You could consider Kate Bush’s The Dreaming to be her finest moment, depending on whether you value the rejection of compromise and see that as a sign of authenticity. Or, you may see her Hounds of Love - equal-parts artful and accessible - as the benchmark for artistic integrity meeting commercial success: a slippery and completely unpredictable schizoid beast at the best of times. As much as The Dreaming seems to be viewed as Bush’s most difficult record to consume, it’s easy to forget that it was a top 20 album in multiple countries. In reality, it has a beautiful simplicity, if only for its intention to exist for its own sake - as they say, ’It is what it is’, and the rest is up to the listener. And what it is, is perhaps one of rock’s most pure examples of a musician doing their thing, simultaneously (and conveniently) operating at the top of their game, and not sweating the resulting views of others. That recipe transcends genre, and even field itself. Ultimately, The Dreaming is just art - music, yes, but I suggest it crosses the line into sculpture. You can walk around it, try to decipher it, and still be stumped. Isn’t that how art is supposed to be?