I know that a many people don't like, or rather don't understand, Rush. That's fine. They're not for everyone. I, for one, would proudly consider myself a lifelong fan, and I certainly don't consider them to be a guilty pleasure. More than any other band their music has stayed with me through the years--in good times and in bad. I discover and re-discover my love for it over and over, and every time appreciate something new and fresh. To me, it always seems timeless.
I first found Rush when I was an acne-laden 13-year old in Chatham, Ontario. My older brother had happened to tape a CBC broadcast of their 1989 concert video "A Show of Hands." I was completely mesmerized and subsequently wore out the VHS cassette through hundreds of repeated viewings. As an awkward and socially isolated teen, this Canadian band spoke to me on a deep, intangible level. At a time when vapid glam-metal was omnipresent and the power ballad reigned supreme, Rush's music was complex, ethereal, innovative, and intelligent. I hadn't realized I'd been musically malnourished until Geddy, Neil, and Alex came into my life. As an aspiring teenage guitar player, I soon made it my life's mission to emulate Alex Lifeson's effect-infused guitar sound and soaring, melodic solos. It seemed like all three members were at the top of their games and played together with such intricate and seamless mastery. I'd spend the next several years slowly acquiring their complete discography on cassette and studying each one exhaustively. In those days new music was costly and hard to come by, so each acquisition was cherished, experienced, lived with, worn out.
Yet, there was another aspect of Rush's music that greatly appealed to me--the lyrics--which I soon discovered where all written by Neil Peart, the band's virtuosic yet reclusively brainy drummer. Peart's lyrics were thoughtful, interesting, intellectual, imaginative, and coherent. Which is more than can be said for a lot of prog lyricists. Is it great poetry? Perhaps not. Some of it has not aged well, especially the early sci-fi-fantasy stuff--not to mention to whole Ayn Rand subtext. Still, Peart continued to mature as a lyricist, and as rock lyrics go, they don't get much better than those that grace the melodies of "Limelight," "Subdivisions," or my personal favorite "The Pass."
Rush has often been called a "thinking man's band"--and yes there are women among their many long devoted fans--but, with Rush you often felt like you were getting entertained and educated at the same time. Hard-rock and heavy metal frequently serve as a gateway to history, literature, even philosophy. It was in the music of Rush that I first heard about Xanadu, Rivendell, Apollo and Dionysus, the Manhattan Project, Bastille Day, and the DEW line, not to mention concepts such as Freewill and the Prime Mover. After all, everybody has to start somewhere. Now, many years later, I teach at a university and can proudly say that Rush and Neil Peart played an important part in my intellectual development.
As accomplished as he was, Neil Peart shied away from the limelight, and experienced more than his share of personal tragedy. As a result he often seemed aloof, arrogant, and anti-social. Yet this intensely private man opened himself up in his own way through his drumming and writing. He was a man truly devoted to his craft.
Now Neil has passed, but I am confident his legacy will remain.
Thank you Professor, you will be missed.
