THE CANADIAN MUSIC SCENE

Still No RUSH To Join The Fan Club

BEN RAYNER - Toronto Star, August 22, 2004 When it comes to discussions of Rush, people rarely feel compelled to stake out the middle ground. Rush is either a religion, it seems, or an object of complete bafflement. Admirers credit them with elevating the cheap thrills of rock music to exalted heights of virtuosity and literary ambition, of operating on a rarefied level most of their '70s-metal peers could never hope to reach. Puzzled heretics — among which, I must concede, I count myself — find them unbearably self-conscious and fiddly, the stubborn embodiment of progressive rock's most loathsome, elitist tendencies. That the Ontario-reared trio of Geddy Lee, Neil Peart and Alex Lifeson are amazingly talented and ambitious musicians is unquestionable, and Rush will go down in the books as one of the first Canadian bands to make a serious commercial impact beyond these borders. Admirably, too, the band has lined its walls with platinum record awards by making little concession to traditional ideas of mainstream taste and by updating and reinventing its sound so consistently over the years that even die-hard fans have often been left scratching their heads. Personally, while I will admit some affection for the odd tune — the oppressive techno-rock of "Subdivisions" still gives me the willies, for instance, and "Tom Sawyer" was rehabilitated in my ears after hearing genre-smashing turntablist Q-Bert drop it in a hip-hop DJ set — I've always found the band rather chilly and unapproachable musically. Rush's jazz-like obsession with complexity for complexity's sake, both lyrical and musical, is a sticking point, since it implies a kind of classicist superiority complex. It aches to be taken seriously and, in its embrace of the supposedly "higher" art forms — classical arrangement and literature, for instance — contributes to the fallacy that rock`n'roll in its more straightforward, primal forms perhaps doesn't. This may be unconscious, of course. Rush's latest release, Feedback, is a collection of rock and blues standards like "Summertime Blues," "Crossroads," the Who's "The Seeker" and Love's "Seven And Seven Is," so obviously they don't belittle the debt they owe to their predecessors. Even these classics, though, sound oddly stiff in the band's hands, as if its not quite comfortable working within a four-four time signature and singing monosyllabic lyrics that don't invoke Ayn Rand. Still, the very things about Rush that bewilder non-believers are the things that compel its adherents to hold it in such high esteem. "They were just the most flagrantly, unapologetically pretentious band, and no one else was doing anything quite like that," observes Toronto music writer Martin Popoff, who just completed Contents Under Pressure: 30 Years Of Rush At Home And Away, an authorized, fan-focussed compendium of recording and touring tales diligently organized album by album, to coincide with the band's 30th-anniversary tour. A self-confessed "child of the '70s," Popoff was drawn to Rush as a kid by the wilful depth of its output. Neil Peart's intellectually challenging lyrics, laden with references to the likes of J.R.R. Tolkien and Frank Herbert and Rand's "objectivist" philosophy" were "good lyrics for any teenager with half a literary bent," he observes. One such teenager was, in fact, CanWest Global head Leonard Asper, who was seduced by Rush in a Winnipeg neighbour's basement and never looked back. "Musically, in terms of vocals and the instruments, they were at the top of their profession," says Asper, who has a boat named "Cygnus" after the Rush song of the same name and can still provide authoritative commentary on the relationship between that song and its sequel, "Cygnus X-1." "From my perspective, while that was all interesting, I was more drawn to the lyrical side. I love their tunes, I love their music, but I was really interested in the things they were writing about." Asper credits Peart with sparking his youthful interest in literature and philosophy and says the drummer/lyricist's continually evolving worldview and "commentary on human nature" had a profound effect on him as "a late teenager developing my values and outlook on life." "At least they tried," he says. "You can say it's pretentious, but at least they were serious thinkers. They are serious thinkers. And they did stand out in contrast to some of the metal bands of the time." For a band with a famously guarded personal image, he notes, Rush was also remarkably adept at building a mystique through its fantasy and futurism-influenced artwork; it was and still is a coherent, aesthetic package. The band's appeal as a model for aspiring musicians can't be underestimated, either, adds Popoff, one of many would-be rock drummers in the '70s who knelt in awe before Peart's drumkit (as, indeed, many still do today). "There was always meticulous playing," he says, "and the production was always very separated so you could hear every part that everyone was playing. If you were learning bass, drums, guitar, you were so into that." Despite his ardent admiration for the band, Popoff admits he can't measure up to the "meticulous, Trekkie-type fans who knows every detail of all the gear they use on each tour and stuff like that or all the literary references. This is a band who has fans that are totally crazy." Several hundred of these obsessive types have descended on Toronto this weekend for RushCon 4, an internationally drawn gathering of fanatics that counts among its scheduled events an "acoustic singalong," a lecture from the guy who worked with Neil Peart on his custom design for Sabian cymbals and a bus tour of locations pertinent to Rush mythology ——Sam the Record Man, Massey Hall, Maple Leaf Gardens, the Anthem Records head office — on Saturday. The weekend will climax with Rush's performance at the Molson Amphitheatre tonight. "Rush is just so damn good," crows co-founder of RushCon Elizabeth Maxwell. "It sounds kind of flippant, and I don't mean to sound flippant, but their music is just deep. There are so many things you can listen to — you can listen to the lyrics, you can listen to the bass or the guitars or the drums or the production or you can look at the album covers or just the integrity of the band. They're decent, hard-working individuals who are married and have families. They're just like nine-to-five guys." Maxwell, a 36-year-old native of Houston, Tex., became smitten with Rush in 1990 ("That's kind of young for a lot of Rush fans") after attending a concert in Denver with her husband. From there, she became a regular participant in online discussions about the band's greatness, from whence numerous friendships and, consequently, the decision to mount RushCon in the group's storied hometown four years ago eventually sprang. Putting the lie to the stereotype that Rush's fans are all suburban males with large science-fiction book collections, Maxwell notes that RushCon's organizers have always been women. Although she stepped down as manager after the second year, the convention is helmed this year by her friend, Judy Staley, and, she says, attracts "a large, growing female fandom." Mind you, a pronounced gender imbalance will still have been in evidence this weekend for events such as Friday's opening-night "mixer," which likely presented some very interesting opportunities for sociological observation. "This year we kind of changed it a little bit and made it a bit of a toga party — a Rush-themed toga party," enthuses Maxwell. "For instance, my toga is based on the song `Ghost Of A Chance,' so it has little ghosts all over it. Another person chose `Fly By Night,' so they have owls on theirs." Ye gods.