Wine and Cheese: Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush
Two art-pop legends complement each other thematically in their musical explorations of intimacy.
It’s your dream collab. The artists you add back-to-back to the queue. The pairing you can’t get enough of. You know they sound good together, but why? Welcome to Wine and Cheese, a series investigating the why and telling you all about it.
Written by Zachary Bolash
Photo courtesy of Kevin Godley and Lol Creme
The ‘80s were a time of prime kookiness. Despite the conservative climate, artists grew unabashedly quirkier and more bizarre. Two products of this peculiar time were art-pop legends Kate Bush and Peter Gabriel. Neither artist was afraid to perplex or discomfit listeners.Kate Bush's anachronistic, operatic belt in "Wuthering Heights" and Peter Gabriel's euphemistic imagery in "Sledgehammer" set the musicians apart from the trendy weirdness of their day. These artists did not tout snazzy, highlighted pompadours like Duran Duran or depend on funky synths like many New Wave peers, but rather, they burrowed into their intimacy to create compelling and evocative music. Thus, in how they both conform yet defy the 1980s musical scene, Kate Bush and Peter Gabtiel form a sonically delectable and complementary palette.
Kate Bush and Peter Gabriel both entered the scene in the 1970s, with their pop oddities striking at the perfect time. Progressive rock dominated the United States and England, making record labels search for a more experimental and transgressive sound. Bush and Gabriel heeded the call. The former’s first single, "Wuthering Heights," debuted in 1978 to critical acclaim and commercial success, topping England's singles chart for four weeks. Similarly, Gabriel catapulted his solo career in the same year with "Solsbury Hill," a song that also performed well, landing in the top twenty on the Billboard 100 chart.
These tracks continued the mystical and conceptual aspects of progressive rock while introducing a pop sensibility. Gabriel's "Solsbury Hill" features an acoustic guitar strumming along to his raspy timbre as he sings, "Climbing up on Solsbury Hill / I could see the city light." These lyrics, while simple, capture a feeling of euphoria and pop joy, bolstered by lines like, "I was feeling part of the scenery / I walked right out of the machinery." In contrast, Bush's “Wuthering Heights” continues progressive rock’s experimentalism but exists as a much more poignant track compared to her rock forefathers. The song begins with Bush's winding soprano as she whines, "How could you leave me / When I needed to possess you?" An accompanying orchestra of guitars and piano play a dramaturgic melody, almost as if it were scoring an off-broadway production of the dramatic romance film “The Notebook.”
Within these two songs, one sees how Gabriel and Bush complement each other — a theme that becomes ever-evident and acts as the thesis for their later work. Bush's "Wuthering Heights," while sonically pleasing, is inexplicably heart-wrenching; her desperation pierces through the shimmering pianos and snazzy guitars, especially in the juxtaposing lines, "I hated you / I loved you too." Gabriel's "Solsbury Hill," on the other hand, has a similar productive quality but is much lighter, with twangy guitars and Gabriel's cinematic vocals — a stark contrast to Bush’s emotional, punchy delivery. Where in “Solsbury Hill,” Gabriel remarks upon the clemency of his setting in remarking, “I could see the city light / Wind was blowing, time stood still / Eagle flew out the night,” Bush luridly imagines herself as the “Wuthering Heights” novel’s forlorn protagonist, Catherine Earnshaw, as she pleads to her lover Heathcliff to take her back: “Heathcliff, it’s me, I’m Cathy / I’ve come home, I’m so cold / Let me in your window.”
In “Wuthering Heights," Bush digs deep into her emotions and embraces them tenderly. She uses her sensitivity as an artistic lighthouse, forming the foundations of her spectral vocal delivery. Gabriel’s “Solsbury Hill,” in contrast, seeks to explore feelings in a much more digestible and pleasurable way. He does not brood on his feelings too deeply but instead focuses on capturing ephemeral emotions in their purest state, found in his quaint observations of his situation and in nature. This thematic rift extends into both of their career heydays during the 1980s.
In the 1980s, both artists released their putative magnum opuses. Lauded as one of the best albums of all time by Rolling Stone, Bush’s Hounds of Love is a dreamy and conceptual exploration of sensuality and gender expectation. The first track, and perhaps one of the mainstays for ‘80s pop and a testament to its timelessness because of its modern resurgence on “Stranger Things”, “Running Up That Hill,” is weightless yet cumbersome. The song shimmers with glistening synths and an upbeat tempo, but Bush’s bassy, deep vocals anchor the track. This tension creates an unmistakable feeling of desperation, apropos for a song that explores the frustration of women dealing with male lovers who cannot fathom “how it feels” to live as a woman.
A year later, on Gabriel's 1986 album So, also a Rolling Stone lauded record,, he indirectly responds to Bush’s “Running Up That Hill” with “Sledgehammer.” Where “Running Up That Hill”” is tense and brooding, “Sledgehammer” is its infinitely lighter sister track. The song’s lyrics are stacked euphemisms that leave little to the imagination: “You could have a steam train / If you’d just lay down your tracks,” and “You could have a big dipper / “Going up and down, all around the bends.” The track’s blend of ‘80s pop keyboards and ‘50s jazz instrumentation create a playful atmosphere, merging to almost make love on the track, with a wide array of brassy instruments to pierce through the underlying, shimmering synths.
“Wuthering Heights” and “Solsbury Hill” represent the climax of Gabriel and Bush’s artistic similarities and differences. Like the songstress’ “Wuthering Heights,” “Running Up That Hill” is a stark commentary on romance and gender. In the latter track, Bush poignantly explores the multifaceted and nuanced emotions of existing as a woman in a heterosexual relationship, famously declaring, “And if I only could, I’d make a deal with God / And I’d get him to swap our places.” Gabriel’s “Sledgehammer” also serves as a peculiar exploration of love, but in a much lighter, more carnal way, loaded double entendres. While Gabriel playfully tousles ideas of sex, Bush reflects deeply on her romantic experiences with emotional weight. Summarily, Gabriel captures and relays feelings in their fleeting moments, while Bush delves deep into the canvas of her emotions to conjure much more tender sounds.
The push and pull, or wine and cheese, of Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush are two unconventional artists catering to two ends of the emotional spectrum. While Bush’s recollections of romance are complex, nuanced, and often sorrowful, Gabriel’s musical approach is lighter and unburdened, capturing the present pleasures of the flesh and transposing them to musical form. In a sense, Bush acts as wine, a romantic and grandiose food associated with sensitivity, and Gabriel represents cheese: palatable and pleasurable, complementary to any dish.
Perhaps their collaboration on So’s “Don’t Give Up” most fittingly demonstrates their complementary power. The song serves as a triumphant ballad, blending the lightweight tenor of Gabriel with Bush’s mystical voice as the two sing, “Don’t give up / We don’t need much of anything / Don’t give up / ‘Cause somewhere there’s a place where we belong.”