My sister and I have a number of rituals. One of them is singing raucously, and we specialize in Kate Bush’s Wuthering Heights. Today she dug it out and we put it in the CD player and turned up the volume.
Our usual goal is total sonic annihilation – the faintest possibilities of finesse, restraint and singing in tune are violently discarded. All through those pretty cascading opening notes we’re grinning, bouncing on our toes, readying ourselves for that first onslaught of OUT ON THE WILEY! WINDY MOORS!
And then the chorus: HEATHCLIIIIFFFF! IT’S MEEEE, YOUR CATHEEEEE! I’ve come home, I’m so COOOOOOLDDD, LET ME IN-A-YOUR WINDOWWWW-OHHHHHHH!
Trust me when I say it’s an experience I can’t quite evoke just by writing in all caps.