"I Still Cling to Hope": Rush in the 21st Century (and Before and After)

"I don't have faith in faith;
"I don't believe in belief.
"You can call me faithless;
"you can call me faithless.
"But I still cling to hope,
"and I believe in love.
"And that's faith enough for me."

"Faithless"
Words by Neil Peart; Music by Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson
from Snakes and Arrows (Atlantic, 2007)


"Faithless" is the best song from Rush's most recent album, which made the song's complete absence on the album's accompanying tour in 2007 and 2008 all the more acute. It is also one of the timeliest and most topical in the band's four-decade career, without losing any of the timeless, intellectual quality of drummer/lyricist Peart's far-sighted eye.

The critically-ignored, publicly-embraced, unclassifiable band ("I guess we're sort of leftovers from the progressive rock era" was the best Lee could do in a 1993 interview) is rectifying the aforementioned absence this summer in its most thematically and musically satisfying tour, the Time Machine Tour--a retrospective of their (distant and recent) past, present, and future (two songs from their work-in-progress next album are featured). Last night, Lee addressed a teeming, overflowing Gibson Amphitheatre in Universal City, California: "On the last tour we did a number of songs from Snakes and Arrows. There was one that we didn't do for some reason, although we wanted to." The trio executed a masterful performance. The quickening, arresting aural wash of FM member Ben Mink's string arrangement was replicated via triggers and synthesizer pedals (to appropriate and necessary effect), but the subtle reinterpretation was otherwise sparse and organic, forsaking the instrumental layers and multitracked vocals of the studio recording to a stripped-down sound of three musicians playing in the moment. Geddy Lee's lone, unadorned, immediate voice sang the chorus, underscoring the differences between the technological cocoon of the recording studio and the intimacy and immediacy of the stage as well as this band's newfound inroads in regard to the ladder.

The song, equally illustrative of the band's thematic and creative direction as writers and ongoing reinvention as performers, was easily the show's highlight.

As writers, the three individual members, always known for the bookish, ratiocinative lyrics of their drummer and the lengthy (some would say prolix), meandering, complex instrumental noodlings of their guitarist (Lifeson) and bassist/keyboardist/vocalist (Lee), have gradually ratcheted up the former while tempering the latter over the course of the latter stages of their partnership. No doubt due to a confluence of factors--their advancing age, Peart's personal tragedies (he lost his teenage daughter and his wife a year later in the 1990's), and a changing world--the band's lyrics became, in some ways, even more contemplative and reflective as the energy of youth evolved into the guile and wisdom of middle age. In the wake of his own tragedies and the one's he shared with humanity in a post-9/11 global depression (economic, psychological, and political), Peart became more outspoken and controversial. A longtime self-proclaimed agnostic, his long-downplayed freethought (quite possibly shared by his bandmates--Lifeson can be seen reading Christopher Hitchens's god is Not Great in the brand-new documentary Rush: Beyond the Lighted Stage) came to the forefront as the wordsmith confronted a world of diminished confidence in reason (in general) and the rise of evangelical religion (in particular) when said world, which always needed just the opposite, needed it more desperately than ever. Musically, Lee and Lifeson scaled back their compositional and instrumental scope, shaping the music into more concise songs showcasing some of their more heterogeneous influences (folk, British Invasion, et. al.) while retaining the overall sweep and grandeur of their art-rock, jazz, and classical influences.

Last night, when Lee, the conduit of his bandmate's pen, sang, "Like a flower in the desert that only blooms at night, I will quietly resist," the manifold meanings were likely lost on most of the six-thousand-plus, standing-room-only audience. But they were apparent if one listened carefully and knew this band's history. In a rock (and wider cultural) landscape where artists and other "celebrities"--rarely known for their clear-headed, rational approach to anything--continually embrace the fads and perennial stalwarts of unreason, from Scientology to the Kaballah, from New Age to Old Testament, from the trendy, credulous "Hope and Change" of the Obamaton and his automatons to the musty, dusty Communist Manifesto, one band quietly resists, shedding some of the rambunctiousness, raucous abandon of their youth while they gracefully cement their position as the learned sages and bards in a culture increasingly hostile to such anachronism. And the raw, unadorned, not-quite-so-lone voice in the wilderness, uncluttered by his previously typical echo and voice effects, evinced another welcome trend in this more-welcome-than-ever band's ongoing development.

