Various authoritative sources are reporting the death of Rush drummer and lyricist Neil Peart, who died on January 7 in Santa Monica after a closely guarded three-and-a half year battle with glioblastoma. Being an American drummer of a certain age, I can't overstate the impact Peart's spectacular virtuosity and precision had on me and my friends, including one especially dear friend and fellow drummer I lost to cancer just last fall. His lyrical prowess, too, opened many doors for those of us who took Rush to heart. (You didn't have to become an Ayn Rand follower to appreciate Peart's ambition.)
Along the road to fame, Peart endured more than any one man's share of tragedy, persevered, and returned for an extended victory lap. I wish that I'd seen Rush more than the one time I did – August 18, 2004, at Radio City Music Hall, during the band's R30 thirtieth anniversary tour. During my stint at the Boston Globe I assigned myself to review the band's final tour, R40, but then gave away the assignment in order to pursue unrelated activities connected to a book proposal that went nowhere. That decision has felt profoundly misjudged for a few years now, and acutely so today—though I understand and accept that that's me feeling sorry for me.
I'm grateful to Neil Peart for the generosity with which he shared his gifts, and the courage with which he faced the obstacles that arose in his path—his grace under pressure, let's say. I'm glad to learn that he has transcended his final cruel trial, and I plan to celebrate his memory by enjoying what he left behind… two succinct examples being the video above, the point at which Rush first captured the imagination of a then 12-year-old, and the video below, a crowd-sourced multi-camera selection from the one time I saw Rush live.
Roll on, Ghost Rider.
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