E.A.R. #3: Lionheart

Residing at the intersection of 1970s AM radio and progressive rock, Kate Bush's Lionheart has turned me on to an artist I once disregarded as merely "Kind of interesting."

Released in 1978, when Bush was 20, Lionheart is the singer-songwriter's second studio album and is generally looked upon as a rush job. Bush's first album (The Kick Inside) had been released earlier that same year and was a critical and commercial hit, so EMI obviously wanted to capitalize on that heat. Against Bush's wishes. Hey, who knew record companies were greedy, nefarious shadow-entities with little regard for their recording artists?

Oh, word? Everyone? Alright.

Regardless of Lionheart's mediocre reputation, I'm in love with it. My previous experience with Kate Bush had been a half-hearted attempt to get into the Hounds of Love LP -- widely regarded as her magnum opus. I didn't dislike the album; I just didn't "get" it. At least not at the time, when I was too busy trying to track down Japanese reissues of Slayer EPs to really care about an artist who sounded like she spent at least 47% of her studio time drawing pictures of Bryan Ferry riding unicorns. In colored pencil, no less. C'mon!

It's actually kind of a challenge to categorize Bush's music. Progressive pop? Art rock? "Midnight at the Oasis" hung in an ornate frame at an exclusive gallery managed by Darkness from Legend? That's only half the battle. Kate Bush's voice is bizarre. It's lovely, but it's also grating. The water's cold, son. Take the plunge slowly.

The melodies and arrangements involved in Lionheart are fucking outrageous, though. "Hammer Horror", which was released as the first single, sounds as though Bush took a rented Dracula cape into the studio and sang to an Oliver Reed pin-up photo. Alternately fragile (like candy glass) and rockin', it's kind of ridiculous. And wonderful. I imagine it's a staple of cool people's Halloween parties. But I don't know any cool people I can ask.

I was already familiar with "Wow" because it was available on one of the radio stations in Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. I'm a boorish man-child. Though, I do remember thinking, "Hey, 'Wow' is right!" JUST KIDDING. The tune is strange. Bush goes off like a horny house cat in the chorus. Which, I think, is the point even though the song is about the perils of being an obscure artist verging on stardom. Maybe? Either way, she is wearing a lion costume on the album sleeve, so I'm not totally off-base. "Wow" leaves me in an awkward position, because a part of me is grinding my teeth -- my mouth, I guess -- but the rest of me wants to hoist Kate Bush onto my shoulders and parade her around the room for a victory lap. Whether or not I'd sniff the neck of my shirt later is my business.

"Fullhouse" has nothing to do with Uncle Jessie, Joey, or how Jodie Sweetin got super hot in recent years. I'm pretty sure the song's about mental illness. But it's a pretty good showcase for Bush's range, and those layered whispers of the "voices in her head" playing against the melodramatic piano riffs? Drives me bananas. It's vocal trickery on a par with King Diamond, but you don't have to pretend to dislike it when normal people are around.

It's a good record, stupid.

Yeah, there's little doubt that the uninitiated, when first belted by Bush's voice, will be wearing an expression not unlike if Abdullah the Butcher just sat on their head and farted. But let that unique sound wash over you, and accept it within the context of the insular musical world this practically-teenaged girl put on wax 35 years ago . . . at a time when Punk barbarism was threatening to finally drop the coup de grâce on England's optimism. I mean, Kate Bush met "No Future" head on with "When You Wish Upon a Star"...

Those are giant balls, ma'am.