Kate Bush's first album of new material in six years mixes yetis, snowmen and made-up wintry words. The reclusive star tells Andy Gill why she has the chills
As with the Radiohead album, New Blood finds Peter Gabriel getting a second bite at his own material – in this case, continuing the orchestral re-arrangement approach applied to the cover versions of last year's Scratch My Back.
She has been a lesbian icon, party animal, and paparazzi favourite. But now, she tells Fiona Sturges, she's happy just to be singing
Kate Bush is working on a new record.
Kate Bush is back with a collection of reworked tracks from two previous albums. Andy Gill welcomes back an eccentric and idiosyncratic talent who explored sexuality and social taboos
Floating among the dramatic black curtains and blisteringly bright lights of the stage at Shepherd's Bush Empire is Swedish electro-pop darling Lykke Li. Swooping around the stage in a vast black cloak and skimpy leotard, her movements call to mind a bizarre combination of Florence Welch and the masked killer from the Scream film franchise, while her voice mixes the plaintive upper register of Kate Bush with the quirky charm of Björk. Contrasts are a prevalent feature of Li's show, yet the same shifts which make it distinctive also make it a gig of mixed successes.
Genre-mashing post punk meets ambient artist Dave i.d. takes time out from recording his debut album to talk to Music Magazine.
Synthesizers and drum machines might have dominated the music of the early Eighties, but the bass guitar also became prominent at the start of the decade that taste forgot.
The Week in Arts
Upwards of 600 pages long, fanatically engrossed in its subject matter, covering a century of native musical culture in the minutest detail, Electric Eden has a symbolic high point that can be dated to 1975. With the entity known as "progressive rock" (Genesis, Pink Floyd, Yes etc) grown tediously overblown, and punk the faintest of stirrings on an unregarded horizon, this was the annus mirabilis of the English folk-rock group, Steeleye Span. A six-part BBC television series saw the band beamed out from a selection of historic country houses. Their stage shows became, as Rob Young puts it, "increasingly flamboyant". For "Lyke Wake Dirge" they trooped on stage wearing medieval space suits woven from priests' cassocks.
The first record I bought was...
A used dog-eared LP of Cosmic Thing by The B52s.
Lured out of "retirement" by the American folk-harpist darling Joanna Newsom for a string of sell-out European dates, Roy Harper is no stranger to the admiration and respect of his fellow musicians. His collaborators and devotees read like a Who's Who of rock royalty and include Led Zeppelin (Jimmy Page is in the audience this evening), the Who, Pink Floyd, Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush. But Harper himself has a modesty and controlled anonymity that has kept him away from the mainstream music machine, and it is this staunch individualism that truly defines his work.
You might think that Coco Sumner – frontwoman of the band I Blame Coco – has an unfair advantage over her indie-pop rivals this year. Coco is the daughter of Sting and Trudie Styler, one of the wealthiest, most famous and eminently slappable celebrity couples on the planet.
Things you need to say in any review of Hoop's debut album: she has a stint as nanny to Tom Waits' children on her CV. Things you don't: Björk and Kate Bush. That's that out of the way.
I'm in Glasgow, outside a TV studio. I can see the Clyde and a lovely suspension bridge.
When Natasha Khan asks "shall we carry on with a bit more dancing?" she might as well be talking to herself. The trademark cape has a bit more sparkle than previously, but tonight's audience is not looking for a big pop performance. They stand in awe as she powers through the best of Fur and Gold and Two Suns.