Rush - Beyond the Lighted Stage
Thursday, February 17, 2011 at 12:07AM 
"Goddamn! This rock band has me all fired up about literature."
- Sebastian Bach (Skid Row)
Like most misguided enthusiasms I clung to as a tender youth of fourteen - getting drunk in the woods off small bottles of Southern Comfort, aligning myself with the philosophy of Ayn Rand, smoking pot out of a makeshift pipe jury-rigged from a toilet paper tube and tinfoil, or believing I would one day marry Barbara Eden - I soon realized that I had to forsake those things if I was to avoid remaining a major asshole well into my adulthood.
My success at that is still being debated amongst my friends and enemies.
I remain, however, steadfast in my desire to fuck Barbara Eden.
Another of those youthful transgressions was my unabashed love of the Canadian power trio Rush.
It is in no way coincidental that their lyricist, drummer Neil Peart, was heavily influenced by Randroid misthink. The band's music and the vainglorious ramblings of that poison she-troll are directly geared toward the mindset of every pubescent jerkoff who thinks they're one day going to change the world through the sheer force of their self-indulgent insolence, untainted integrity and bullish devotion to avarice. Intellectual onanists with little regard for the messy, fucked up nature of how people, power and wealth should coexist.
This is how Libertarians are conceived. And, void of any real ideas, having painted themselves into an ideological corner, it's what the Republican miasma of confused and deranged shit-heels are embracing in their recrudescent running of this country.
Perhaps the "Jesus riding on a dinosaur while writing the Constitution", "white people don't run things anymore", and "the roads were built by Noah" angle is becoming a little taxing (forgive the pun) for the party. Why not grab onto the Randian ideal fully, no matter if your constituents are educated or not and forever refuse to read or interpret truths from any source but the bible or FOX News? Embrace the Canadian "Rush". Get Newt Gingrich to waltz out on stage to The Temples of Syrinx at the next CPAC convention. That'll get the house a rockin'. Have John Boehner explain the budget cuts fucking the poor through an interpretation of The Trees off of Hemispheres.
Let Mitt Romney admit - in front of god, man, his holy underwear and the used-car-salesman religion he clings to - that he first got laid by getting a chick high while making her listen to Closer to the Heart.
"Did you hear that?! Did you? 'Philosophers AND ploughmen! Each must know his part'. Give me a kiss, Baby. I'm gonna be President one day. No, no. Take a drink. That Mormon stuff is all bullshit. I am fucking ripped and Neil Peart is the greatest goddamn drummer of all time!!!"
The whole Canadian "problem" with the band could be explained away quite easily. Folly of youth sort of thing. Sons of Eastern European Holocaust survivors looking for a better life in the West. Blah, blah, blah. Get Breitbart to write up something positive for once. He's a fucking kike, right?
But fuck politics. I'm "time capsuling" tonight. No, it's not a new designer drug. It's me, heading back into the embarrassing territory of my cultural youth by watching Rush: Beyond the Lighted Stage - as if that title alone doesn't send out piercing sirens of pretense and label me forever a son of prog-rock nonsense.
A monolith of shame not easily shaken.
But, damn me, I loved this band.
They got me through an awkward, flailing, self-doubting time of virginity and social discomfort. That is pretty much all you can ask from a rock and roll band.
I first found Rush in 1978 with the A Farewell to Kings album; grandiose pomposity masquerading as intellectual rock symphony for the budding narcissist that was I. I believe it was the FM airplay of Closer to the Heart (a rare, successful single for the band up to that point) that initially bent my ear. The album included a salute to Samuel Taylor Coleridge's Kubla Khan in an eleven minute long bit of interminable ego called Xanadu and boasted a bloated, instrumentally smug ten minute song (to be continued in an 18 minute opening dirge on the next album Hemispheres) on the "B" side called Cygnus X-1. That monstrosity blended Greek mythology, science fiction, the bookish warrior mentality and a dusting of Nietzsche thrown in for good measure (much like today's Republican party platform). Needless to say, as a malleable teen seeking metaphysical enlightenment, I was hooked. I began reading Coleridge (a favorite to this day) and Nietzsche (actually comprehending it a few years later) and declared, with apologies to Van Halen and AC/DC, that Rush were my new gods.
Well, I immediately went out and bought the rest of their catalog, including the recently released Hemispheres and became, for the next four years (ahem), an insufferably opinionated d-bag on all things Euterpean. How deep was this obnoxious faux intellectualism I strove for at the time? Let me just say I tried to use terms like "Euterpean" as a fourteen-year-old. How I was not destroyed for the greater good by an unsympathetic high school senior remains a mystery to this day.
