Signals Get Lost
The experiments that started with ‘Permanent Waves’ culminated in ‘Moving Pictures’, as commented Geddy, “these two albums have an equal meaning in the history of Rush.” However, the last thing Rush wanted to do was to repeat the exercise a third time. Confident they could move in whichever direction they wanted, it was almost an obligation to do something completely different. Geddy predicted a dark album; as things turned out, he was right – but not for reasons anyone expected.
Of all the influences the band had been absorbing, one in particular had grown in stature. First introduced by Hugh Syme on ‘2112’, synthesizers had offered Geddy a few additional textures on ‘Hemispheres’, innocuously biding their time. Their lure proved irresistible, for Rush as for many other bands of the time. For Geddy in particular, keyboards were about to take centre stage.
From ground level, as the band broke up for Christmas, things did not seem so complicated. We’re just going to be making another album, right?
In the spirit of experimentation, the threesome went their separate ways for a few weeks to play with ideas. “We stayed in our little rooms, and did our own work,” said Geddy, for whom the obvious thing was to sit down at the keyboards. “To me it was a new toy, a new texture,” he said. He was not alone: keyboards offered a constantly evolving source of inspiration for many musicians, at the time. “The most exciting things that were happening in sound were coming from keyboards,” says Paul Northfield. “With every new keyboard that came out, it was like, wow, this one is great, and we had to get this newest one because it gave you such a creative texture to work with.” Geddy’s fruitful experiments provided the starting points for ‘The Weapon’ and ‘Analog Kid’; at the time he wasn’t even sure if his outputs would be right for Rush, and was quite prepared to shelve them for a potential solo effort.
Alex was no less prolific, or experimental for that matter, there were plenty of new styles to try, and untapped ways to manipulate guitar sounds. As Alex was coming up with the theme for ‘Losing It’, Neil was still happy to stick with “real” drums, buoyed by the real-world experience of ‘Moving Pictures’. This time he would throw in ska, a little jazz-fusion and more than a hint of reggae. When Rush got back together at The Grange, a writing studio at Muskoka Lakes, Ontario, they found they had more material than they knew what to do with. “We had so much stuff it was ridiculous,” said Geddy. A melting pot approach ensued, the trio testing ideas out on each other, trying out new stylistic and lyrical combinations to see what worked.
As Geddy spent more time writing and arranging on the keyboards, so he was less focused on the bass lines. This had the unexpected effect of Alex spending more time with Neil, as a surrogate bass player. “Alex and I developed a relationship as a rhythm section, which guitar players and drummers do not do,” said Neil. “We developed an understanding of each other’s approach, and of playing sympathetically to each other, which we still use. The knowledge, and the relationship between us, was gained forever.”
The dynamics were shifting, but there was clearly no harm in that. Furthermore the schedules were calling, as usual, the momentum carrying the band along. At the beginning of April the band went on tour for a couple of weeks: ‘The Tour of The Nadars’ was an opportunity to give the first outings to ‘The Analog Kid’ and ‘Subdivisions’. ‘Digital Man’ and ‘The Weapon’ were played in soundchecks, and ‘Chemistry’ was already in the bag. Everything was looking good - after the fortnight was over, it was time to head back to Morin Heights, to complete and record their efforts.
By the time Terry Brown was getting involved, demos of all the songs had been worked out. “That album was ready to rock,” says Terry. “I had input, but not as much as I would have had on previous albums.” As usual, the first period at the studio was to get the sounds and finalise arrangements, so the now-pat recording process could take place. All three recorded the rough tracks and Neil laid down his drums, then came bass, then the more textural layers – the keyboards and guitars. “We wanted the guitar to become part of the rhythm,” said Alex. Oh, dear.
It was a simple enough error, if it could even be called that. As Geddy and Alex stepped up to the plate, the keys were always just a little better prepared than the guitar parts. “The mistake we made was not in getting into keyboards that heavily; the mistake was doing them first,” said Geddy. “Alex would have temporary parts worked out by the time we went in to record the keyboards. He wasn’t prepared enough, early on.” By the time Alex had worked out the problem, it was already too late. “Somewhere along the line we lost it,” said Alex. “I have to blame myself for it, but we were trying something new at the time.”
