Attention to anyone who craves a winter−themed album but despises traditional Christmas music: Kate Bush's "50 Words for Snow" is what you seek. Releasing two studio albums in one year for the first time since 1978, Bush continues to make mystical, surreal and hypnotizing music.
The album would be perfect to listen to in the midst of a snow−laden landscape. In the opening song, "Snowflake," the rhythmic, tinkling piano evokes the muffled sounds produced by snow drifts. Bush's son, Bertie, contributes his choral, soaring vocals to "Snowflake" as the voice of a snowflake who falls to Earth and comments on what he sees. He speaks, rather than sings, "We're over a forest/ There's millions of snowflakes/ We're dancing," and Bush responds, "The world is so loud/ Keep falling/ I'll find you." As Bertie intones, "In a moment or two/ I'll be with you/ Be ready to catch" toward the end of the hefty, nine−minute opener, there is a lingering sense of sadness. The song gradually quiets down, mimicking the manner of a falling snowflake melting on impact.
Bush certainly does not deliver traditional winter−themed songs. Instead, she has always been known for her unapologetically bizarre way of making music and her unique, pseudo−operatic vocals. Influencing people from John Lydon, aka Johnny Rotten of the Sex Pistols, to Florence Welch of Florence + the Machine, Bush has consistently been making the music scene a more interesting place for 33 years.
While there are only seven tracks on "50 Words for Snow," the entire album has a running time of 65 minutes. "Lake Tahoe," the second track, is an 11−minute story of a ghost who haunts the title lake, searching for her lost dog. Bush conjures poetic descriptions of the stereotypical, love−beset woman, but those are almost parodied by the fact that the woman is only looking for a lost pet. The lyrics poignantly illustrate the ghost's story: "Tumbling like a cloud that has drowned in the lake/ Just like a poor, porcelain doll." Her imagery is haunting at turns, revealing the gothic influences on Bush's songwriting. This artist has a tale to tell in each track on the album, and she creates a welcome contrast to the tiring, repetitive songs that clog up the airwaves.
"Misty" is probably the album's most intriguing track. The story here is of a woman who sleeps with a snowman and wakes up to find him, inevitably, melted. The concept is ridiculous, and yet, somehow, the track's pathos is great. Bush manages to blend a surreal romance — "And when I kiss his ice−cream lips/ And his creamy skin/ His snowy white arms surround me" — with slightly grotesque images — "His crooked mouth is full of dead leaves" — and the effect is incredibly evocative.
Bush's encounters with supernatural creatures continue in "Wild Man," in which she recounts the tale of the abominable snowman. She alternates between a whisper and a forceful cry in the chorus, demonstrating her impressive vocal range.
The story follows a group of travelers who find the yeti's footprints in the snow, and, in an act of incredible compassion, brush them away so it cannot be hunted down. This is one of the shortest songs on the album, and though it runs over seven minutes, it does not feel even a second too long. The ability to not lose momentum over the course of such a long track further proves Bush's skill and validates her deserved confidence in her songwriting ability.
Bush teams up with her teenage idol, Elton John, for "Snowed in at Wheeler Street," a sci−fi love story that spans the ages. Bush and John play a time−traveling couple. They meet at certain points in their lives, including the fall of Rome to when "We met in '42/ But we were on different sides." The song builds up from a circular rhythm to a crescendo from both vocalists; drums clash as they declare, "I don't want to lose you again."
The penultimate title track is exactly as advertised: Stephen Fry monotonously rattles off 50 poetic synonyms with snow as Bush counts each one.
Included among those 50 are "blackbird Braille," "shimmerglisten" and the Klingon "pedtah 'ej chis qo." The song, which demands a sense of humor, certainly lightens the evocative mood created by its preceding tracks.
The magic of Bush's latest lies in her powerful lyrics — specifically in the mood they conjure — and their simplistic musical accompaniment. "50 Words for Snow" is a cohesive and beautifully tied−together album that encapsulates winter's sense of mystery and grandeur.
