Neil Peart: Suddenly You Were Gone

Yesterday afternoon, at 2:26, I was working from home. I was on a deadline and waiting for materials from a coworker. I felt my phone vibrate its distinct incoming text message vibration. In my mind the chances were—30% work related, 70% spam text. I hate spam texts and I get them constantly. I hate getting them so much, I often don’t even bother looking at my phone right away when I feel it vibrate. But in this case, I was waiting on info regarding my work deadline, so I took a look right away. The text read:

“Dude. Neil Peart died.”

Never before had I so wished I had received a spam text.

I sat looking at the text from my good friend, Bill. I had no idea how to respond. He texted again saying he had read it on rollingstone.com. Then he texted again:

“I would never have gotten into Rush without you turning me on to them. What a tragic loss. I’m bummed.”

I stared at my phone screen, disbelieving. I was in denial. My rational brain knew it must be true, but I held out hope that it was some rumor gone bad or a cruel hoax. I quickly logged on to Twitter where I am connected to the official Rush band page, dozens of fan pages, and over a hundred other diehard Rush fans. As soon as I logged on I saw the tweet from Rolling Stone:

“Rush’s Neil Peart, the Hall of Fame drummer who set a new standard for rock virtuosity, has died at 67.”

It was true.

I clicked on the link to the article and read that he had been battling brain cancer for three-and-a-half years. Nobody outside of his inner circle knew. He was a very private man, so this was not all that surprising. The death, of course, was a surprise, but the fact that he kept his illness hidden was not. I could not bring myself to read past the first paragraph. I finally texted Bill back:

“Thank you for letting me know. My day is ruined.”

At this point my wife was walking by and, unable to speak, I just pointed to my computer screen with the headline on it. She looked and gasped, “Oh no!” She scanned the first paragraph of the article then asked me if my friend Roger had posted anything yet. Roger is a muckety muck at SiriusXM, a drummer, and a longtime Rush fan. I told her that I was on a deadline and had not been on Facebook, so I hadn’t seen anything from him. Moments later my phone vibrated…it was Roger. He wrote:

“Andrew…not sure u know…Very sad news that Neil Peart has passed away. I am devastated.”

I told him I knew and I too, was devastated. I refocused on my work. Five minutes later my phone vibrated again. Really, I’m not usually this popular. This time it was my friend Chris texting me the news with a sad face emoji. Chris has a significant place in my Rush life, as I went with him to my first Rush concert back in 1986. We exchanged texts of commiseration. I yet again refocused on my work. Five minutes later my phone rang and I saw that it was my friend Ken.

Ken has the distinction of being the person I have seen the most concerts with and talked the most Rush with over my lifetime. When I saw his name on my phone I debated not answering for two reasons: 1) I had this damn deadline! 2) I wasn’t sure I could compose myself. I answered the phone with, “I know.”

For the next few minutes he did most of the talking, while I struggled to say a word or two here or there without losing it. He soon realized I was in pain and said, “Look at it this way, Drew—we got to see them play in Canada! How cool is that?”

He was right, it was extremely cool. In June of 1997 I flew from Arizona to New York. On the 25^th of that month I went with Ken to see Rush in New York at Jones Beach. Then, a few days later we made the eight hour drive to Toronto to fulfill a lifelong dream of seeing Rush live in their hometown. It was an incredible experience. On the phone, back in 2020, I mumbled my agreement about the coolness of that experience.

Then he said, “And we actually got our wives into Rush! How cool is that?”

That was pretty darn cool, too. It is well-documented that there are not a lot of female Rush fans. Certainly there are some that are very hardcore, but the reality is that the vast majority of Rush fans have a Y chromosome. That I have been able to turn my wife on to Rush has been awesome. Sharing your favorite music with the person you love most is a blessing. So again, I mumbled my agreement.

Choking back my emotions, I told Ken I had to get back to my deadline, which was true. I got off the phone and concentrated on the work in front of me. Fortunately, I had gotten the materials I needed from my coworker and he had done an excellent job, making things easy for me. In less than half an hour I was finished with my assignment and the deadline was met. I decided to look at Facebook and saw dozens of my friends posting about their grief at the loss of The Professor.

As I scrolled through the posts, some from friends I knew were Rush fans, others from friends whose Rush love I was previously unaware of, I came across one post that stopped me in my tracks. It was a tribute to Neil from my friend Vic, who played the most pivotal role in my connection to Rush…by making me aware that they existed!

