I'm nearly finished reading Neil Peart's latest book,
traveling Music - The Soundtrack to my Life and Times which I've been enjoying immensely, not just as a fan of Neil's musical work with Rush et. al. but as reader and writer. I don't always agree with his choices but, ultimately, that's just unfair nit-picking on my part. The book is illuminating of how this man thinks and functions; how he believes he got to the point he is at in his personal evolution.
For such an admittedly private and shy individual, it seems icongruous at first to be that open to those he doesn't know. But, there is a competing urge at work in him which, obviously, wins out, the desire to communicate through words and music with the rest of the world. That sounds facile, but, you know, I have that same desire, and yet the lesson to be gleaned from Neil's[1] public forays is that desiring something is not enough. You must give it your all, be willing to do whatever is needed to create 'great work.' Your aims should never be modest, otherwise they are not worth doing. So, for him to write great books about his travels it seemed axiomatic to him that he would have to reveal aspects of himself that he wouldn't under normal circumstances.
The point of this post, was not intended as a book review, but to discuss one of the foci of traveling Music and how it pertains to me. It is obvious on reading this book that Neil has a tremendous amount of respect for Frank Sinatra, going on at length in describing Frank's performances and the issues surrounding them. A personal hero, obviously, for Neil, much like Buddy Rich is.
For me, I've been noting how I respond to music that I've been listening to and studying (as I struggle to improve my rudimentary drumming among other things) recently, most notably an old favorite I finally bought on CD a few weeks ago, Yes's Fragile. I remember when I was a teenager (and in another life a struggling bass player, replete with purple Rickenbacker 4003) and I discovered Yes, that there was a marked distinction between the material with and without Bill Bruford. It became apparent, very quickly, that for me, it was Bill Bruford that made Yes as a band work. More so than Chris Squire's bass playing (which it should have been as that was the instrument of my choice at the time) Bill's ability to push and pull those complex arrangements and make them flow smoothly started me down the road towards having rhythm and time dominate my analysis of music.
It was because of Bill's playing on Fragile and The Yes Album, in particular that opened my musical palette to include King Crimson (though initial listens to Starless and Bible Black were met with a great deal of resistance), Bruford, Todd Rundgren, Frank Zappa (the Adrian Belew connection), and Allan Holdsworth. Later on came an appreciation for Chick Corea, Jaco, The Dixie Dregs, Bela Fleck, Leo Kottke, Tori Amos, Primus, Marillion and others. Bill's place as the 'musician I'd most want to emulate,' was solidified with the first Earthworks album in 1987. That album still challenges me in ways I barely understand. It is no shock to me that the bands with whom Bill Bruford has played were at their level best when he was with them, and nearly god-awful without. You do the math.
A special note should be made for the great English prog band, Marillion, along with Bill's partners-in-crime at Discipline Global Mobile for having the courage to create a business model that rewards both their fans and themselves without any middle man. Not only has Mr. Bruford (sic) been at the forefront of musical innovation for over 30 years, he's part of a more important revolution as well, the one where music exists for the players and the listeners and not the companies for whom the RIAA is their chief apologist.
I know that I'm not in anyway unique in my generation for having musical heroes like Rush (Alex, Geddy and Neil) and Bill Bruford, but then again, neither is Neil Peart for having Frank Sinatra and Buddy Rich as his.
Ta,
[1]Quick aside, I hate using the familiar, Neil, as opposed to Mr. Peart, for while I don't know the man personally, he and his work have been such a part of my life that it's hard not to consider him a part of my family and almost feels disrespectful to refer to him as Mr. Peart. Though, I know, that if I were to ever meet him that I would use the formal rather than the familiar greeting. Politeness should always dictate a first impression.
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