Was I supposed to be talking about a movie or something? Oh yes, the documentary!
It was actually rather enjoyable. I'm not sure a casual observer of the Rush subculture would have more than a passing interest in it. But for those of us once steeped in the mythos and egomaniacal splendor of a band who wrote songs like By-Tor & the Snow Dog, I Think I'm Going Bald, The Fountain of Lamneth II: Didacts and Narpets, and La Villa Strangiato IV: A Lerxst in Wonderland, along with a host of other absurd ditties featuring the adolescent preoccupation with self that only Ayn Rand and her ersatz Ontarian mouthpiece foisted on generations of already spoiled and narcissistic North Americans, it's like manna from the gods of a nostalgic masturbatory heaven that checks IDs for intruding heretics at the door of Club Dork.
To be sure, Rush fandom has always been a boy's club, distinctly requiring a scrotum for full appreciation. A prejudice spawned by the consummate musicianship of the members (how many chicks really care about the nuance of playing triplets?), their lack of bad boy, rock and roll sexuality and their comic book, excuse me, "graphic novel" compositional themes. It's like the cult of Zappa without the titty jokes, satire or fun.
Beyond the Lighted Stage is, however, a rare glimpse into a band that remained eerily private throughout their career. It was fascinating to find them very down to earth and candid about the warts and sores. Geddy Lee in particular shows none of the contempt I perceived him having toward the audience and media during the band's salad days. Guitarist Alex Lifeson could be your neighbor who teaches at the local high school. Neil Peart? Well, let's just say a lot of the pretense and puzzling airs the band put on during the '70s and '80s can be directly attributed to his misanthropy (not necessarily a bad quality) and desire to be a private figure while pursuing a career in popular entertainment. His personal tragedy, losing a wife and daughter in a very short period of time, highlights this struggle of a reticent man eschewing (admirably) the spotlight of a public person.
These lyrics he penned for Limelight might help explain:
Cast in this unlikely role
Ill-equipped to act
With insufficient tact
One must put up barriers
To keep oneself intact
Living in a fish eye lens
Caught in the camera eye
I have no heart to lie
I can't pretend a stranger
Is a long-awaited friend
The film is filled with testimonials, like mine here only less embarrassed, from musicians such as Billy Corgan, Gene Simmons, Jack Black, Sebastian Bach, Kirk Hammett, Vinnie Paul, Taylor Hawkins and others. South Park creator Matt Stone (we should really hang out together, Dude!) even chimes in about the band's continuing snub from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Each, to a man, talk about their obsessive love and intense appreciation of the instrumental prowess of the members. And, of course, the impact the band had on ameliorating the pains of their disenfranchised, sexless youth.
Double Exposure!!!!!The Canadian power trio has, for me, been reduced to the nostalgic backburner of guilty pleasure. A time in my life viewed best as developmental, not distinct in building my weltanschauung. Ah, there's that pretense again! I had good fun arguing, amongst classmates and friend's siblings, the merits of this band and, in hindsight, I was not wholly full of shit. They were a good band. Did Geddy's vocals sound like the caterwauling of a sodomized infant strangling an effeminate parrot? Yes. Was the band as heavy-handed as a blacksmith wearing leaden gloves above an overwrought forge? Sure. Juvenile in their desire to seem cerebral? You bet. But the airwaves were poisoned by REO Speedwagon, Journey, Styx, Foreigner, Phil Collins and Kansas back then. So who's to say Rush wasn't the greatest band in the world at that time?
Actually, that would be my fellow classmates who, due to the influence of older hippie relatives, kept pushing for The Doors, The Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen and Neil Young. All of whom I was a fan of, but, you know me, I had to take an adversarial stance. I argued that I would never tire of the music of Rush and that my detractor's cabal of retro bullshit would one day succumb to the progressive, professional musicians seeking a new sound. I think Robert Fripp made me say that. I'm not sure. I was often very high and impressionable to suggestions made from people who had worked with Brian Eno.
Regardless, if anyone can drum up an old high school yearbook of mine they will find a passage next to my photo quoting the "One likes to believe in the freedom of music" lyrics from The Spirit of Radio.
Eric Howes, Jeanne Funt, Larry Stamatel (sp?), if you're reading this (and if you are, why the fuck haven't you left a comment on the blog or sent money!) I owe you an apology. I continue to listen to all the groups you argued for. With the exception of the Grateful Dead. Why anyone ever found that fucking joke of a band listenable, I don't know. But, here it is... I apologize. You were right. I was wrong. And that needs to be said. Rush is collecting dust in my CD locker. The artists from the '60s you loved? Always on rotation at Castillo de Moores. You should have been a little friendlier to The Clash and The Ramones, but all is forgiven and I seek absolution.