Vic and I were not close friends—really just high school acquaintances. But we were in a play together in 1984 and one day, while we were in the music room waiting for our rehearsal to start, he sat down at the piano and started playing a song. The opening chords piqued my interest immediately and I walked over and asked what it was.

“It’s ‘Subdivisions’ by Rush,” he said.

“Who are they?” I asked, intrigued.

“They’re an incredible band. The album is Signals. You have to get it,” he said.

And I did get it that weekend. I came home, plugged in my headphones, put the needle on the vinyl and listened. There were the distinctive opening chords on the song Vic had played, soon followed by these lyrics:

Sprawling on the fringes of the city
In geometric order
An insulated border
In between the bright lights
And the far unlit unknown

Growing up it all seems so one-sided
Opinions all provided
The future pre-decided
Detached and subdivided
In the mass production zone
Nowhere is the dreamer or the misfit so alone

Subdivisions-
In the high school halls
In the shopping malls
Conform or be cast out
Subdivisions-
In the basement bars
In the backs of cars
Be cool or be cast out…

I was a geeky 15-year-old kid. I had friends, but still felt like an awkward outcast, as many kids at that age do.  I was a very literary kid and loved well-written song lyrics, but never had I heard lyrics that connected with me this deeply matched with music of such virtuosity. I listened to the entire album enthralled. Then I listened again. I couldn’t stop listening, in fact.

Soon I bought more Rush albums and they quickly became my favorite band. I bought posters, magazines, buttons—anything I could get my hands on that was Rush-related. I learned all about the three band members: singer/bassist, Geddy Lee, guitarist, Alex Lifeson, and drummer/lyricist Neil Peart.

I had a huge appreciation for all three men, but the one who I found most compelling was Neil Peart. It was clear that his drumming skills were unbelievable. The fullness and complexity of what he was doing with his drum kit was matched by no one. But really all three players were amazing at their instruments. The thing that fascinated me most about Neil, though, was the lyrics. Nobody wrote lyrics that were so simultaneously intellectual and heartfelt. Who else uses the word “geometric” in their lyrics and manages to pull it off??? The man was a poet.

Since hearing of his death, Neil’s lyrics keep on going through my head. Upon first learning of the news, I thought:

Suddenly you were gone, from all the lives you left your mark upon – “Afterimage”

As I continued to process how I felt about it, I thought:

When I heard that he was gone, I felt a shadow cross my heart. – “Nobody’s Hero”

When I considered the legacy he would leave, I thought:

The measure of a life is a measure of love and respect. – “The Garden”

And when I thought about Neil’s relationship with his fans, I thought:

I can’t pretend a stranger is a long awaited friend. – “Limelight”

As mentioned previously, Neil Peart was a very private man. Unlike Geddy and Alex, who are happy to mingle with fans, Neil has always kept his admirers at arm’s length. Last night, in honor of Neil’s passing, I pulled out my DVD of the Rush documentary, Beyond the Lighted Stage for my wife and I to watch. I knew there was a lot of interview footage of Neil, and I wanted to hear from the man firsthand. At one point he addresses his distance from his fans by saying, “I’m not a sourpuss, I’m just shy.” And I can relate. If ever achieved fame, I think I might be similarly embarrassed by the attention that comes with it and avoid interactions with fans for that reason.

Yet for all his shyness and his avoidance of interaction with the public, in some ways I think Neil Peart was the most accessible of the band members. He put himself out there for the world to see through his lyrics of hundreds of songs and the eight books he wrote about his various travels. His writing was earnest and forthright and painted a picture of a deep thinker with a strong moral compass who was hopeful that man’s better nature would win out. In “Closer to the Heart,” one of Rush’s most iconic songs, he wrote:

And the men who hold high places
Must be the ones who start
To mold a new reality
Closer to the heart

An excellent sentiment, indeed—especially for the times in which we currently live.

So I may not have known Neil personally, but I still feel like I knew him quite well. His words will live on, his music will live on, and for the moment, the pain of his absence will live on. As another line from “Afterimage” states:

Tried to believe but you know it's no good
This is something that just can't be understood

Farewell, Mr. Peart. You have touched myself and millions of other fans in ways that just can’t be understood.