Friday, March 31, 2006


To Kate

Your beauty hypnotised me as a boy,
My raging sap threat’ning to engulf me.
In pref’rence to baked beans and saveloy
I’d eat naught but your music for my tea;
So sweetly did you part your lips and sing
Of Heathcliff, Cathy, and heights Wuthering!

Ten years my senior were you, yes, and more;
But in my deepest heart I nurtured hope
That if but once you met me, you’d adore
My eagerness, and permit me a grope;
Meanwhile, your songs spoke to me clear and true,
And I put up with balls of darkest blue.

I didn’t like The Dreaming much at first,
But genius takes time to make its mark.
At length the two tin ears with which I’m cursed
Perceived the beauty of that record’s spark.
Now three copies of it I’ve worn right through;
O how I wish you’d play my didg’ridoo!

Then suddenly you vanished, and we wept!
Where was our Kate? Dead? Mad? Abroad? Depressed?
Like Rip Van Winkle, you had merely slept,
And with a baby boy you had been blessed.
We greeted your return last year in rapture,
Convinced that the old magic you’d recapture.

A double album! Aerial, it’s named.
And though no doubt it’s full of good intent
And of the quirkiness for which you’re famed,
It lacks a certain crucial element:
The lyrics thud to ground like lead balloons,
And where, fair Kate, are all the bloody tunes?

I love you still, and this will never fade,
I’m glad you seem contented with your life.
But this new record twenty times I’ve played,
And each time, disappointment wields its knife.
After twelve years I hoped for more than this –
Aerial, frankly, dear, just takes the piss.

This is what makes insomnia more enjoyable than it has ever been. Mr. Eater, that was brilliant.
What a brush you paint with, what a canvas. Truly, the highest form of expression.
Footsie, you sure know how to make the girls swoon! What a riot!
My thoughts, exactly, Foot. Well, not exactly since I don't write "pewetreh"...but frankly, she lost me at "The Red Shoes."

Eat the music, my arse.
The woman looks too skinny to grope. More like the type that human males want to lick the ice-cream off (or so they say).
quite the review there..

i picture a pimply faced teenager furiously beating off to Kate Bush music.
Whatever does it for you, Sarah...
Sheer, unadulterated brilliance, Footsie. The wizened old men in Stockholm ought to severally pay attention to your budding talent. And I feel Miss (ahem) Bush's lyrics still have some way to go until they match your stylistic skills. In this case, the hommage is greater than the oeuvre.
Meh, I always thought she was over rated. I liked Running up the Hill, and that's about it. I like your review though. Saw her on top of the pops recently looking like a slightly over weight house frau in a trench coat. Why will people never let the dream live? We don't want to see your feet of clay. Every time I see Simon le Bon now I feel saddened.
MInd you, every time I see a photo of me in my twenties I feel the same way.
"it lacks a certain crucial element:
The lyrics thud to ground like lead balloons,
And where, fair Kate, are all the bloody tunes?"

Kate, Kate, Kate, when are you just going to give up and do a spread in Hustler?
The overweight hausfrau look has stood Debbie Harry in good stead in recent years, and she's still sexy.
heh.. McShae, teenies don't do it for me but the furiously masturbating male has it's merits..

how are you anyway?
foot: I agree. There's a lot to be said for a real, earthy woman. Not morbidity nor waifishness for this erector set.
I saw Blondie years ago at the Strathclyde Union. She (Debbie)took her top off (she had a bikini top on underneath) but the whole place still went berserk.
Yes, Doc, but just how long ago is 'years ago'? If I'd seen her take her top off in, say, 1978, I'd have gone wild myself. Well, I wouldn't because I didn't like girls then, but you know what I mean.
Foot, so you're recently converted to the heterosexual lifestyle??

or you were just a wee baby..
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Excellent, love it! »
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