Diamonds & Rust: 50 Years Of Rush’s 2112 — Please Shush About Ayn Rand

[Cover artwork by Hugh Syme]

There’s quite a lot to unpack when attempting to tackle the 50th anniversary of an album as iconic and transformative as 2112. Straight off the bat, Rush was in a curious position at this early stage on their timeline, having already tasted a fair amount of success with their sophomore effort Fly By Night (Feb 1975) and embarking on a very successful 6+ month tour in support of that fine record. But most everyone apart from the band themselves seemed rather pissed about the Toronto power trio’s subsequent full-length, the modest stumble Caress of Steel that dropped in September of the same year, directly upon the close of that extensive FbN tour. I would submit that a fair amount of the CoS criticisms at the time were pretty fair: a wobbly production, the inclusion of an awkward song about going bald inspired by “Goin’ Blind” from tour mates Kiss, and two somewhat clunky epics that made it clear Rush were smoking garbage bags of weed without removing the seeds.

At present, Rush fans have come to embrace Caress of Steel a bit more; it’s still Rush doing Rush things, and that’s something that’s always been easy to enjoy, no matter which chameleonic transformation the band has opted to embrace across a myriad of eras. But at the time, the general consensus underscored a sentiment that Fly By Night did what Caress was trying to do better. And complicating matters further was the fact that the Mercury Records label heads were convinced that Rush’s insistence on pursuing the “Rush + long-form proggy epics = grand slam” formula was very seriously sinking all probability of longterm $ucce$$, so they hoped to implement a moratorium on anything that couldn’t be embraced by FM radio in a tidy 4 or 5 minute jam. Rush’s response: “Hold my 25-piece patio set, bud,” and out slithered the “2112” suite. This was no casual flip of the middle finger, either. To devote album number three’s namesake to yet another sttttrrrrretttched epic was one thing, but to use it as the album’s opening salvo as Side A was essentially defiance and conviction personified.

So, let’s focus on ‘defiance and conviction’ for a minute, because those two elements are paramount to the narrative here and to 2112’s eminent success.

As far as the conviction side of the coin is concerned, that feels like a slam dunk. Think of yourself at 23 and remember the confidence you had in your burgeoning independence and individuality. Age 23 is a FULL CHARGE into life, adventure and discovering your own unique footprint, without worrying too much about consequences. ‘To thine own self be true’ in its purest form, eclipsing most anything else that happens to trot alongside that journey of self discovery. Hell, I was so desperate to underscore my unique identity at 23 that I routinely wore an Autopsy Mental Funeral shirt depicting that beautifully melting monstrosity to classes at a Jesuit college, all with the hopes that someone might think, “Well, that guy’s a little different…”

For the members of Rush, being 23 in 1976 meant hitting the stage on pretty much a nightly basis in front of huge reveling crowds to hone their chops as openers for heavyweights such as Kiss and Blue Öyster Cult. Given that, how could a young adult NOT walk away from such an experience with anything but the strut of a monarch? Consequently, it’s not terribly difficult to imagine the three lads applying that very same level of confidence when it came time to tell the Mercury Records execs to pound salt.

And DEFIANCE! That glorious, glorious characteristic that so very often eclipses all other emotions in your early 20s—it’s something that landed Rush in a more palpable form of hot water throughout the ‘70s. Yes, this particular contentious matter is so old it needs a stairlift just to get into bed, but you cannot expect to fully explore this journey without addressing the Ayn Rand controversy that crops up whenever a 2112 discussion digs beyond the surface.

A couple of key points that should be underscored here: First, the sociopolitical climate in 1976 was, in a word, turbulent. (Big surprise.) In the US, overwhelming sentiments of national distrust roiled on the tail of Watergate. And in Canada, economic instability, widespread labor disputes and proponents for separatism fueled an equal amount of frantic unrest. Basically, extremely fertile ground for resistance, and a young band with three brainy hard rockers at the helm, particularly drummer Neil Peart, seized an opportunity to let their love of science fiction collide with aspirations for rebellion against the man and an unobstructed pursuit of individual freedom. All things considered, it must have felt like some form of kismet for Neil Peart when he stumbled across a copy of The Fountainhead at a newsstand while living as a struggling musician in London circa 1972.

