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I am well-known for mishearing all kinds of things: technical terms, song lyrics, theoretical concepts, traditional axioms. I am also well-known for carrying these mistakes forward, often for years, and endlessly embarrassing myself (sort of like paying it forward). For example, I spent at least four or more years believing the term “homoerotic” was actually “Homer-erotic,” like in an erotic-at-the-siege-of-Troy kind of way. Long story.
This brings me to Kate Bush. Like many of you, I love her song “Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God).” There’s really nothing like this song, and it currently opens my “Workout Playlist #7,” and that’s a coveted spot.
But here’s the problem—I never look up lyrics. Maybe I am too lazy, but I just want to listen to the songs and hear them, unassisted. You know, communication. So I’m totally fine with comprehending only 38% of R.E.M.’s first album, Murmur. The title is self-explanatory. With Kate Bush’s “Running Up That Hill” I have entered new territory: I have significantly misheard a lyric, have been regularly singing it incorrectly, and now that I know the truth—and no offense to Kate Bush—I like my version more. I know that Kate Bush is better than me at everything, but hear me out on this one.
As you probably know, one of the song’s strongest narrative moments is when Ms. Bush sings:
And if I only could I'd make a deal with God And I'd get Him to swap our places
For years, up until a few minutes ago, my version has been as follows:
And if I only could
I'd make a deal with God
And I'd get Him to swallow places
Upon first hearing this completely inaccurate lyric, I was completely blown away. I thought, “That’s absolutely incredible, next-level lyricism. Kate Bush is really, really angry and I am totally here for it! She doesn’t want to deal with God merely for the experience or insight—she’s been wronged and she wants to call in a favor from God so she can rain down some biblical-level payback on some people. She is looking to swallow whole cities, like Sodomy and Gonorrhea. Kate Bush is ready to go the full forty days and forty nights on some reprobate. She is beyond ticked off, and I have never heard anger described like this before. Shakespeare might need to make some space in the revenge room.” Really, in this scenario, Hamlet ends in Act II because God swallows Denmark at Hamlet’s request. All of it. (Bonus: Less Kenneth Branagh as Hamlet.)
And this lyric, “swallow places,” makes complete sense, right? I mean, Ms. Bush talks about being hurt, “how deep the bullet lies,” “thunder in our hearts,” “is there so much hate for the ones we love,” and my personal favorite, “I’m tearing you asunder” followed by a hearty “yeah, yeah, yo.” I mean, this is some “the roof, the roof, the roof is on fire…We don’t need no water let the m***er f***er burn” rhetoric. Whatever happened here is serious, and her vivid imagery fully supports such a reading, which we will now refer to as “Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God) Hermeneutics.”
How important is it that Ms. Bush obtain this next level of revenge? Very. It delivers her the type of satisfaction that only comes from selling your soul to God in exchange for his swallowing not one, but multiple places in their entirety. We’re talking whole metropolises. Not only will she sell her soul for this, but she would, in addition:
Run up a road
Run up a hill, AND
Run up a building
Once all this effort has been expended and places have been swallowed, the song reaches catharsis, with Ms. Bush indicating she’d “be running up that hill / with no problems.” In other words, “Revenge. I got it and all is good.”
I am entirely invested in my misinterpretation. I also think Ms. Bush should consider joining me in this endeavor. I mean, “swap our places” remains a deep lyric, like deeper-than-an-in-ground-pool deep, but I’m unsure if the narrative will still deliver the type of retribution that had me originally fearing and trembling. If anything, now it sounds like she wants to swap places with God so she can get in the most amazing workout ever recorded and not be tired or sore when she’s finished. A worthy goal? Yes. Swallowing places? No.
I’m not saying that I’m in love with violence or revenge (see my “Gun-Free Entertainment Page” for proof), but I simply had never heard a song where someone said they’d pay God to swallow some places for them, probably because one or more people they had been deeply wronged by were in said places. And then, possibly, she’d be so happy at their destruction that she’d run up a road, a hill, and a building to celebrate. Incredible. This is the greatest pop-song ever because it’s more “metal” than any punk or metal song ever recorded—Ms. Bush doesn’t need spikes or leather or faux-satanism to convey that she’s hardcore; she simply asks the creator of the universe to swallow some of his creation for her to make things right (God, revise!). Again, I am entirely here for this version.
Now I am sad. I still love the song. It’s still in the top position of one of my workout playlists (I never run up a building), but I simply don’t want her to swap places with God. I want her to be the one to put God to work, like he’s a connection in the “I know a guy” kind of way.
What do you do when this happens? Is it an option for me to simply keep hearing it my way? Usually, when I learn that I’ve made yet another blunder like this, I always defer to the original and simply say, “Wow I’m dumb! What was I thinking? The real word/phrase is actually….” But I don’t want to let go of swallowing places. It’s simply too incredible that, just maybe, the narrator of a pop-song is so angry she’ll get a deity to destroy a few places for payback.
I am at a crossroads. Thanks for listening and have a great week.
Ok, while we’re on the subject, I’d like to thank the internet for teaching me that the most mysterious line in pop song history - yes, the one in “Blinded By the Light” - is a Bruce Springsteen populist homage to homespun auto racing: “Blinded by the light / Revved up like a deuce (car) / Another runner in the night (racing car).” Now who in blazes was supposed to figure that out??
Having flubbed my Springsteen, I accept your Kate Bush.
Another hill song:
"When illusion spin her net,
I'm never where I wanna be,
And liberty, she pirouette,
When I think that I am free."