Unlike my cinematic taste, which was fully developed and impeccable by the age of sixteen, I have many dumb ghosts in my melody closet. Thin Lizzy, Peter Gabriel, post-Ozzy Sabbath, post-Sabbath Ozzy, Judas Priest, Blue Oyster Cult, Laurie Anderson, UFO, Aerosmith, Pat Travers, Eric Clapton, Spyro Gyra, The Neville Brothers, Bryan Adams, Bauhaus and Mojo Nixon, just to name a few.
The only filmic equivalent I can come up with to counterbalance this musical egregiousness is my shameless, unrepentant love for the movies of Ken Russell. The appreciation of some objets d'art born of the adolescent desire to separate oneself from the herd remain timeless and worthwhile. I'll put Lair of the White Worm, Gothic, Women in Love, The Devils and Crimes of Passion up against most movies past or present and watch them fly.
The Rush documentary was all good fun though. For me, recounting the times of my frustrated suburban upbringing (I did have it cushy in hindsight), the film was like a reunion with an old friend, wherein you could laugh and relate to the same growing pains and changes in perception that the dogging folly of life hands you, year after year, on this semi-literate planet of fools. That's a good thing.
No regrets, ever. But, always, reflection.
That's a front row ticket, Bitches. Look at that fucking price!
C. Adolph Moores
Joy, oh readers! I have discovered original photos I took (as well as my ticket stub) at the 1981 show I attended. As soon as I scan them they will be yours to enjoy. They will also reveal the benefits of digital photographic technology as they are quite blurry to the human eye.
C. Adolph Moores
I have embedded some of the photos I took at the show within the body of the post - including my actual ticket at the very bottom.
Reader Comments (7)
So time and perspective have shattered your illusion of integrity. I join you in your appreciation for adolescent folly. I admit to being a sugary pop princess in my youth, but I also digested meatier stuff; I'm no vegan, after all. (Though after all these years I still love Prince.)
Dearest Chip,
At least you didn't spend your (misguided) youth listening to Poison and Dokken and other crappy hair metal balladeers.
Oh, and Rush sucks (so does Ayn Rand - though the power of her deceased personality is trying to get me to 'take it back').
Love always,
Lance
Lair of the White Worm, really, soft-core lesbo porn was Ken Russel?
Substitute Rush for Yes with me and then morphed into Renaissance after I decided that even as high as I could get Yes was still pretentious.
Dokken was NOT a crappy hair metal ballad band! They were the BEST hair metal ballad band! George Lynch is a great guitarist - period! YES and and RUSH are immortal.
I saw RUSH live three times. I agree that YES was the RUSH of the seventies! Maybe YES was pretentious but I'd love to see anyone compose and play some of the amazing stuff they did way back then - especially someone who doesn' know how to play an instrument of any kind - like you must be. If you did, you'd have never said something so ridiculous. YES wrote and played music that was on an orchestral level WAY ahead of most - if not all - rock bands of their time.
Peace and Love!
JM
Wow! The delegate from Korea (jjmitch) has some severe opinions on the matter. I refuse to chime in on Dokken as they are beneath me and beyond simple scorn. I don't think Senor Roberto was chastising YES for their musicianship, but more out of the same embarrassment for loving them as I did RUSH. Just because somebody can play an instrument well does not mean they are beyond being savaged for their painful predilection toward musical gasbaggery. I don't recall Andres Segovia doing anything as godawful and fatuous as Circus of Heaven or Tales From Topographic Oceans. Yes, Chaz, I was a huge YES fan too.
As for the band RENAISSANCE, you're on your own with that one. There is only so much forgiveness one can hand out for youthful folly. No matter how much dope you were smoking.
I should know. I saw ASIA in concert in 1982 and have donned sackcloth and ashes in repentance ever since.
And Kris, I always heard pop princesses ended up liking the meat. You keep on rockin' to his "Royal Badness". I still have a grudging respect for the man after seeing Sign O' the Times. Great concert film. But, alas, probably dated as well. Aging continues to make hindsight a crueler and crueler bastard, doesn't it?
awesome read. i have by accident watched the doc on vh1 a number of times and still love it. early on, i tried to like rush and by the time moving pictures and hemispheres came out i was hooked. as many people in the doc testify, rush was the band to hone your musical chops. the bass and drummers that i played with only wanted to play rush, the police, the clash and bob marley. the common thread was the quality and advanced grooves of the bass and drums. hope all is well. so i see you escaped my hometown. where do you reside these days.
Milwaukee, Jimmy. Fifty bars for every church. I highly recommend it.