“Most of all, it was the notion of individualism that I needed. The idea that what I felt, believed, liked and wanted was important and valid.” ~ from Neil Peart’s Traveling Music

Peart wasn’t as enamored with Rand as some would like to believe, though. It just took time for him to discover and properly mull over the less fortunate aspects of Rand’s pursuance of Objectivism, which underlines another important point: Sans internet, we didn’t have a full spectrum of information immediately available to us back then, so it’s certainly reasonable to presume Peart’s early admiration of Rand’s work arrived with little knowledge of her broader failures. Eventually, upon reading her essay Apollo and Dionysus—a lecture that heavily criticized Woodstock and its participants for avoiding reality in favor of ‘irrational emotion’ amidst clouds of weed—he fully recognized the honeymoon was over.

That being said, the Rand veneration was obviously significant enough to inspire “Anthem” and “2112,” but it’s prudent to note that Peart ultimately viewed her influence as more of a springboard, fashioning himself a “bleeding heart libertarian” and distancing himself from her more radical views. Still, I’m guessing the band would jump at the chance to remove the “with acknowledgment to the genius of Ayn Rand” from the liner notes above the lyrics to “2112” today. Hey, metal fans are certainly no strangers to regrettable quotes inside record sleeves, no?

“I lie awake, staring out at the bleakness of Megadon. City and sky become one, merging into a single plane, a vast sea of unbroken grey. The Twin Moons, just two pale orbs as they trace their way across the steely sky. I used to think I had a pretty good life here, just plugging into my machine for the day, then watching Templevision or reading a Temple Paper in the evening.

My friend Jon always said it was nicer here than under the atmospheric domes of the Outer Planets. We have had peace since 2062, when the surviving planets were banded together under the Red Star of the Solar Federation. The less fortunate gave us a few new moons.

I believed what I was told, I thought it was a good life, I thought I was happy. Then I found something that changed it all…” ~ Anonymous, 2112

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Rush wrote the bulk of 2112 while on tour in the winter of 1975. Of course they’re far from the only band in the history of rock to write massive records such as this while out on the road, but it is pretty impressive to think about the amount of focus necessary to develop and parse music as elaborate and immersive as this, particularly that epic title track, and doing so amidst a myriad of road distractions.

Why not simply wait until the tour closes and you’re back in the friendly confines of band HQ? Whew, buddy… Very different times for the music industry back then. Bottom line: The prolificacy of bands was on another level throughout the ‘70s, and that was largely due to label heads recognizing the importance of striking while the iron was hot and consequently running 9-month cycles for the artists that were riding highest in the spotlight. Sure, we have plenty of underground artists in music today who crank out confections like a Peeps factory, but doubling your yearly output back then had a greater impact because listeners didn’t have near the amount of avenues / access to limitless artists and albums as they do today, so the idea of having two records inside of six months from familiar lightning rods such as Black Sabbath, Judas Priest, Thin Lizzy, et al. was a sizable windfall.

So, I’m trying to put some thought into what might’ve been my most impressive creative feat at age 23. I was mostly just trying to keep my head above water while going to school and working at a record store right outside of Cleveland, with the majority of my creative efforts going toward… optimal daily metal shirt selections to spice up a campus? Making grindcore mixtapes? Compare that to the Rush boys writing grand levelers like “Presentation” while partying with BÖC and I would certainly cede the victory to Canada’s greatest power trio. (However… I believe I was 23 on the day I very creatively and drunkenly fell down a full flight of stairs in front of a mass of friendly Ukranian families at a big bbq bash, so I suppose victories come in all shapes and sizes.)

