Drums are not like the piano or the guitar.They are inherently loud. Noisy. They take up space. Drums do not travel well, and do not adorn living rooms as de facto furniture. The scourge of basements and garages, the source of loathing and scorn by parents for generations.Thus, in decades of olde one may have known several guitarists — and probably more who could knock out a tune on a piano. Drummers, not so many.
A working-class intellectual from Hamilton, Ontario played an enormous role in my generation (and the two that have followed) being peppered with a few more drummers.
Neil Peart inspired young people to play the drums as Eddie Van Halen prompted young people to buy a guitar. In fact, Neil Peart’s very existence prompted the phenomenon of “air drumming” – no kit required. He was a game-changer – much like Moon, Bonham and Krupa before him – but in many ways, Neil Peart built upon those legacies in jaw-dropping leaps and bounds.
Neil Peart is dead. A true superman is gone, at age 67, felled by the Kryptonite of cancer. A brain cancer that he unsurprisingly hid from the public.
I am fifty-one years old; I know death by now. Surprisingly, I now weep at the passing of not only the greatest drummer in rock n roll history, but of a great figure of my youth. Neil Peart was already a veritable living legend when I was in high school, and just kept expanding the mythos. So many tales have been told about this brilliant, physically astonishing Canadian – tales that were often not that tall. At one point in his career, Peart did bicycle between music venues on tour. And yes, later he switched to motorcycles. The man would ride for many miles, motor or no, and then join his two bandmates in a Canadian power trio called Rush for a two-plus-hour concert.A concert in which he sat front and center onstage, no matter where the kit was physically positioned.
Geddy Lee, a fantastic bassist with an inimitable voice, did not sonically front Rush.Peart did.And Peart could never afford to have a bad day on the throne. No heavy boozing, no drugs… no one from the audience could take over if he succumbed to a handful of horse tranquilizers.
A man long enraptured by science fiction, philosophy, history and classic Romanticism, Peart was the band’s main lyricist. From “Red Barchetta’s” tale of an outlawed convertible hidden away in a futuristic countryside to the social-ostracism, conformity-commentary of “Subdivisions,” for forty years he created or re-imagined fantastic worlds that will be continue to be visited for many generations to come.
Many years ago, in a conversation with the highly educated singer/songwriter Mark Arm, we talked about the over-simplification of popular songs’ lyrics – from numbers by the Beatles to some of those by his band, Mudhoney.
He said, “Well, ‘She loves you… yeah, yeah, yeah’ rolls off the tongue a bit easier than ‘We are the priests of the Temple of Syrinx.’” In tongue-in-cheek-referencing Rush’s classic “2112,” Arm not only provided an example of the group’s genre-spanning status as cultural icons, he underscored the fact that Rush’s challenges of the listener made them a less-than-easily-accessible musical act. An act who still managed to perform for millions of people. Perhaps the biggest cult-following band in the world, the Grateful Dead included.
You had to come to Rush; their massive hit, “Tom Sawyer,” opened a door, but it was up to the listener to step through it. This was a theme in the extraordinary – and extraordinarily moving – 2010 documentary, Beyond The Lighted Stage. At one point in the film, Peart, Lifeson and Lee remembered being young men who intentionally wrote music that was difficult for them to play. Pushing themselves, musically, and exploring new possibilities when many of their peers strived for the next catchy phrase, another hook in a 3-minute song. In this, Rush were more akin to jazz or classical artists.
This certainly had something to do with Rush not being elected to the extremely dubious Rock ’n’ Roll Hall of Fame until 2013. But when it did happen, musicians from all walks rejoiced. Rush was a musician’s band, and no one was more of a musician’s musician than Neil Peart. A master who constantly learned from others.Who marveled at, and praised, others. A bar-holder at the center of so many “who’s the greatest?” debates… a legend who inspired, if not influenced. No one was embarrassed if they could not begin to imitate The Professor — but being able to knock out a passable rendition of “Tom Sawyer” was a veritable triumph.
Peart’s drums opened doors; heretically, I’ll venture to say that his drumming provided more gateways than the band collectively did. While fellow legends Lee and Lifeson are no slouches… when you think of Rush, you first think of Neil Peart and his iconic, impossibly enormous drum kit. Rush might not have come to you, but The Professor did. Faster and faster, with single bass. Double bass. Relentless, yet tasteful fills and flourishes. Like his hero Buddy Rich, Peart was not content with merely keeping time(s). His percussion punctuated, weaved around, rumbled below and soared above guitar, bass and keyboards in impossibly seamless and complex compositions. Peart was no showboat; there were three stars of the show. And yet…
Neil Peart was also a kind, genial, very humble yet private man who left an impression on everyone who met him; this aspect of his legend will continue to be reinforced in the days and years ahead. An intellectual, a drummer, and a really nice guy.
Peart, like all good drummers, suffered and bled for his craft. He also mentally and emotionally suffered, greatly and gracefully, in his lifetime. After the deaths of a teenaged daughter and of his first wife – ten months apart – Peart quietly got on his BMW for an epic road trip across the United States. And then returned to music for almost twenty more years… until he physically could not perform at the level that his legend required any more. Not without unbearable pain.Yet, I was not alone in considering Peart immortal. I expected another great book or two, doubtlessly some mentoring in his quiet retirement. But Kryptonite somehow found this demigod, this hero to so many.
Neil Peart, a superman, is dead.
