News

The Day: November 10, 2002

Rush delves into past and future at Mohegan Sun

by Rick Koster

For many minutes before the Canadian power trio Rush took the stage at the Mohegan Sun Arena Friday evening, an astonishing show was already taking place, put on by a near sold-out crowd that seemed comprised largely of guys who look either like aging frat guys or the comic book store owner from "The Simpsons."

In a protracted display of beer commercial-style male bonding, buddies in different sections of the hall communicated by 1) standing, screaming "Hey, Braaaddd!," and holding beer bottles aloft; 2) standing and issuing shrill wolf whistles and pointing across the way, raising beer bottles; and 3) literally callingeach other on cell phones, describing the location of their respective seats, hoisting beers skyward as they simultaneously spied one another, and saying things like, "Neil Peart is the greatest drummer in the world!" and "Rush rules!"

In fact, the King of "Rush Rules!" was seated two rows down and just across from my aisle seat: a wispy goateed guy in his early 20s who was absolutely jonesingto see the band - and at 8:10 p.m., when the lights went down, the greatest moment in his life arrived.

It's important to note this collective behavior because that's the sort of demographic loyalty bands like Rush command.  Before this year's largely solid "Vapor Trails" CD, Rush has been a dormant commodity, owing tragically to the deaths, 10 months apart, of Peart's daughter and wife.

Apparently, this tour is therapy.  Peart, the lyricist behind Rush's brainy, "rock as algebra" formula, was in grim-faced top form.  Seated as always behind a drum kit - yes, it still revolves - no less complexly structured than a space station, Peart was the master cylinder behind a comprehensive and nearly three-hour show of career highpoints.

Out front, bassist/vocalist Geddy Lee, looking timeless in a sleeveless black T-shirt and jeans, strained to hit his outer-reaches-of-the-atmosphere melodies only once - during the chorus of "Temples of Syrinx" - and maneuvered through his muscular bass and synth lines with fluid joy.  Guitarist Alex Lifeson, formerly a flaxen-locked pretty boy, has shorn his hair and looks like a college linebacker, but his rhythm structures and leads assaulted impressively.

The evening was broken into two sets and an encore sequence.  After a prefatory overture in which they took the stage to a video image of the musicians as the Three Stooges, Rush kicked into "Tom Sawyer" and the audience rose as one - and pretty much stayed that way.

It was hard not to watch my young pal two rows down.  He silently mouthed the lyrics to each song, staring at the band with pure worship, pumping his fist in the air and replicating on air-drums every Peart fill and roll with disconcerting accuracy.  It was sort of amusing to watch his youthful enthusiasm as he held up his little "Rush Rules!" cardboard sign, but something familiar about him kept me from being embarrassed for the goofy intensity.

He was right to be happy: through archly-complex but always melodic staples from the repertoire - "Distant Early Warning," "Earthshine," "YYZ," "Natural Science," "Free Will," "Dreamline," "Red Sector A," the "2112" excerpts, and fine new material like "Ghost Rider" and "Secret Touch," Rush at once proved they'd musically grown over the years and, yet, had no reason to be anything but proud of their past.

Despite being on assignment, I got up to leave when they broke into "The Spirit of Radio" because I realized why I remembered the young fan across the aisle.  Though not in a literal sense, of course, he was ME - 20 years ago.

And though I couldn't be sure what was coming - (I correctly assumed) "By-Tor and the Snow Dog" and "Working Man" - I felt I didn't have to stick around.  The kid could take it from there.