It is undeniable that Kate Bush is incredibly significant in the gendered narrative of the music industry, so it may perhaps come as a disappointment to many to have to face the fact that in a 1989 interview, Bush distanced herself from the feminist label. The pertinent question then is, if someone does not identify as a feminist, can we still derive feminist value from their work, even if that was not their intention in the process of creation? One could ponder the question of whether it is possible to separate art from the artist, whether we should just accept that Bush may a ‘problematic fave’ who we can still appreciate for what she has given, regardless of whether she was conscious or intentional in giving it.
Furthermore, it is imperative that we acknowledge the internalised misogyny perpetuated by structural patriarchy that often prevents women from wanting to call themselves feminists. Bush said herself in a 2016 interview for The Fader that she ‘doesn’t really mind if people mishear lyrics or misunderstand what the story is… if you feel something, that’s really the ideal goal’. Art is a subjective medium, and that’s the beauty of it. Bush may not be entirely politically correct in her attitudes to the feminist movement, but it is worth acknowledging her contribution to it regardless, since she has no doubt enabled many female artists to thrive whilst compromising less of themselves than they otherwise would have had to if she had not set the precedent of female autonomy being a necessity.
Kate Bush has had an undeniable impact on the landscape of music for female artists on more than one level. Her innovative and passionately visual ballads have set artistic precedent for the likes of Florence and the Machine, Sia, Bjork and Mitski, with Imogen Heap saying that when she was getting her first record deal ‘it was the likes of Kate Bush who had contributed to labels taking me seriously as a girl who knew what she was doing and [what she] wanted’, enabling her to ‘experiment and [be] left to [her] own devices in the studio’. Where there was no precedent, she set it herself. She took risks in her work, channelling different characters, going against expectation, speaking truth however that looked and sounded to her – The Morning Fog, for example, on her 1985 album Hounds of Love, sung upliftingly as she lyrically says goodbye to her family while drowning.
On both a lyrical and practical level, Bush laid groundwork for women being able to exist unapologetically in an otherwise male-dominated industry. Her lyrics are confessional and tender. She demonstrates a stunning versatility in subject matter, being able to go from a slow and emotionally charged ballad like ‘You’re The One’ to a more upbeat song like ‘Babooshka’ in a manner that never steers from a central identifiable style. Her music is raw and tender, encapsulating feelings of loss, grief and simply being allowed to feel. It is no surprise that in 2018 she released a book, ‘How to Be Invisible’, filled with lyrics from her songs, notable as they are in their encapsulation of the dynamic nature of the female experience. Bush is able to light a fire of hope inside all of us when she sings lyrics like ‘I just know that something good is gonna happen’ in ‘Cloudbusting’, speak to our desperate desire to feel significant in ‘Running Up That Hill’ when she says ‘Tell me, we both matter, don’t we?’, and speak to a universal desire to be set free from rigid societal expectation in the experimental ‘Leave It Open’ when she says that ‘we let the weirdness in’.
What makes Kate great is that she is able to be so distinctly personal whilst reaching out and resonating so stunningly with multiple generations of women and making them feel seen. Catherine Pierce from The Pierces said that Running Up That Hill felt like Kate was ‘reading her heart’, and this is a common feeling. In the introduction to her lyric book, David Mitchell says that a ‘paradox about her is that while her lyrics are avowedly idiosyncratic, those same lyrics evoke emotions and sensations that feel universal’. No stone is left unturned; every emotion is acknowledged, explored, displayed without shame.
It may be decades since Bush’s prime as an artist, but the need to validate female emotion remains pertinent – ‘This Woman’s Work’, for example, was heard in the opening sequence of season 2 of The Handmaid’s Tale as the handmaids realise they are about to be executed. Ari Aster’s 2019 film Midsommar showcased the idea that female rage and euphoria are often one and the same. In the era of #MeToo, we need to be conscious of the female experience as a distinct one deserving of attention and we need to be active in our response to the building upon the pitfalls of it under patriarchy. Bush may have claimed creative control of her work when Wuthering Heights topped the charts when she was just 19, and this may have set a necessary precedent, but still in 2019 we are being faced with women falling victim to the industry that has never prioritised them – Taylor Swift recently released a statement claiming that Scooter Braun and Scott Borchetta are blocking her from performing or using her old songs, and in 2013 Kesha had to go to court in relation to her sexual harassment claims against Dr Luke in an attempt to be freed from a contract that would have her bound to her abuser. The precedent of Kate Bush in the music industry is one that can and must be seen as feminist if we as a society are to continue to work on and consolidate the idea that women deserve to safely own the space they occupy and the art they create.