That Rush

In June 2015, I walked out of Madison Square Garden suspecting I'd just seen my favorite band, the Canadian progressive-rock trio Rush, for the last time. I’d been a fan since I was a teenager, and after 40 years of touring, they seemed to be finishing on a high note. I remember sitting on the train afterward, both fulfilled and deflated, thinking: If Rush is finished, it probably means I'm no longer young.

Neil Peart, their brilliant drummer and lyricist, died in 2020, so Rush fans assumed that chapter was closed. But suddenly, wonderfully, it wasn’t: This year, Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson decided they loved performing this music too much to leave it in the past. With drummer Anika Nilles, they’re playing live again, and last week I saw them at Madison Square Garden... twice. The happiness in that arena was almost a physical force.

That’s what art can do: Whatever grabs you by the heart—music, movies, theater, painting, books—becomes woven into who you are. For me, Rush's complicated, relentlessly excellent music represents creativity, persistence, humor, friendship, and people working very hard to become extraordinarily good at something... themes, if you've noticed, I write about often. My 2012 article about why parents should take their kids to see Rush is still popular. 

When we live what we love vividly and unapologetically, we give the people around us permission to do the same, especially our kids. My daughters grew up watching me love this music and make friends around the world who love it too. They know by now that their own bliss needn’t look anything like mine.

Tonight, I’ll be in Toronto for Rush’s final hometown concert. Sure, it's a bit mad, but I can't refuse one last opportunity to be 17 again... and 27 and 37 and every age since. It's quite a gift, and quite a rush.

—Debra Ross, publisher

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