“A huge record for us”: The 1981 breakthrough that launched Rush
They were already big, but 1981 was the year that Rush actually became famous.
The Canadian power-trio’s rise and rise was a dogged one. Once the classic line-up of Geddy Lee, Alex Lifeson, and Neil Peart was settled for 1975’s Fly by Night, Rush hurtled down a confoundingly unique creative path at odds with the upheaval around them.
It’s impressive in retrospect. Just as the day’s arena rock was looking self-parodic and silly, and prog was deemed deathly uncool virtually overnight once punk light lit its detonating fuse from underneath, Rush had the bright idea of releasing a string of progressively leaning hard rock marvels scoring Peart’s conceptual songcraft.
Yes and Emerson, Lake & Palmer died on their arse, but Rush dropped their biggest hit LP yet with 1976’s 2112. They needed it, as the Mercury label was considering dropping them following scant unit shifts and dismal live ticket sales, but while the punk and new wave waged their war below, Rush arrived in the 1980s as one of Canada’s most lucrative musical exports, yet sought to tinker with their prog formula just as they were soaring commercially.
Rather than dodge the day’s pop trends, Rush decided to jump right in with gusto. In their own idiosyncratic fashion, at least. A tighter, more refined compositional approach fed Peart’s literary and fantastical themes through a radio-friendly filter for 1980’s Permanent Waves, as well as keen prominence of synthesisers amid Lee’s triple juggle along with the bass and frontman duties. Such toe dipping would set the stage for their sonic template, which would largely carry Rush across the decade until 1989’s Presto decided to dial down the keyboards.
Their newfound pop fans and longtime prog-rock faithful had plenty to enjoy on 1981’s Moving Pictures. With one camp gripped by the lean and brawny ‘Limelight’ and ‘Vital Signs’, while the 11-minute ‘The Camera Eye’ suite ensured a footing to their complex foundations, Rush demonstrated that a dabble with accessibility need not impede integrity.
All their impossibly distinct quirks were on display throughout the mammoth ‘Tom Sawyer’, caked in those immortal Oberheim OB-X synth stabs and Peart’s askance lyrical deployment of Mark Twain’s titular boy hero as a vehicle to illustrate spirited rebellion, co-penned with outside help from Pye Dubois.
Such a hit pushed Moving Pictures to a comfortable Top Ten on both sides of the Atlantic, and thrust Rush to unlikely stars of the insurgent MTV age once its video enjoyed the rounds a few months later after the channel’s launch. Having both waded through commercial wobbles on 2112, to harnessing the 1980s’ synth revolution to their own creative ends, Rush’s rock stature was now unassailable and set for the rest of their career.
It’s safe to say that much of Rush’s fortune owes it to that landmark LP back in 1981. “That level of success was like nothing we had ever experienced before,” Lee reflected to Classic Rock in 2012 on Moving Pictures’ legacy. “It was such a huge record for us. And the years have been very generous to it.”
