For Rush to the Past (part one), go here.

Here’s a quick Moving Pictures story…

Early in my high school career, one of my hipper English teachers offered to work some rock n’ roll lyrics into her course on poetry. She asked the class for some recent rock records with good lyrical content. She’d put the candidates to a vote and then purchase the winner so that we could dissect it in class the following week. She did ask us to make sure that we were giving her something with genuinely good lyrics and she said, “try not to make it too heavy”. I (and a few others) suggested Rush’s Moving Pictures which had come out that same year. I don’t remember any of the other contenders at this point, but my friends from Canada carried the day when the vote was called. The teacher bought Moving Pictures that weekend, and in class the following Monday, she shook her head at us and said, “I listened to this thing over the weekend and, at first, I thought you were putting one over on me… This guy’s voice is weird.” Most of us had to concede that Geddy Lee’s vocal stylings are an acquired taste, but then she went on: “I sat down with the lyrics and read them all. Yeah, this guy knows what he’s doing”. It felt good to have a professional confirm something I already knew: Neil Peart’s lyrics were just about the smartest thing going at that time. The two or three days we spent going over the record in class stand out in my memory as being one of the most fun times I had in school. Paying serious attention to something I was already consuming in my everyday life was kind of a revelation for me. Art doesn’t necessarily have to be decades or centuries old to be appreciated intellectually. Sadly, I don’t remember that teacher’s name, but I tip my metaphorical hat to her now.

At any rate, it’s been more than twenty years since I listened to Moving Pictures in its entirety and my reasons for revisiting it now are the same as my reasons for trotting out Permanent Waves several days back: the music of Rush was prominently featured in I Love You, Man and seeing that film kindled a spark in me.

All in all, I’d have to say that Moving Pictures is a more fully-realized record than Permanent Waves, more nuanced and more mature (although, like its predecessor, it produced two Rock Radio staples: “Tom Sawyer” and “Limelight” — both of which are, I believe, featured in the aforementioned flick). Not only are the two perrenial tracks mentioned above terrific, “Red Barchetta” and “YYZ” (nominated for a Grammy for best rock instrumental) are really solid as well. The rest of the record is, on the whole, better than weaker stuff from “Waves”. In fact, the only thing that brings it down are some dated synthesizer sounds and, in the case of “The Camera Eye”, ponderous Rock Opera aspirations. Anyway, pretty much immediately after listening to Moving Pictures, I wanted to listen to it again. That’s gotta count for something.

Post Script:

A couple of nights ago, I was flipping around the TV dial, and low and behold there was a 2005 Rush concert playing on the HD music channel. I only caught the last fifteen minutes or so, but — apart from the addition of a couple of decades and some extra pounds — the guys were just as I remembered them the last time I saw them live. They were terrifically tight and clearly enthusiastic. Not too shabby at all for three guys who are (at least) in their middle fifties.

Well, thanks to Paul Rudd, Jason Segel and the movie I Love You, Man, I bought myself a couple of Rush albums — the first I’ve ever owned in the newfangled digital format that the kids’re listening to these days. (Back when I bought the records originally, they were pressed onto plastic discs the size of hubcaps.) I hadn’t listened to any Rush — outside of the odd appearance on rock radio — in something like fifteen years. During my high school days, these three guys from Canada were one of my favorite bands. Not only were they (to invoke a phrase I heard many years ago) “tighter than a gnat’s asshole” musically, the lyric’s by Neil Peart were thoughtful and articulate. (Then, as now, I was something of bookish loner.)

As soon as I fired up Permanent Waves (1980) on the ol’ iPod, I entered into a sort of nostalgic bliss — probably because the album’s two best tracks, the tracks that continue to get airplay, are the first two songs on the record. “The Spirit of Radio” is a thoughtful, if ironic, meditation on the radio business and how, despite its crass concessions to business, great music can still emerge. It’s clear that Peart had no idea just how badly the music industry would falter in the years following the release of Permanent Waves, but a great song (naive-sounding or no) is still a great song. “Radio” is followed by “Freewill”, a no-nonsense meditation on Peart’s apparent agnosticism. Again, a terrific song that also just happens to be thought-provoking.

After those first two tracks, the news isn’t quite as good. There’re only two more songs under five minutes in length and, while they’re certainly alright, they’re not as strong as our openers. It’s the two magnum opuses, “Jacob’s Ladder” (seven minutes and twenty-six seconds) and “Natural Science” (nine minutes and seventeen seconds) that’re the letdowns. I guess I went in for the Rock Opera thing back in my misspent youth but today these songs remind me a little too much of Spinal Tap. The music’s still good, but the lyrics and the vocals are too grandiose for my now  forty-something self.

The “bum” tracks notwithstanding, I still enjoyed Permanent Waves quite a bit. I’m glad I picked it up if, for no other reason, than to have “The Spirit of Radio” and “Freewill” occasionally come up on “Shuffle”.