By the time “Presentation” hits around the 10-minute mark of “2112,” the protagonist has only just found the bygone six-string buried in his cave and mastered it in lightning time. (Frustrating, considering I hung it up after getting tired of endlessly plinking around with “Smoke on the Water” and watching my guitar teacher comb his stupid beard before every lesson). He’s now ready to present his findings to the priests of Syrinx and be lifted on the shoulders of supporters for bringing something new and artistic into everyone’s lives. Fittingly, the song launches so happily. Geddy’s bass is as buoyant and prancing as an Easter egg hunt, and Peart provides an early example of why he should be considered the Absolute Crowned King of thoroughly spotless fills. At this point in the adventure, THINGS ARE GOOD, BABY. “Listen to my music, and hear what it can do,” offers our cheerful main character as he gingerly strums the ancient guitar. “There’s something here as strong as life, and I know that it will reach you!”

BOOM: Up yours, guy! “YES WE KNOW, IT’S NOTHING NEW,” howl the priests in response. The weight and hostility of the song suddenly jumps to the Nth power. “IT’S JUST A WASTE OF TIME!”

Rush was just so good at turning on a dime like this, balancing the hard and the light with a maestro’s touch to benefit the immersive narrative. The music was intricate and sophisticated, but never lost full sight of that magnificent hard edge. Were they a hard rock band in 1976? A prog band? The only logical answer was… Yep!

The wild lead Lifeson eventually fires off as “Presentation” shifts to an even fiercer face 13-minutes in splashes acid on all within earshot, and it is truly a thing of beauty as Lee and Peart dance around those corrosive notes.

With the ensuing “Oracle: The Dream,” our hero retreats to the comforting solace of his cave after a priest (Father Brown) absolutely mangles his guitar directly in front of him. THE MAN doesn’t want us to be creative and experience artistic joy, my friends, so keep that in mind the next time you try to impress him / them with some equally inventive discovery in the future—keep that shit to yourself and a super secret sect of friends who know what’s up, that’s the lesson here. The good news: Our champion gets visited by some blessed glowing oracle in his dream that shows him precisely how good life can be when humankind is able to shatter the fetters of tyrannical subjugation. He’s treated to visions of splendid cities and bright prosperity amidst the inspired interplay between Lee, Lifeson and Peart, but the late howl of “Home to tear the temples down, home to CHANGE….” ends very suddenly, sending the story down a notably grim and worrisome path.

The subsequent “Soliloquy” is a brutally bummed beauty that almost comes across like a key building block for epic doom (side note: is there time to force While Heaven Wept to reunite and cover this entire suite?), strengthened into invulnerable steel at the insistence of Lee’s incredibly affective wailing: “Just think of what my life might be!! In a world like I have seen!!”, roars the protagonist in desperation. “I don’t think I can carry on! Carry on this cold and empty life! Oh nooooo!!!!”, immediately followed by the album’s most heart-explodingly despairing Lifeson lead—perhaps Lifeson’s most forlorn lead across Rush’s entire catalog.

Closing out Side A is “Grand Finale,” a song that… perhaps should be a bit more gloomy, given the weight of what’s just happened to the story’s main character. Instead, this clincher is oddly upbeat, and it’s the only section of the suite that has no lead-in hint to its concluding plot. It sounds like the most epic battle ever, though, and it definitely whiffs of positivity, so one might hope to conclude that the protagonist finds some way to lay the groundwork for the people’s ultimate win, despite the closing klaxon repeated call of “ATTENTION ALL PLANETS OF THE SOLAR FEDERATION, WE HAVE ASSUMED CONTROL.” Or… maybe this was actually Rush offering laying down the bedrock for The Empire Strikes Back.

