Remembering Neil Peart

One of the few things that Neil Peart and I have in common is growing up in rural Ontario. While he worked a family farm before making a career as one of music’s greatest drummers, wide-open spaces afforded me focus to devour his musical and lyrical accomplishments with Rush.

Peart, who died on January 7 in California following a three-and-a-half year battle with brain cancer, was a virtuosic drummer who also served as his band’s chief lyricist. There are few in popular music who can match him in either role. He is your favourite drummer’s favourite drummer.

Peart’s poetic quality shone in the way he tailored fantastical and weighty topics to Rush’s progressive rock music. The early sci-fi fare that landed the band in the pantheon of nerddom saw the drummer build dreamlike worlds with his words, while a lyrical shift toward social and emotional subjects heading into the ’80s led songs to inform and educate. Peart’s writing extended to non-fiction books, works of personal reflection that are also the closest many will come to knowing the notoriously private man.

I am fortunate enough to have seen Peart play in person on Rush’s final four tours. Each performance was a drum clinic unto itself, a demonstration of the high-level focus and precision he had honed over 40 years. Peart would, at times, strike with such force, his spread of toms and hardware would noticeably rattle around him, but never collapse. No matter which piece of his sizeable set, each hit felt purposeful, with Peart all the while hiding his methodical approach behind a silent stoicism.

Peart’s passing is a loss for drumming, for recorded music, for Canada and the world. It is wholly unfair that glioblastoma has claimed two of this country’s most revered rock lyricists in under three years. His achievements will continue to resonate.