The wistfulness is often self-referential, as on “Snowed In at Wheeler Street,” a tale of star-crossed lovers with lyrics threaded with references to her old songs. The material is more wistful: Where Bush’s best singles have often been about having something beautiful that you’re about to lose, much of 50 Words for Snow addresses things that are already lost.
50 Words for Snow, named for the myth that the Inuit have such a vocabulary, boasts all of her trademark magical realism, fantastical lovers, and far-flung settings, but the songs are more quietly ambitious than past works-almost like chamber pieces. And she does so wide-eyed and full-heartedly, even painstakingly. On Kate Bush’s only studio album of the decade, she sings about catching a snowflake out of the sky, warning a hunted yeti, and sleeping with a dissolving snowman.
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