(April Rose Schneider's first Litkicks article was about nearly-forgotten 1960s novelist Richard Farina. Here, she analyzes the poetic sensibility of a not-forgotten but barely appreciated rock drummer and lyricist, Neil Peart of Rush. Enjoy! -- Levi)

Rock and Roll lyrics are generally anything but artful. Flimsy as a piece of tissue in a tornado, the words to most pop or rock songs are best suited for head scratching. Remember "Louie, Louie", first released in 1963?

Louie Louie

Oh no, me gotta go.

Louie Louie

Oh baby, me gotta go. A fine little girl, she wait for me

Me catch the ship across the sea

I sailed the ship all alone,

I never think how I'll make it home

Had the evolution of rock lyrics remained so banal and elementary we’d all be listening to the Carpenters today. “Why do birds suddenly appear / Everytime you get near?” I don’t know. Maybe your hair smells like peanut butter. Fortunately for us, time heals bad taste and turns it into pop culture. Iconic rock lyricists like Jim Morrison, Robert Hunter, David Byrne began to give this minor art form’s place in history -- infused with more Americana than a tribute to Robert Frost (who couldn’t play a lick on a Strat).

Let's talk about Neil Peart. Big-time woo-hoo rock and roll Wonder? King Bad Ass, world class percussionist? Lyricist extraordinaire? Neil Peart of Rush is all of this and much more. If you were bottle fed on the milk of progressive rock, like yours truly, you may already be among the Illuminati. On the other hand, if you:

A. Have spent your life in a small dark cave on the shores of the Mediterranean with seaweed jammed into your ears.

B. Love to listen to the sedately dulcet tones of John Tesh while your Angora snores melodically in the backround

C. Think Rush is something you feel after snorting an old quaalude you found under a couch where you remembered you stashed it twenty seven years ago.

... then you probably have NO idea what I am talking about. But that’s okay; I’m familiar with the glazed looks on some of your faces when I try to articulate an idea. I’m married. Allow me to break it all down for you.

Neil Peart, a Canadian export more valuable than Canadian bacon or TimBit’s, is by consensus a supreme progressive jazz/rock drummer. But he is also, unbeknownst to many rock and roll aficionados, one of the most successful wordsmiths in the history of the genre. Peart began writing lyrics while drumming for an Ontario band named Hush, but the others in the band were inexplicably unimpressed with his efforts. Dismayed by this lack of recognition, he passed the Rush audition for drummer in 1974, and by 1975 he had replaced singer Geddy Lee as main lyricist for the band. His first major lyrical contributions to the band’s second album Fly By Night propelled the band to instant commercial success.

The contents of Neil Peart’s subconscious -- poured out in the form of rock verses that dominate numerous award winning albums over the past three and a half decades -- reveal a man of great depth and creativity. The broad range of topical material employed by Peart explore a wide variety of political, social and mythological themes, many of which are evocative in their imagery. Ignoring his critics, who have accused him of being too romantic, too bombastic, too political, and often too cynical, Peart continues to paint deeply symbolic, thematic imagery with the panache of the noble bards of old.

Neil Peart’s most notable lyrical contributions to Fly by Night include a song called “Anthem”, a tribute to individualism, as well as “By-Tor and the Snowdog”:

The Tobes of Hades, lit by flickering torchlight

The netherworld is gathered in the glare

Prince By-Tor takes the cavern to the north light

The sign of Eth is rising in the air.

By-Tor, knight of darkness,

Centurion of evil, devil's prince. Across the River Styx, out of the lamplight

His nemesis is waiting at the gate

The Snow Dog, ermine glowing in the damp night

Coal-black eyes shimmering with hate.

By-Tor and the Snow Dog

Square for battle, let the fray begin

Success was brief. Critics panned the second album Caress of Steel as too sentimental for rock: Here is “Lakeside Park”, in which Peart describes the idyllic days of his youth:

Days of barefoot freedom

Racing with the waves

Nights of starlit secrets

Crackling driftwood flames

Drinking by the lighthouse

Smoking on the pier

Still we saw the magic

Fading every year Everyone would gather

On the twenty fourth of May

Sitting in the sand

To watch the fireworks display

Dancing fires on the beach

Singing songs together

Though it's just a memory

Some memories last forever

From “A Farewell to Kings:”

"To seek the sacred river Alph

To walk the caves of ice

To break my fast on honey dew

And drink the milk of Paradise..." I had heard the whispered tales

Of immortality

The deepest mystery

From an ancient book. I took a clue

I scaled the frozen mountain tops

Of eastern lands unknown

Time and Man alone

Searching for the lost - Xanadu

And finally, from the album Hemispheres:

When our weary world was young

The struggle of the Ancients first began

The Gods of Love and Reason

Sought alone to rule the fate of Man

They battled through the ages

But still neither force would yield

The people were divided

Every soul a battlefield...

The songs worked together thematically as a post-apocalypse trilogy, and the band’s stage shows revolved around these stories. With these offerings, from a band whose discography includes more than thirty albums, we see Neil Peart’s potential gaining traction over the course of forty productive years (during which he also found the time to write a few books).

In closing, since I do believe deep in my rock and roll heart that few things in this world are funnier than misunderstood lyrics, here are a couple of my own misheard Neil Peart lyrics. First, from “Limelight”:

Living in the Fish Islands

[more accurately, "a fisheye lens", but I like my version better]

Caught in the camera eye.

I have no heart to lie,

I can't pretend a stranger

Is a long-awaited friend.

From “Red Barchetta” (a Barchetta is an Italian sports car):

My uncle has a country place

That no one knows about.

He says it used to be a farm,

before he mowed the lawn [actually "the Motor Law" -- again, I like mine better]

Okay, so they are not gut busters. Nor are they as existentially daunting as the following uplifting lyrics, which I leave you to peruse/For some meaning you may use. From “Ceiling Unlimited”: