Neal Peart is dead.
On January 7, of glioblastoma. He’d been ill for three-and-a-half years. He and the close-knit Rush band family kept it quiet.
When I found out, I cried. I’ve been a Rush fan since my brothers introduced me to the band’s unique music forty-five years ago.
Every record…nearly every song…was a marker in my life. They comforted me when I was down, inspired me when I felt helpless and rudderless.
Rush taught me it’s okay to be reserved and self-contained.
To cry, and smile through tears, and hug dear ones doing the same.
To love humans while being mystified by them, while being afraid of their worst impulses.
To chase both dreams and technical excellence, knowing that both are always merely a journey.
I play ‘Limelight’ for authors and artists who get sidetracked by the quest for fame, instead of Doing The Work.
‘Dreamline’, ‘Spirit of the Radio’, ‘Chain Lightning’, and so many other songs pulled me into writing SFF, as well as helping me seek my own philosophy.
I play ‘Bravado’ when things look their worst, and I need to sink my fangs into life.
I would not have met people I adore, without Rush as a mutual touchstone.
I was lucky enough to attend several Rush concerts, again with friends who enriched the pilgrimage.
Neal was not only far more than ‘a drummer’ (more literally the Doctor of Percussion, and the professional drummers’ Drummer).
He was Rush’s lyricist, the philosopher-poet whose ideas and brilliant writing formed the bedrock of legendary Rush anthems.
He was soul brother to Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson, themselves equally stunning musicians. Geddy’s unmistakable voice colors hymns to science, science fiction and secular humanism. Alex’s astounding guitar work is matched only by his humor (‘Bla bla, Bla bla bla, Bla!)
My friends and I understood the band’s need to pull away from punishing world tour schedules in 2013. We thought: ‘Neal must just need a rest, maybe there can be some studio albums later.’
Not now. Not in this universe.
A lot of us stuck here are mourning.
In some other part of the multiverse the cancer never came, or our civilization was advanced enough to cure it.
In some other place, there’s a lovely afternoon, a quiet road winding through gorgeous landscapes, a dependable motorcycle, and Neal Peart…crafting more amazing poetry.
Thank you, Neal, Alex, and Geddy.