Rush previously relied on copious synthesizers, electronic triggers, and other technological trickery to reproduce their dense, layered pieces onstage. (One could not really blame them; there is a limit to what even these three humans can reproduce without mechanical assistance.) A perceptive, knowledgeable observer could not help but notice their retrenchment on this latest outing. Geddy Lee did not touch his synthesizer setup until the tenth song (the long-unheard and welcomed "Marathon"), and Alex Lifeson could be seen playing a temporary keyboard during "Time Stand Still" (an apposite and ironic selection for the Time Machine Tour) while Geddy's hands were full. In lieu of Geddy's usual ocean of pre-recorded voices, Alex now sings background vocals on virtually every song. Some of the triggers and tracks were palpably present, but they were used to more restrained and appropriate effect. It is as if these three, after thirty-six years together, finally learned what "live" means, and how to play that way. This unprecedented commitment to change and challenge was also evident in two other areas. The heavy rearrangement of sections of the familiar old favorites "Working Man," "Closer to the Heart," and "La Villa Strangiato" spotlighted a tenacious refusal to allow them to become embalmed into museum pieces. And parts of several songs clearly had a more improvisational flair. Geddy's extemporaneous, trebly noodlings were always present, but he is now taking them to an even less subtle and more extensive level. (Even Neil Peart--one of the least improvisational musicians in modern music--has commented on recently ratcheting up his level of spontaneity in his nightly drum solos.)

The song selection could scarcely have been better, especially considering the nostalgic overtones of the tour's name and the relative lack of new material. Their most popular and acclaimed album--1981's Moving Pictures--was performed in its entirety at the beginning of the second set. But this was no oldies show. Similar to Peter Gabriel's recent excursion, the band's latest completed album was represented by three songs (the aforementioned, previously unplayed "Faithless" and the last tour's staples "Far Cry" and "Workin' them Angels"). The two completed new songs, both of them already released as a double-sided single (remember those?), were present and accounted for. The protean "Caravan"--with its stubborn mantra "I can't stop thinking big"--is a reminder (if one were needed) that these rockers do not apologize for their seemingly incongruous philosophizing. More homogeneous and proto-metal, "BU2B"--the characteristically humorous and ironic title is "text-speak" for "Brought Up to Believe"--continues Peart's ruminations on religion in the Endarkenment. Of the older songs, a welcome addition was "Presto," the twenty-one-year-old title track from the inaugural offering to Atlantic, their current record label (remember those?). An ancestor and harbinger to "Faithless," it too was never performed live before this year. Like "Faithless," it is a secular prayer. "I'm not one to believe in magic, but I sometimes have a second sight--if I could wave my magic wand, I'd make everything all right." Even in 1989, Neil proved that one need not be a mystic to be a dreamer--in the best sense of the term.

The tour's name is thematically apropos. Unable to tour without some kind of a theme, the band expediently found one without being too nostalgic. Indeed, "time" refers to the present and the future as well as the past, and there was not a little attention paid to those as well. The relevance of time is clearly on the minds of the band members--"We have to take a short break on account of our advanced age," Geddy explained right before the intermission. The relativity of time was clearly evident as well--the new twelve-string acoustic intro and modified end section of "Closer to the Heart" almost made it pass for a new song, and the band similarly breathed new life in other ancient songs. The only room for significant criticism (other than the sophomoric--and soporific--intro and outro videos) relates to the rigid, static setlist, apparently unchanged since opening night. With a catalog as vast as theirs, one might think they would allow more fluidity in the nightly song selection, for themselves as well as their itinerant fans. Perhaps there are only so many new tricks that can be taught to an old dog. And the singular setlist they are using could hardly be better.

Unable to stop thinking big, brought up to believe but predisposed to think first, and clinging to hope in a seemingly hopeless world, Rush and their secular idea of the sacred are more indispensable than ever, required listening (if there is such a thing) to any thoughtful rock fan (and there is such a thing). Their continued thriving in the Endarkenment is a welcome reminder that their grounded, forlorn optimism and tenacity is not entirely misplaced.




Rush
Gibson Amphitheatre
Universal City, California
Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Time Machine Tour


first set:
The Spirit of Radio
Time Stand Still
Presto
Stick It out
Workin' them Angels
Leave That Thing Alone
Faithless
BU2B
Freewill
Marathon
Subdivisions

second set:
Tom Sawyer
Red Barchetta
Yyz
Limelight
The Camera Eye
Witch Hunt
Vital Signs
Caravan
drum solo
Closer to the Heart
2112 (I. Overture/II. The Temples of Syrinx)
Far Cry

encore:
La Villa Strangiato
Working Man