Kate Bush’s album 50 Words For Snow a sad, snowy and sleepy affair

A promotional video on YouTube for 50 Words for Snow, the latest musical effort from English musician/singer Kate Bush, centers on scenes of intimate human-snowman cuddling in a dark bedroom. 50 Words For Snow

Kate Bush

Anti-

Grade: C+

Rocks Like: A sleepy Björk

A promotional video on YouTube for 50 Words for Snow, the latest musical effort from English musician/singer Kate Bush, centers on scenes of intimate human-snowman cuddling in a dark bedroom. One might understandably make the assumption that, like the scenes, the album too offers something in the way of eccentric entertainment.

Unfortunately, that assumption would be incorrect. Instead, the main characteristic of 50 Words for Snow is — well, that it’s very boring.

True to its title, the album does in fact revolve around snow and other various winter concepts, including cold weather, ice and things that seem never to end. The instrumentation conveys a distinctly chilled, wintery feel that’s unique to 50 Words. Subtle reverb floats just below the surface of the vocals and melodies to create an austere, open atmosphere, while occasional swells from stringed instruments or finger-style guitar add nice touches. Most of the melody come from Bush’s piano, which unfortunately sounds a bit like George Winston covering Vince Guaraldi while under the influence of assorted sleeping pills.

“Snowflake,” the album’s first track, follows the long, airy journey from sky to earth of a falling snowflake. It’s an interesting concept, but the dragging tempo and simple, repetitive piano refrain make it difficult to listen to with any enthusiasm. Bush’s lyrics — “I was born in a cloud / Now I am falling / I want you to catch me / Look up and you’ll see me / You know you can hear me” — create some nice imagery, but their short, declarative nature means the song ends up feeling a bit childish.

The title track is precisely what it says it is — Bush and a male vocalist whisper 50 different terms for snow, counting down the number as if in some weird version of “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall.” It’s the kind of high-concept art project that would feel at home at an installation in, say, the Mattress Factory. Trying to listen to it on its own, however, is somewhat of a challenge.

If you’re feeling impatient, 50 Words for Snow is not the album for you. It’s moody and meandering, and is better suited for a mid-January walk to the bus stop or as a homework soundtrack than it is a motivational pick-me-up. Given the choice between shoveling the driveway or listing to this album from start to finish, the shovel is less likely to wear you out.