2112’s side B is a totally different beast, and something that made it clear that Rush did actually acknowledge the fact that they owed the radio a great debt for their growing status as one of rock’s most interesting and innovative prime movers. You want short, catchy rockers, Mercury? Well, allow us to roll the following potential hits into your boardroom. Never mind the fact that the first one right out of the gate is actually about scoring the best weed possible in each town we visit. Side note: It’s curious that in these modern times “A Passage to Bangkok” feels even more contentious because it happens to feature that familiar little ditty that’s since been deemed “The Far East Proto Cliché” at its crux. (See also: Carl Douglas’ “Kung Fu Fighting” [1974]; David Bowie’s “China Girl” [1977]; The Vapors’ “I Think I’m Turning Japanese” [1980].) Anyway, probably not the best time to be wreeeaaathed in smoke in Lebanon, but “Passage” remains a banging opener to side B. In my opinion, however, it’s eclipsed by the ensuing ode to the Twilight Zone, which holds the unique distinction of scaring the crap out of me in my youth (like, to Don’t Break the Oath levels) because of its unexpected and rather terrifying whispering around 2 minutes in.

And my GOODNESS, “Lessons” might be the catchiest bullshit hippie ditty these ears have ever had the pleasure of devouring:

Is it at all possible to be in a bad mood as that song drifts out of the window like the vapors of some impossibly tempting triple berry pie? My Lord, that is breezy and pleasant, and I will float toward the fumes of that sweet treat every time it drifts within earshot (noseshot?) The track shifts to a harder stance directly after the minute mark, doing a fine job of keeping things pinned to the hard rock cork board, and Lifeson once again sends the enjoyability factor through the roof with a short but beautifully scorching solo in the song’s closing minute.

“Lessons” is followed by “Tears,” which is just as sappy as the title suggests. But Rush’s shrewd decision to wave a Moody Blues wand over the song throws in the necessary mystical element that saves things from fully drowning in schmaltz. Still, I’m glad they didn’t opt for it as a soft closer. Instead, we get “Something for Nothing,” a track that does absolutely everything an epic closer should do in a surprisingly succinct charge that doesn’t even manage to run past the 4-minute mark. It’s mellow, moody, heartening, intricate, wild and explosive, and it feels like a song that could be folded out tenfold from the stage if the band ever felt the need to let it wander a bit more. It’s also worth noting that I have drawn inspiration from the line “You won’t get wise with the sleep still in your eyes, no matter what your dream might be” for as long as I can remember.

Following 2112, Rush got even more experimental with Farewell to Kings and Hemispheres (total smasher). Then, things got more radio-friendly and they figured out to strike gold without losing sight of their signature sound. Keyboards eventually became a prominent component, which was a factor only out-contested by their future decision to incorporate a bit of rap. (Please don’t hate me, but I kind of love the song “Roll the Bones.”) The trio fully embraced change, pure and simple, and they stormed into it with what seemed like zero apprehension. They RUSH’D, basically, which is very different than saying they ‘rushed’, because nothing at all about this band has ever felt less than an extremely calculated and honest attempt to maintain a creative musical and lyrical connection to one of the most enthusiastic fanbases on the planet. So, so many bands that manage to survive across multiple decades begin to churn out releases for the sole purpose of getting back out on the road, but that has never been a part of the Rush plan, as every record has felt like an invitation to a new milestone. So, even if sales dipped as time wore on—particularly from Vapor Trails forward—it was more a consequence of shifting listening habits than it was a reflection of some level of diminished skill.

This particular event on the Rush timeline, though? It marked a turning point for the band where confidence and defiance fueled the creative fires so potently that Rush was able to forge an indomitable blade that has lost zero of its edge in FIFTY years. And it also launched the band into the limelight for one of the most majestic runs in hard rock / prog rock history. Basically, 2112 is the textbook definition of a watershed moment, and at no point in my lifetime will I ever tire of taking this legend for a spin.

What you own is your own kingdom
What you do is your own glory
What you love is your own power
What you live is your own story