!”
Yes, the borderline comedic aspects
of her early, flailing, leotard-clad persona were fleetingly
acknowledged, albeit placed fairly in the context of a young and
exceptionally talented prodigy in the grip of wild expression. In any
case, the point was neatly made that an artist as – that word again
– unique as Bush was a gift for impressionists. Such is the small,
amusing price you pay for daring to be different.
Given the circumstances, it was a
classy, affectionate tribute to an admirably private subject.
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