So if it’s ONE out of 10,000 rock stars who are gonna get shot once every 10 years because of a crazed fan, aren’t the odds good enough to get out from under your titanium umbrella and live a little bit?  I mean there’s a much better chance that Neil’s gonna get sideswiped on his fuckin motorbike and left in the ditch for dead, than some fan doing it.  Consider meeting some fans as being rock n roll charity.  I mean that shit goes a long fucking way.  ONE GUY meets his favourite star and gets a photo signed, hangs it on the wall in his office and everyone who walks through those doors and asks, gets the story of his chance meeting with his hero and how gracious they were to him.  The story continues on and gets embellished here and there and before you know it, based on ONE autograph, 4200 people now think that Neil Peart is the most amazing guy “their buddy” ever met.  So even after spewing out all that shit and trying to type myself into an understanding of WHY Neil is so reclusive, serious and private, I still don’t have a fucking clue.  All I know is that there were 16 people waiting for autographs that day.  It would have taken less than 5 minutes to walk out there, shake hands with them and scribble your name on an album and he’d be regarded as a saint of a human being as opposed to going through the rigamarole that Neil’s people put us through just to get him into the building without having to interact with anybody.  What did we all get out of this act of snubbery?  Nothing.  That’s just it.  They want us to buy the tickets, buy the albums, buy the t-shirts but in turn what do we get for being such die hard, loyal and supportive fans?  Nothing.  All the fans want is to know that the guy isn’t a robot controlled by some record executive with a complicated remote control.  Fuckit.  The show….

 I lived in London, Ontario for 6 years.  I shot every decent band that came to town, but those were always up-n-comers or has-beens.  No big acts would come to London cuz the London Gardens was just too small and antiquated. I built up quite the portfolio of bands in London but nothing like the portfolio I would have had if they’d built the John Labatt Centre while I was there..  This top notch venue has seen the likes of EVERYBODY through it’s loading dock.  Who’s everybody you ask?  Let’s just run down a small list of who’s who to give you an idea.  Elton John, Bob Dylan, Metallica, Motley Crue, the Tragically Hip… need more?  I didn’t think so.  The most famous band to come to London when I was living there was Our Lady Peace.  The JLC was built for music.  The house PA is superb.  The sound quality is such that even at very high volume, your ears don’t hurt during the performance and/or ring afterwards.  We started out at Robinson Hall across the street with a Bono look alike, a couple cookies and beers, then worked our way over to the JLC restaurant.  By the time Rush hit the stage we were primed. 

Simply put.  Rush kicked fucking ass.  With no opening act, they started off with a funny video of the band goofing around which led directly into the first tune of the night, the classic Limelight.  The first set was about an hour or so before they stopped for intermission.  In that time, they pulled off a GREAT buncha tunes, new and old.  I knew about half the tunes really well cuz quite frankly I kinda lost my appetite for Rush in the 90’s.  I was into much heavier shit at the time and didn’t slow down to smell any roses.  I did however continue to spin Chronicles on a regular basis.  So the tunes they played that I knew, I REALLY knew and thoroughly enjoyed watching them performed live.  I actually LIKED the newest tunes and I’m definitely gonna pick myself up a copy of Snakes n Arrows.  If you fancy yourself a musician and you like a good show, go and see Rush.  Whether you like Geddy’s voice or not, they’re definitely worth your hard earned money even if they won’t sign your tits.