On the first anniversary of Neil Peart's death

High school was not the best of times for me, but it sure as shit was an improvement over junior high. In high school, I actually started to make friends. Weird friends mind you, mostly fellow outcasts.

John was one of the weird ones. He was tall and gangly, and some might say funny looking. And he remains one of the kindest people you could ever meet. I don’t believe he had a mean cell in his body. He had a contagious passion for certain nerdy things, and he introduced me to several of them.

I was moderately interested in reading when we met in 10th grade, but he introduced me to science fiction author John Varley and fantasy author Steven Brust. There are damn few authors whose books I read more than once, but those two are top of the list. Brust especially put a voice in my head that became a core of my desire to become a writer; the first book of his I read was loaned to me from John. He later asked me in his kind and gentle way to please not dog-ear the pages on any future loans, and I never did. Brust and Varley influenced me so much I mentioned both of them in the acknowledgements of my first book, Lose it Right.

Another thing John introduced me to was fencing. I was never into any sports growing up except that one, for about four years. We traveled across the province together for competitions. I was okay at it. It was fun for a person immersed in sword and sorcery novels to get to pick up a blade and stab people for real.

And yet another thing John introduced me to was the band Rush.

Their music became my obsession. I plastered the walls of my room with them and bought every cassette tape. I made friends with other people I never thought I would have over our shared love of the band. Their lyrics defined my teenage years.

In 2011 I got to interview the media-shy man who wrote those lyrics. Today is the one-year anniversary of his death. That’s why I’m writing this.

Neil Peart was the “new guy” in the band, joining after their first drummer, John Rutsey, was more or less forced out. They had creative differences, but there were also worries that his diabetes would not allow him to handle the harsh life of being on tour. For the second and all subsequent albums, Neil joined Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson, transforming the band into masters of prog rock with insightful lyrics about life, fantasy, science fiction, and other cool shit to counter the endless array of rock songs about sex and drugs.

Don’t get me wrong. I liked the sex and drugs songs too. But Rush always held a special place in my heart, and at 52 years old they remain by far my favorite band.

In August 2010 I began writing a fitness column for the Los Angeles Times. I had not yet done much in the way of celebrity fitness interviews. But on June 27, 2011 I told my editor Rosie that I was going to be at a Rush concert three days hence and thought the drummer would make for a good fitness interview because he was 58-years old and still played these amazing three-hour shows and had recently been named the world’s “greatest living drummer” by Rolling Stonemagazine. Rosie, who I will forever adore for giving me my big writing break, said to go for it.

At the time I didn’t realize how much of a long shot it was. Neil didn’t like any form of hero worship and was parsimonious in the granting of interviews.

I did some googling and located the name of a representative at Rush Management and sent her an email. She got back to me the following day saying I hit the “trifecta” needed to get an interview: I was writing for the Los Angeles Times, which is where Neil had made his new home, I was a fellow Canadian, and because I wanted to talk fitness.

And it turned out that Neil was a big fan of fitness and had been eager to talk about his regimen, and I was the one who asked.

I live in Calgary and the concert was in Vancouver, a 10-hour drive away. My best friend Craig and I left in the early morning hours to ensure we made it with plenty of time to spare. We checked into our hotel and had a late lunch and I refrained from drinking because I didn’t want to show up to the interview with beer on my breath. Craig drank though.

I had seen the Rush documentary Beyond the Lighted Stage as well as heard the song “Limelight” about a thousand times, so I knew Neil didn’t go for hero worship. Nevertheless, his rep beat it into my head that this was to be an interview strictly about fitness. I assured her that I would be professional, despite the fact that I was internally geeking out.

And I was professional. We spent 15 minutes alone together in his dressing room, and I was surprised at how friendly he was. He shook my hand at beginning and end, and he was excited, kind, and animated. He had a reputation for being standoffish, but I think that was only in the face of people who gushed about his music. I walked into that interview with a determination to not give any indication that I was a fan, because I’d heard he’d actually ended interviews abruptly if people did that, and it paid off.

I didn’t drink before the interview, but I got fucking wrecked afterward. The Rush rep gave us front row / center tickets to the show, and it was a glorious experience of drunken awesomeness. (See photo, especially the eyes.) They weren’t promoting an album. It was their “Time Machine” tour, which meant mostly the old stuff. Hell fucking yes.

