Prior to the release of Rush’s twentieth album, Clockwork Angels, the band had an
opportunity to visit with Pete Townshend
after receiving the Governor-General Award for Lifetime Achievement in the
Performing Arts.
The formal gathering provided the Canadian trio with some
face time with one of their acknowledged heroes after the event, and the
conversation eventually led to the “What’s next?” question. When Rush responded
that they were putting the finishing touches on a new album, Townshend scoffed,
hinting that the format that he helped secure as a legitimate art form with Tommy has evolved into a seemingly
extinct outlet.
“Waste of time, making albums these days.” He pointed out
rather correctly, and even the band was forced to admit that maybe so, but they
had to.
You could look at their response yet another example of a
band from a different era failing to acknowledge modern realities. Or you could
accept the fact that Rush has operated exclusively in their own reality for
four decades now, navigating trends and genres in a silo of loyal fans who
appreciate the independent spirit of this band’s history.
A big part of that history happened with their 1974 release,
2112, a record that found them at the
end of a record deal after three consecutive commercial failures to their
resume. By all means, 2112 should
have been the band’s clear bend towards their label’s desire to have a hit
record. Instead, it’s a record in which half of it is devoted to a concept
corny enough to alienate the placid record buyers it was trying to capture.
As we know now, 2112
became an enormous record for the band, inexplicably connecting them with
audience who appreciated their excessive tendencies and geeky excursions. It
also became the record that fueled fan’s future expectations, the benchmark for
new conceptual meanderings.
With Clockwork Angels,
they’ve returned to idea of a concept album once again, even coyly putting the
hands of a clock on the album’s cover, that-if you consider the hands in
military time-clearly spell out 21:12.
To be honest, I don’t have the patience to figure out what
the concept is, exactly, all I know is that I think I heard a few songs
reference timepieces and that the performances within the records hour-long
running time are probably the best thing they’ve done since Signals.
It’s also the most varied, alternating between complex
arrangements and textures that effectively demonstrate a wide pallet of sounds
that could only come from a band that’s spent a great deal of their existence
continually trying to move forward.
Whether or not you’ve personally been a part of this journey
isn’t relevant. For those of us who’ve had a relationship with Rush at some
point in their life will find Clockwork
Angels to be not only a continuation of the band’s recent upswing, but one
of the premier entries in what’s not only been a long, storied career, but a
somewhat choppy one at that.
The band wisely chose to work with producer Nick Raskulinecz
again after giving the band a flattering mix for Snakes & Arrows. His role is vastly expanded here, giving Clockwork Angels a perfect blend of the
band’s progressive background with their more recognizable synthesizer years,
all while making sure that the material has a distinctively modern sound,
capable of scaring off any younger contenders trying to surpass these elder
statesmen.
They do it by not just focusing on the complexities of their
craft, but in casting a wide net over its very definitions. Guitarist Alex
Lifeson channels his best Robert Fripp at points where atmosphere and texture
rule over guitar worship soloing. The acoustic moments are compelling, and when
the material calls for a bit of big power chords, Lifeson responds with memorable
attacks and distinctive tones.
Geddy Lee’s vocals are more palatable than they’ve ever
been, with hints of emotional qualities that were not present when his voice
was more of a distraction than an instrument. And speaking of, his bass duties
are pushed up high in the mix, suggesting that he’s never stopped building his
low-end craft even when his hands left the fretboard for the keyboard.
Drummer and lyricist Neil Peart also deliver some of the
best work of his career, with the words providing evidence of added focus and
his drumming showing signs of intentional spontaneity. Credit Raskulinecz here
too, as the pair purposely avoided unnecessary exposure to the songs so that
when the time came for Peart to perform the rhythm tracks, he was only familiar
with the song’s outline, approaching it with only a basic notion of how he
would address each fill or tempo change.
Clockwork Angels
most telling moment may come with its title track, beginning with progressive
layer of atmospheres before turning into churning bit of double-timed frenzy.
The trick goes back and forth, until it turns into an acoustic Zeppelin shuffle
right around the five-minute mark. It’s well thought-out, expertly delivered,
and it suggests that not only are Rush still trying to deliver career triumph
to us, they may still be able to accomplish it.
“All the journeys of this great adventure” Geddy sings,
looking back on the band’s history and noting the struggles of their early
years with “It didn’t always feel that way.” As the track progresses, Lee
finally admits “I wish that I could live it all again” while the band performs as
if the last four decades haven’t slowed them down a bit.
Waste of time? Judging from Townshend’s twilight output,
maybe. But for the members of Rush, Clockwork
Angels is a late career triumph that sounds like the band’s time was put to
excellent use.
This review originally appeared in Glorious Noise.
2 comments:
Personally, as both an artist and a music fan, I don't care if I'm considered a relic: albums are supposed to define a certain place and time in an artist career, not to mention those instances in which they're meant to be a musical statement, which is a purpose that singles cannot fulfill.
I'll continue to make albums; folks can choose to consume my music however they want. But I refuse to be part of a supposed move forward in which, ironically, we're actually reverting back to the singles era.
However, since my influence is incredibly miniscule--I'm deluding myself: it's non-existent--I hope my faves will do the same.
PS: 2112 was released in '76.
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