Neil Peart (1952–2020)

The late, great Rush drummer Neil Peart's account of his experiences during the band's thirtieth anniversary ("R30") tour in 2004, during which he traveled between venues by motorcycle, racking up more than 20,000 miles over the course of the tour. (This is the fourth book he wrote about music and motorcycles, but the first one I've read.)

It's full of little details of the trip (including very mundane ones), passing thoughts, stories about various people he knew (although less about his show more bandmates than you might expect), facts and histories about some of the more interesting places he visited, etc. Also an awful lot of him looking back on the journal he kept and seeing that, at the end of the day, he'd written something along the lines of, "This was such a full day while it was happening, but it's all slipping from my mind and I'm frustrated that I can't get it down in words." (Which, y'know, relatable, even if it's not exactly literarily gripping.)

Most of this stuff isn't especially compelling in itself, but I tend to find that there's something about this kind of real-life day-by-day accounting of someone's experiences that holds my attention unexpectedly well even when the things they're talking about aren't necessarily all that exciting, and that was mostly true of this one, too. Plus, it was really interesting to get a look at the perspective from the other side of the stage, so to speak, to get a feeling of what it's like for a touring musician for whom playing is simply his job. A rewarding and interesting job, to be sure, but a very different experience from the one we're having in the audience.

Plus, Neil was just an interesting and thoughtful guy... and one who very much defied the stereotypes of the rock star. How often do we get to hear what that life is like for someone who's a shy, intellectual, slightly socially awkward introvert? Also, ye gods, if the man who had a truly viable claim to the title of "world's best drummer" -- no matter how much he disputed that -- a man so unquestionably at the pinnacle of his profession, if this guy could feel inadequate, self-critical, and perhaps even subject to imposter syndrome, what does that say about the rest of us? Maybe that we should all be a little easier on ourselves, I don't know. What I do know is that his honesty on this stuff provides some worthwhile food for thought on the question of how any of us looks to ourselves on the inside vs. to others on the outside.

And, of course, there is a bittersweet poignancy to reading this now, as the band prepares to kick off its new reunion tour, knowing that he's gone and we'll never get to see him doing his virtuoso thing on the drums live, ever again. RIP, Neil. You are missed. show less

Imagine sending your nineteen-year-old daughter, Selena, your only child, off to college in the morning, and that evening the police show up at your front door with some "bad news". Imagine the officer suggesting to you and your wife, Jackie, whose eyes have presently "gone wide" and "her face turned white" (because she already knew), that "maybe you'd better sit down." Imagine the officer telling you and your spouse it was a "single car accident," she "apparently lost control," she was show more "dead at the scene."

Neil Peart, drummer and lyricist for RUSH, and one of the most literary and imaginative minds in the history of rock, didn't have to imagine it, having endured that agony the night of August 10th, 1997, when life as he'd known it abruptly and irrevocably ended. His wife collapsed to the floor with the news. Unfortunately, for her sake and for Neil Peart's, she never really got back up off the floor. Shattered by the sudden death of her daughter, Jackie was so inconsolable that not even Neil, her husband of almost twenty years, could comfort her, though he tried and tried. Five months after their daughter was killed, Jackie was diagnosed with terminal cancer, and Neil confessed in Ghost Rider, a memoir that has to be the most painful and yet ultimately the most hopeful and resilient memoir I've ever read, that Jackie absorbed the news of her terminal cancer "almost gratefully". Three months later, she died.

Imagine being Neil Peart, losing your daughter and then your wife, your entire immediate family, your entire life, in the span of eight cursed months? How could you survive something that hellish and unbearable?

Neil hopped on his motorcycle, a BMW R1100GS, and rode through almost every province in Canada, including the Yukon and Northwest Territories; through almost ever state in the U.S.A., including Alaska; through almost every state in Mexico, traveling as far south as the Central American nation of Belize. Thirteen months riding a motorcycle, rain or shine, 500 miles a day, not really running from his grief but moving along with it, perhaps living out Mark Strand's poetic maxim, "I move to keep things whole."

I've been doing a lot of "moving" myself these past three weeks since my own fifteen-year-old daughter, Megan, died suddenly from an unforeseen and unpredictable pulmonary embolism that took her life almost instantly. It's weird and it's cruel: find myself walking through the house, pacing, stopping only long enough to straighten up and organize book shelves that are already perfectly straightened up and organized, or stopping to eat and to truly absorb and appreciate as much as I can, in every blessed moment I know I'll never take for granted again, the beloved company of my wife and two other children who are thankfully still alive and well. Neil Peart explained that all this "moving" in the aftermath of an unexpected loss is a normal part of the grieving process known as the "search mode," a period of time in which your unconscious mind is "trying to find the lost one," or trying to create a sense of organized reality out of (in what for me in my recent experience), still seems unsettled, vaguely unreal when it's not so surreal sometimes, even though I know in my head, and can proclaim it aloud, "Megan's gone."

Having been a fan of RUSH since I was thirteen and first heard the songs "Subdivisions" and "New World Man" off their underrated Signals album (and then shortly thereafter, discovered their even more brilliant back catalog of classic records, stuff like 2112 and Permanent Waves), it's hard to love them anymore than I already have. But I do! And it's solely because of Neil Peart's experiences and perspectives, his willingness to write about, with great candor and wisdom, his personal pain that can, understandably, crush some people, that bonds me closer to the man and his music, helping me cope and offering hope for a new future. As I've read and reread passages of his healing memoir, Ghost Rider, I've come to view Neil Peart as being much more than merely a genius percussionist or lyricist or reclusive rock star, but like some ambassador from the bleak country of Grief or capital of Commiseration, who's comforting and encouraging, helping me navigate this seemingly endless, merciless, and incomprehensible maze of mourning. show less

I recently read Neil Peart’s fourth book, Roadshow: Landscape with Drums: A Concert Tour by Motorcycle. It’s an incredible memoir that recounts Neil’s motorcycle journey from concert to concert during Rush’s R30 tour in 2004. The book is meticulously written chronologically, following their tour schedule throughout North America and Europe. Neil always had a riding partner and friend who also worked in his security detail.

Neil’s writing is exquisite, and his tales are both show more entertaining and captivating. He paints vivid descriptions of the landscapes and locations he visited, making me wish I was there with him. I particularly enjoyed reminiscing about places I’ve been, such as the Grand Canyon, Sedona, Flagstaff, Key West, and Stuttgart, Germany. It was a surprise to learn that he was in a small town called Rushville, Ohio, just outside of my childhood hometown. I smiled when he mentioned visiting Lexington, Kentucky, as it made his list of places he’d like to live. The book also inspired me to dream of many other places I’d love to visit. He also mentions some of which I think I’ll even avoid in the future.

Neil’s honesty shines through in his candid writing about the people and places he encountered, both positive and negative. He shares his opinions about the performance trends of drivers in various states and doesn’t hold back his feelings about those who don’t use turn signals. While traveling through the United States, it’s common to see church signs, and throughout the book, Neil shares some of the most memorable and entertaining ones he found.

Unfortunately, being a celebrity brings out the most obnoxious people. Neil writes about some frustrating experiences of being followed by entitled fans demanding autographs. On the bright side, he also got to meet some pretty cool celebrities. One that stood out to me was Jack Black. They talked about the part in the movie “School of Rock” where Jack Black’s character assigns a student to listen to Rush’s album and notes that Neil Peart is one of the greatest drummers of all time. I’ve included a video clip below for your entertainment. (please see my blog linked below for the video)

Neil’s heart ached as he revisited places that evoked memories of time spent with Jackie and Selena. It must have been an emotionally taxing journey to grieve for his family while building a relationship with his new wife, Carrie. I can only imagine the challenges of being separated from Carrie during this tour. It was heartwarming to see them spend quality time together at various venues. Neil’s stories of wanting to impress Carrie during concerts were endearing.

As an avid reader, Neil frequently references books he’s read and enjoyed during his tours. One book that particularly caught my attention was Barbara Kingsolver’s Prodigal Summer. Although I haven’t read any of her books yet, her work keeps appearing in my book feed, and I’m eager to read it someday, especially if Neil recommends it!

After reading four of Neil’s books, I continue to appreciate his approach to touring as a job. It’s something he didn’t necessarily enjoy, so he made the experience meaningful for himself by traveling by bicycle or motorcycle. It’s challenging when something you love becomes a job, as it can diminish the joy and passion associated with the initial activity.

I’m concluding my review of Roadshow with an interview Neil gave on the topic of motorcycles and writing. Enjoy! (please see my blog linked below for the video)

I purchased the audiobook of Roadshow using my Audible membership. I’m thrilled that Brian Sutherland has narrated all of Neil’s books so far. His narration is simply incredible!

I have photos, videos, and additional information that I'm unable to include here. It can all be found on my blog, in the link below.
A Book And A Dog show less

I just finished this and, if I want to be fair to the book, I should likely take a day to process it, before trying to write about it.

But on the other hand, I want to get some thoughts down while they're fresh.

It's funny, that every time another Peart book comes up in my to-be-read pile, I think, Do I really want to read about a guy riding around various countries on a motorcycle? And the answer is, inevitably, no, I don't.

Luckily, Peart obliges. Yes, there are a lot of passages about a guy show more riding around various countries on a motorcycle. But it's all the stuff in between...his discourses on the sadness of corporations slowly weed-choking a simpler way of life, the beauty of not just the sights, but the people, the memories, the friendships, and the revelations he experiences as he moves from here to there, and most appreciated for me, the glimpses into Neil Peart the man, not the drummer...it's all this that make each one of these books a treasure.

Peart, in his wide-ranging rambles shows us so much...

His two personalities, Bubba and the Professor. The knee-jerk reacting, foul-mouthed, stereotypical guy, and the more measured, intelligent, logical, think-things-out-first polymath who is always searching to better himself.

The famous rock musician who is completely uncomfortable with his celebrity status, and appreciates his meetings with people who either don't recognize him at all, or who recognize him but ignore the celebrity aspect. From the books, I get a sense that he just wants the opportunity to talk to others on a personal level, and not just be that rock god that bangs on things with sticks.

The doting father and husband who must leave behind his family for "the job" but misses them dearly while he's away, while also reveling in these experiences he could never have while at their side. His passages of his time with his new daughter are especially endearing. The man who loves his family, while also knowing better than most of us that they can be taken away far too suddenly.

The friend who makes as much effort as he can to keep his friends close, in a profession where everyone wants something from you constantly.

The bandmate that loves his "co-workers" while also having to necessarily distance himself for his own sanity and happiness.

There's just so much to these books, I question whether any review—much less my scrambled ramblings—can do them justice.

But, for me, these are required reading, written by a fellow Canadian who I believe was one of the greatest thinkers of our generation. He also happened to bang things with sticks better than most, too. show less