Bad dreams in the night

What is it about Kate Bush and her breakthrough single? I thought she was kind of ridiculous when that song first came out, but I liked it in spite of myself, floppy sleeves, overwrought mannerisms and all. As I got older it came to represent a certain kind of romanticism and female strength, and a connection to ye olde English tales and landscapes. Not just the Bronte connection, but the long tangled thread back to Herne the hunter, talking badgers, lions, hounds, and unicorns. Maybe it was those misty trees.

Kate Bush herself was uncompromisingly individual and unpackaged, and quite apart

Wuthery trees    source

from her sheer musicality, there was the furniture-chewing drama of her videos, the romanticism, the female-centric stories of her songs. Now I can’t tell – is my ongoing fandom ironic? Or am I invested more deeply, retrospectively approving my younger self’s taste; celebrating my own successful transition into adulthood after an adolescence full of darkness and gothic misery.

I expect all women of my vintage had similar struggles as teenagers, sulking alone in our rooms, but this week we all got together in the park, on a bright wintery Wellington Saturday, to recreate the famous Wuthering Heights dance. Thank f*k we made it through, we could be saying with every flouncey spin, because that adolescence could have gone horribly wrong. But here we are: all of us who used to prance around in private, imagining we were as powerful, as confident in our weirdness and our talents, and our silliness, as Kate Bush.

The Most Wuthering Heights Day Ever: Wellington.
Photo credit: Joanna Holden

She was only 18 when she wrote Wuthering Heights; no one can say she didn’t own her own twee-ness as a teenager. She celebrated it. At an age where the rest of us were self-consciously trying to hide our more goofy facets, Kate Bush was in full flight, emoting wildly. She was unrelentingly herself, in a way that the cookie-cutter mouthpieces who dominate pop music have never been brave or intelligent enough to be.

While she surely had her influences, you couldn’t say she modeled herself on them, and although there were some great songs on the charts in 1978, in pop music terms she really was out on her own: a unique talent. She might not fit the stereotype of punk but she embodied its ethos more authentically than many a spiky-haired hobby band that followed.

So thanks, Kate Bush, you gave me something to admire and giggle at in the same breath, through some very tough times. And thanks, adolescence, you made me who I am. I hated you (I loved you too).