Kate Bush
50 Words for Snow

I think I've never looked forward to a Monday as much in my life. I rushed out of the house to catch the first train to Milan, even wore a tie: it couldn't have been otherwise for an appointment with Kate Bush. I know, I must have exasperated most of my friends with my countdown, which started when I found out in early October that a new album was coming out, but she has such a special place among my favorites, ever since I saw her at Festivalbar at the age of five, singing (strictly in playback) "Wuthering Heights"...

It was a moral duty for me to get "50 Words for Snow" the very day of its official release, after listening to the tracks previewed on the singer's own website. An appointment that left me there cold, unable to say a word or form an impression. Those piano carpets that seem to never end, incredible stories of scared snowflakes calling for someone to find them, of dogs dreaming they are running towards their mistress's ghost, of a night of love with a snowman, a Yeti, lovers chasing each other through time and space. And then the soft atmosphere, sometimes dangerously close to silence, Kate's voice proudly showing the signs of time just like real women are proud of their wrinkles, the linguistic games, the ending that seems so fragile it gives you the impression that anything could irreparably ruin it.

But I'm not twenty anymore, and a subtle yet effective harmony immediately formed between me and these seven new songs, a few notes that stayed in the most unexpected places of my soul, resonating lightly when stimulated by the morning frost or the sparkle of a frost. Aware of having been enchanted by Kate once more, I begin to feel the urgent need to listen to the album again, and again, and again. And a beauty opens up to me that I never hoped for, that satisfies me, that embraces me like the snowman in "Misty", the third track of this collection, fourteen minutes of wonderful storytelling, laid out on jazzy rhythms and agile piano passages, sudden bursts of sensual ecstasy where unthinkable sounds come in (a nearly insecure guitar, breaking glass reminiscent of "Babooshka", quick orchestral interventions) and a final crescendo that if it lasted one second longer would force me to open the window and shout at the top of my lungs.

Is it Kate Bush's most beautiful song? It's worth putting it among the possible answers. In front of my eyes, "Snowflake" also transforms, an opening track that initially seemed rather flat, but turns out to be one of Kate's most moving tracks: her son Bertie, an enchanting boy soprano, but also an extraordinary narrator (listen to how his voice trembles when he recites "Now I am falling / Look up, and you'll see me") embodies the snowflake on a repetitive, almost gloomy piano phrasing, she responds to him, opening it all up with warmer chords, insisting on a refrain: "The world is too loud, keep falling, I'll find you". I feel like I'm in the middle of reading a book (perhaps Blixen's "Seven Gothic Tales"), something that also happens with "Lake Tahoe", a cold, gothic, almost religious beginning (the restrained operatic voices, the singing and the piano remind me of Florian Fricke in "Hosianna Mantra"), then the almost tango-like rhythm, more enveloping, more human. It is incredible how the singer has become so adept at painting, with her music now free of any pop urgency and her carefully chosen words, pictures full of psychological depth and meaning.

This is what makes me appreciate even a track that I've seen rather criticized elsewhere, "Snowed In at Wheeler Street", a duet with Sir Elton John. Just a hint, an image to evoke the drama of World War II (one suspects it also refers to the Holocaust), or a sense connected to September 11 of losing a world. Some have turned up their noses at Elton's "bloated" performance, but in reality, the song, with an intensity reminiscent of the times of "Hounds of Love" or "The Sensual World", becomes even more effective with the seeking and overlapping of two clearly tired voices, laden with years, experiences, fatigue, and disillusionment. And I also like the more lighthearted side of this work, "Wild Man", a track that seems to have come from "Never Forever", full of mystery and oriental reminiscences, and the title track, which lives up to its promise: actor Stephen Fry recites fifty synonyms for the word snow over a near-trance base, encouraged in the beautiful refrain by Kate ("come on, you only have twenty-two more to go!"), whose voice on this occasion recalls her playful tones of the early days. The contrast with "Among Angels" is extraordinary, a piece for Kate, her piano, and delicate orchestral interventions weaving a poignant dedication to a friend in trouble.

I have thus literally broken the ice with this new aspect of Kate, and the appointment I had so long awaited turns out to be as rewarding as I could have hoped (and I realize I was already expecting a more decisive step in this direction since "Aerial"). I enjoy the company of this voice, that of a woman in her full maturity, now the master of her entire creative process (the label "50 Words..." is published on is also hers), which can only be savored by those who decide to dedicate themselves to her and open their soul to her. I have with me a work destined to warm up all this upcoming winter, fascinating like a flower that with extreme slowness but admirable constancy, blooms in the middle of the snow.

Did I miss you? How much, Kate, and how happy I am to find you in this new guise.