Performer: Rush
Songwriters: Geddy Lee,
Alex Lifeson, Neil Peart
Original
Release:
Moving Pictures
Year: 1981
Definitive
Version:
Anything live. I have a recording from the Presto Tour, 1990, on my iTunes, but
really, any live version will do.
It
seems difficult to believe, but there was a time in my life when I wasn’t a
Rush fan. Actually there were two times, and I’ll talk about the second time
later.
I
didn’t like Rush at first. You have to understand that at the time I found The
Who, the only Rush songs I knew were Fly By Night, Working Man and Bastille
Day. Bastille Day was interesting, but I didn’t like either of the others.
Jin
got Permanent Waves soon after it came out, and I got to know Rush a little
better from that, but I still didn’t like them. To me, Rush was burnout rock,
that is, all the smokers liked Rush, so I lumped them in with AC/DC and Cheap
Trick and the other hard rock that Jin got into and I didn’t.
Jin
and I had the same touchstone—The Who. She went in one harder, punkier direction,
and I went in the other, to the longer, more experimental sounds of Led
Zeppelin, Yes and Jimi Hendrix. Rush fit into a category that wasn’t on the
path I followed, or so I thought.
Then
I heard this song for the first time my junior year of high school. I’m pretty
sure I heard Limelight and Tom Sawyer before I heard this one, but this song
was the game-changer. Quite simply, this song made me a Rush fan.
I’m
pretty sure I was at Mike’s the first time I heard it, and I can’t remember now
whether it was from him buying the record and us listening to it or us
listening to the radio while it was on. It could be either. Q-FM used to have
live weekends once a month or so, where every song they’d play was a live
version. Mike and I always seemed to catch those for a while when I’d visit
after staying with Dad.
We’d
play this stock market game he had on his screened-in porch with the radio on,
and if that wasn’t the first time I heard this time, it was the first time it
hit me. I was struck by the story of a futuristic society where cars had been
banned, and the melodic nature of the music.
This
wasn’t a Rush with which I was familiar. This was, as Dave Grohl put it in his
pitch-perfect speech inducting Rush into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (go
find it if you haven’t heard it), some heavy shiznit.
From
there I started listening more carefully to Tom Sawyer and Limelight and
recognizing that what was there with Red Barchetta was in those songs, too. And
I started to realize something. By this time, I had seen a few bands in
Columbus, and it seemed to me that no one ever played a Rush song, even the
older stuff.
I
mentioned this to Mike, and he agreed with me, but why was that? The more I
listened, the more I concluded that it was because Rush’s music was really intricate
and difficult to play. It was just three guys, but there was so much going on
that no one could copy it. I think it’s telling that Tributosaurus has never
tried to pay tribute to Rush—and I’ve seen at least one of the guys at a Rush
show, so I know at least one is a fan—even though they could draw from as many
musicians as needed.
When
Exit … Stage Left came out, it was all over. It was one of my most played
records my freshman year at Wabash. I had jumped firmly onto the Rush
bandwagon.
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