On the drive home Craig did a lot of the driving and helped me think of lyrics to secretly insert into the article that I jotted into my notebook. I emailed Rosie and told her how great the interview was and asked her if I could have extra space. She told me to write it as long as I felt it needed to be, and she’d see what she could do.

Back then the LA Times was giving me about a thousand words a piece. This one was almost double that, with a massive photo spread; a “centerpiece feature,” they call it. It took up three-quarters of the front page of the Health section, and half the back page. Here is the piece. I have a framed copy of it hanging in my basement gym.

When it was published Rush shared it on their social media and their website. My email address is at the bottom and my inbox exploded with messages from Rush fans who loved the piece as well as how I’d inserted lots of lyrics into it.

I wanted to tell John.

But I hadn’t seen him in over two decades. I tried google and . . . nothing.

Rush has a song from their “Signals” album called “The Analog Kid,” so I went analog. John has an unusual last name, so I looked him up in the physical phone book and there was a J. [last name]. I called it, and he picked up.

“Hello?” I recognized his voice instantly.

“John! It’s James Fell.”

“James? Holy shit! How are you?”

And it was like over 20 years just disappeared.

He was excited for me. John lives off the electronic grid, working a job that doesn’t require an online presence but instead relies on his boundless kindness and compassion, which was not surprising to learn. He told me his wife’s email address so I could send the article for him to read. I went to a party at his house not long after. His wife is also wonderful. We met again at a Rush show in 2013.

Having secured an interview with the most difficult member of the band to get one with, I became committed to interview all three. Spoiler: that hasn’t happened. I spent four years pestering the same Rush representative and finally got a short one with singer / bassist Geddy Lee for a 600-word Q&A format in the LA Times that ran the day of their last ever performance—which was also in L.A.—on August 1, 2015. This is that piece. The interview was done on the phone, although Craig and I had seen their concert in Calgary a week or so previous and I’d asked to do it in person, but was declined. I could tell Geddy was tired of the long tour and considered the interview an annoyance: he wasn’t passionate about fitness the way Neil was, but at least I got the story.

Here is the thing: my favorite member of the band has always been Alex Lifeson, the guitar player. I fucking love that guy. And he’s the only one I haven’t interviewed. I thought about pitching a golf magazine an interview with him, because from what I understand Alex is one helluva a golfer and used to even be part owner of a golf course in Ontario, but I never got around to trying. Perhaps one day.

Celebrity deaths don’t usually affect me, but this one did. Because in the smallest of ways, I knew the man. I met him and sat down with him and we talked and briefly bonded over our shared love of fitness. There is also that small part about how he wrote the lyrics that had such a profound effect on me growing up.

I love dystopia. Novels. TV. Movies. And songs. This is from the 1984 Rush song “Between the Wheels”:

We can go from boom to bust

From dreams to a bowl of dust

We can fall from rocket’s red glare

Down to “Brother can you spare”

Another war? Another wasteland?

And another lost generation?

I have a fondness for inserting pop culture into my writing, and so did Neil. That one refrain includes references to John Steinbeck, the American National Anthem, Bing Crosby, World War I, and the 1929 stock market crash.

If you listen at the 3:35 mark, you’ll also hear my favorite ever guitar solo.

On January 7, 2020, we learned that Neil died from glioblastoma, a brain tumor. Only a handful of people knew he was sick, and it came as a shock. The same disease took the lead singer of Craig’s favorite band—The Tragically Hip—only two years earlier. Craig and I had once again traveled to Vancouver together in 2016 to see the Hip’s literal farewell tour when they knew singer Gord Downie was terminal. There is also the reality that glioblastoma took a member of our immediate family, so that was another gut punch.

I don’t usually get upset over celebrity deaths, but this one was devastating.

In my piece about Neil, I mentioned that after each show he enjoyed “a single-malt whiskey”. I later learned that such a drink was The Macallan, which is Scotch, so I should have spelled it “whisky.” Oops. Anyway, I’ve developed an affection for it. I went for a run earlier today and listened to lots of Rush during it, and as I write this piece, I’m sipping away at a glass of The Macallan.

Cheers, Neil. Thanks for all the music. You are remembered with much fondness.

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