Opening track Sat in Your Lap is one of her best ever, foreshadowing Running Up That Hill with its gated drum gallop, as she screeches how people think that a knob equals knowledge, the rhythm pushing and pulling with kinetic energy. The intricacy is overwhelming and thrilling. These are brilliant rackets where her ingenious use of sampling (smashed marbles! Twittering birds!) defies expectation and her voice pole-vaults to new heights. Listening to it now, it sounds like Bush unbound, unleashing her frustration like never before. The Dreaming was the first record that she produced entirely herself, which she would continue to do, using an expensive Fairlight sampler to dazzling effect. This isn’t the album that took her stratospheric (that was its follow-up, Hounds of Love) but it’s her Willy Wonka-sized adventure in sound the self-sufficient cocoon that turned her, some say, from musician into “artiste”. Faced with such idiocy, it’s little wonder that Bush secreted herself away and came up with something as deranged as The Dreaming.
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