For me, Kate Bush was always a trump card when the tiresome ‘question’ of female artistic genius came up. Before disgust stopped me getting dragged into these skirmishes, I had a ready arsenal of Girl Greats — Patti Smith, Björk, Nina Simone, Delia Derbyshire, Polly Harvey, and so on. And yet, there would often be some caveat why genius eluded my candidates (ripped off Dylan etc). Until we would get to Kate. Female genius? Kate Bush. End of.
Aerial, the first Kate Bush album in a young lifetime (12 years), re-establishes the fact. It is extraordinary — jaw-dropping, no less.

It’s clear Bush is still a force to be reckoned with. The problem, though, with female genius — for many men at least — is that very frequently it is not like male genius. And with its songs about children, washing machines going ‘slooshy sloshy’, Joan of Arc, Bush’s mother, not to mention the almost pagan sensuality that runs through here like a pulse, Aerial is, arguably, the most female album in the world, ever. The artistry here is so dizzying, the ambition and scope so vast, that even the deafest, most inveterate misogynist could not fail to acknowledge it. Genius. End of.