#954: 1978, Kate Bush, Wuthering Heights

by Jackie_South on November 9, 2014

We seem to have been a bit male artist orientated of late, so I thought I should put that right with song number three in our Great Debut Record theme week.

As George commented four years ago, sometimes when you hear a truly great debut it is so different that you are initially unsure whether you like it or not but you are sure you cannot ignore it. The very first time I can remember feeling like that about a record was seeing a nineteen year-old Kate Bush cavorting in the dry ice on Top of the Pops.

At the height of punk, here was a long-haired, arty woman in a voluminous dress prancing about to a piano and singing about English Literature. She had wild, staring eyes and a slightly screechy voice. A nine-year old Jackie South wasn’t sure what he was watching and neither, it seemed was much of the country. Geoff Elliott’s dad’s view was hardly unique.

Oddly, given the overt artsiness and the role of family friend David Gilmour (of John Lydon’s “I Hate Pink Floyd” fame) in getting her a record deal, one group that did like her were the punks: they loved her unique, individual approach that came from a genuine love of a book.

Watching it now, it still seems risky and offbeat. Much as I love her latest stuff, this is still my favourite Kate Bush song.

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