A odd-meter blast from my musical past
I’m listening to Xanadu.
No… Not the revolting Olivia Newton John roller disco schmaltzfest. I’m talking about the eleven minute long mythological prog-rock opera from Rush’s 1977 album A Farewell to Kings. On a whim I downloaded the album on my iPhone today while out on a walk.
That’s when I stepped through the wormhole.
Rural Middletown, Connecticut. A sunny fall day in 1978. I wasn’t old enough to drive yet, but my friend Rob had recently gotten his license. We were cruising around after school with a couple other friends in his gold 1968 (’69?) Pontiac Tempest. Not having anywhere better to go, we had parked alongside Preston Avenue, which at the time was a narrow gravel road near interstate 91. The road is paved now and there’s houses and development everywhere, but back in the day you were basically driving around out in the woods. We were just sitting there listening to the usual Foghat, Foreigner and Thin Lizzy when this very odd new song began to play. I was sitting in the back seat daydreaming and looking at the trees as the music started. The song began with a curious synthesizer drone, quiet swelled guitar and various bells and bird sounds. It was all very mellow and peaceful, a perfect compliment to the warm New England fall day. Then, from the distance I hear an enigmatic repeating guitar pattern. “Hmm… what’s that?” I thought. Suddenly, the music erupts into the band playing at full volume in 7/4 time. I’d never heard anything like it. It was huge. Epic. It felt as though I’d been hit by lightning. I continued listening as this grand story of immortality and regret coalesced and unfolded. To a 14 year old, this was a big deal. In some unquantifiable way something changed in my soul that day.
Even by the standards of the 1970s, this tune (the band too, for that matter) was never radio material. Way too long, too trippy, too… Out There. Rush was on tour to support A Farewell to Kings, so somebody at the station that day had decided to play it instead of one of the (just slightly) more conventional cuts. So, at exactly two minutes and three seconds into the song, I had my new favorite band, and the music of Rush pretty much became the soundtrack for my later teen years.
I may have the original vinyl album up in my attic, so it was a bit surreal to be walking down the street downloading the music onto a mobile phone. I suddenly became aware just how different things are now, and how much water has passed under the bridge since those days long ago in Connecticut. Music has that amazing capability to connect us to our past. Today was one of those days when the connection seemed stronger than ever.
