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On my way into work Monday, I heard Hounds of Love by Kate Bush on NOW 94.3 FM.
If you’re a regular listener to Winnipeg radio (which, for my sins, I am), you will know how shocking this was.
I knew Bush had experienced a sudden, surprising surge in popularity thanks to the inclusion of her 1985 song Running Up That Hill in the Season 4 premiere of Netflix show Stranger Things. (The British singer actually achieved her first Billboard Top 10 hit in America with the song, first released 37 years ago and debuting at No. 8 this week on the Hot 100.)
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As the DJ explained, the station had played Running Up That Hill Friday during its all-request noon-hour show, so he was branching out into other Bush tracks.
While one part of me rejoices that Bush is getting long-overdue recognition, another smaller, pettier part is peeved by the bandwagon-jumping.
Press AssociationSinger Kate Bush in 2005. (Steve Reigate / Press Association Photo)
On Instagram, in response to Running’s sudden mainstream embrace, Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist and longtime Kate Bush fan Michael Chabon recalled obsessively checking out a favourite book from the library as a child, partially to prevent other children from discovering it: “Possessiveness — or call it ‘gatekeeping’ — is alas one part of the psychology of fandom, one has to acknowledge that to get beyond (though perhaps never completely outgrow) it; fortunately the other part is the joy of finding people who are willing and able to share it.”
As a music snob who came of age in the pre-internet era, I get it. We had to WORK to find non-mainstream music. We had to tape CBC’s Brave New Waves, read music mags and hope a cool older sibling would share their finds (or in my case, younger sibling: my little sister was wearing goth eyeliner and moaning along with the Smiths when I was still listening to Def Leppard).
Our discoveries were hard-won; people who hadn’t put in the work, who only glommed on when acts hit the mainstream, weren’t real fans — they were dilettantes, dabblers, johnny-come-latelies.
Musical taste was a calling card, a password to identify other like-minded folks. When everyone has the password, how do you know who “your” people are?
On the other hand, it would be hypocritical of me to judge because so many of my own musical obsessions have their origins in soundtracks. The ‘80s films of Jonathan Demme — Married to the Mob, Something Wild — introduced me to Celia Cruz, the Feelies and many more.
I’d like to say I was cool enough at 15 to be aware of Otis Redding’s version of Try a Little Tenderness before Jon Cryer’s Ducky dramatically lip-synched it in John Hughes’ Pretty in Pink, but I’d be lying.
And I’d bet Kate Bush had a previous boost in sales when her heartbreaking This Woman’s Work appeared in a pivotal scene in another Hughes film, She’s Having a Baby. (Honestly, Hughes’ soundtracks may have been more influential than his films.)
Did Try a Little Tenderness rocket up the charts anew in 1986? Probably not: in a pre-Shazam, pre-Google era, there was still a bit of legwork involved in tracking down tunes. But the removal of those barriers to discovery should be embraced.
For her part, Bush seems genuinely delighted with the attention; in a rare public statement, she said, “It’s all really exciting! Thanks very much to everyone who has supported the song. I wait with bated breath for the rest of the series in July.” For my part, if it means Running Up That Hill replaces the thrice-weekly spins of Takin’ Care of Business on Winnipeg airwaves for even a little while, I’m all for it.
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