Rush

I am not immune to the charms of Rush, let me get that out of the way right now. There was a time, between 15 and 18 years ago, a time before college, when I worshipped the ground Alex, Neil and Geddy walked on, when the opening riff of "Spirit of Radio" (or, better yet, "A Farewell to Kings") would get me all jazzed up, like I'd had too much cola. Sometimes, I wax nostalgic for those days. And they are certaily skilled musicians.

But, as I sit here listening to "Xanadu" in preparation of showing it to my 11th graders tomorrow (we just read "Kubla Khan"), I'm struck by several thoughts. I will enumerate them here:

1. How is it possible that I was such a ridiculous fan? I own 13 studio albums, not to mention the live bootlegs and import singles! I couldn't have possibly found them all interesting, could I have? Must have been all that cola.

2. How did I ever stop listening to them? I mean, they are so antithetical to what normally populates my headphones these days, I can't even imagine the confluence of events that lead me from Rush to Shellac. Or the Crucifux. Or Fucked Up. Or Obits. How did I get here?

3. These guys may be the most theatrical band in recent memory. That doesn't mean their songs are well-crafted, just that they're huge.

4. And what about the voice of Geddy Lee? How did it get so high? I wonder if he speaks like an ordinary guy.