Roland the Marxist DJ: Best of Bush

Roland is glum. No work has come his way for several months. He suspects this is at least partially due to his decision to end his last gig with the Les Mis epic 'One Day More', not necessarily the ideal number for hordes of drunk, sweaty and probably high ravers. But Roland is soon forced to abandon his self pity as his front door is blown off its hinges. Roland struggles to upright himself from his sprawled position on the shabby sofa as the Music Police come charging into the room. They are deaf to Roland's protestations as he is bundled in the back of their van.
All is revealed at Music HQ.
"Listen up, my young swain." An unhealthy obsession with folk explains the interrogator's tweed three piece and unconventional address. "We can't have you playing musical theatre in those clubs townies go to. It gets noticed."
"How can I redeem myself?" pleads Roland. He is deeply suspicious of any form of law enforcement. After all, Orwell wrote that the policeman is the natural enemy of the proletarian.
"Why, by proving your Musical Credentials of course. All you have to do is answer one simple question. And if we're happy with the answer, well, then everything's tickety boo!" A sense of relief washes over Roland.
"Ask away,"
"What's your favourite Kate Bush song?" An oppressive silence immediately dominates the room. Roland cannot force a word out of his mouth. Who is this songstress? Suddenly he remembers the inclusion of Snowflake on the Marxist playlist and is about to answer when the Angel of Pop telepathically intervenes.
"Don't be a fool Roland!" His voice echoes inside Roland's skull. "You can't just pick the one you got free from Starbucks, they'll be wise to that."
"What do I do then?" replies Roland mentally, "I am not equal to this challenge!"
"Where's your revolutionary fervour?" demands the Angel, "Don't you want to show up these capitalist swines. Focus!"
"OK....ooo Wuthering Heights."
"Are you mad? Far too obvious, and he may well be an Emily Bronte purist. Try again!"
Roland begins to feel the pressure. Beads of sweat drip into his tracksuit as the tweedy man's expectant eyes deaden his brain. "Erm...Babooshka!"
"Better, but nobody knows any of the words apart from 'babooshka'. Be prepared to quote large sections of the verses to prove you are a true connoisseur."
Roland quickly abandons this idea, but soon remembers another: "Running Up That Hill!"
"What's it about?"
"Jogging?"
"Try again!"
"I can't do this! I'm a fake! I'm a fraud! I have no Musical Credentials!"
"Do not despair! Focus your mind! Plunder the esoteric depths of the land of Bush!"
"I need some advice!" Suddenly the Spirit of Pop descends with tongues of fire and possessed Roland, revealing to him the intricacies of pop music's complex history. An answer is instantly forthcoming.
"The Director's Cut version of Moment's of Pleasure, where the chorus is replaced by humming!"
"Really?"
"It adds to the sense of narrative and mournful tone."
"Hmph...Babooshka's much better."
"Really? I think Army Dreamers is the best song from that album."
"Well sounds like you know best..." The tweedy man cheerily stamps an official looking bit of paper. "Your Musical Credentials. Sorry about the hassle me lad, accept our sincere apologies for doubting you." Roland nervously wipes the sweat of his brow and leaves Music HQ in a mood of elation. He is free to orchestrate the revolution in peace.