The Red Shoes is the black sheep of Bush’s catalogue. With its bland, dated production, surprisingly high-profile cameos (Eric Clapton? Prince?), and overlong tracklist, it almost feels like the work of a different artist. For the first time in her career, Bush seems a bit unsure of herself, bouncing back and forth between pop accessibility (the surprisingly bouncy “Rubberband Girl”), mournful balladry (“Moments of Pleasure,” dedicated in part to her late mother), and witchy art-rock (“Lily”). On one hand, it’s impressive how much stylistic ground Bush covered here — but The Red Shoes still pales in comparison to her stellar ’80s work.