By filling the textural spaces with keyboards, Geddy was unknowingly tampering with a major part of Alex’s raison d’être within the context of Rush. On the surface, things continued much as on any other album, but the underlying frustrations were tangible. Alex was, according to Paul, “battling through a wall of keyboards.” In Geddy’s terms, “The guitar and keyboards were sharing the same range too much, and it was a struggle. They were each fighting for their fair share of sound.” The normally easy going Alex felt more and more frustrated, but his desire to go with the flow overwhelmed any other feelings.
If anyone was to watch the threesome goofing around outside the studio, they would have been surprised to learn that anything was wrong at all. There was plenty of fun to be had during leisure time, for example when band and crew challenged the female bar staff at ‘The Commons’ hotel in Morin Heights to a softball match (a return request by the male staff was politely declined!)… such occasions were as deeply enjoyed and memorable as ever. Within the walls of Le Studio however, not everything was well.
As time dragged on, band and producer alike felt less and less able to understand the issues bubbling up, let alone resolve them. “We were confused as to what our direction should be,” said Geddy. “You get so locked into it, it’s tunnel vision,” agreed Alex, whose usually jovial demeanour was being steadily undermined. “You get used to hearing it a certain way day after day after day, month after month after month. After a while it seems normal to you, seems the way it should be.” The tunnel vision was affecting Terry as well. “It was all becoming very electronic,” says Terry. “I had arrived at the point where I couldn’t contribute more if that was the direction we were going in, it just wasn’t my forté. The keyboard thing was becoming overtly the band sound, which I didn’t think was cool either.”
On ‘Countdown’ the keyboards even encroached on Alex’s last bastion, the solo slot: even Geddy admitted it was a step too far. “I don’t think I’ll ever do that again,” he said. For ‘Losing It’, the band agreed to get in Geddy’s friend Ben Mink to add a solo on electric violin. “We worked him hard, squeezed him dry, and threw him away!” laughed Neil. “He just stood there in front of the console taking it and giving it.” Ben did a great job, but it seemed that Alex was being pushed even closer towards the door.
In such uncharted territory, the one thing lacking more than anything else was an outsider’s view. “Perhaps we had too many producers in the studio, all vying for their own little thing,” said Alex; unfortunately, having developed a routine with the others over seven years, Terry was no more likely to add perspective and take control than anybody else. “We really needed Terry to sort of give us that direction at that point, like a proper producer,” said Alex. “Our relationship was too familiar, too easy, and it lacked.” Says Terry, “There wasn’t a big incident, but I think the writing was on the wall. There were some edgy moments, which was very unusual with us.”
The one attribute uniting both players and producer, was a dogged determination to bring things to a successful conclusion. As the project neared an end, the foursome rose to the challenge of ‘Digital Man’, a song that did nothing at all for Terry. “I wasn’t crazy about it, it had that sort of Police thing going and it didn’t really sound like Rush,” he says. “But, you know, it was a tune, I had to make it work, let’s get on with it, let’s do it as well as we could. I think we made a good job of it, but it was, a little odd.” “We refused to give in,” said Neil. “We wore away at him inch by inch, until he got tired of hearing about it, offered a few half-hearted suggestions, and relented.”
The last track to be written, codenamed Project 3.57 as it had to come in under 4 minutes, was ‘New World Man’. And with that in the bag, it was over.
‘Signals’ turned out to be a dark album indeed. As the final cut went to be mastered, a month late on 15 July 1982, the band confessed to being under- impressed. “We felt it was kind of a failure in getting the right balance between synthesizer technology and hard rock,” said Geddy, using ‘Subdivisions’ as an example. “We leaned too heavily into keyboards and ignored the guitar aspect of it.” Duh. For many years, Alex still felt a little too close to the experience but over time he managed to develop a certain level of stoicism. “We tried things that I listen to now and know weren’t right, but we learned from it,” he said. “At least we’re trying something different.” At the time however, everyone was glad that the recording was out of the way, and the desire to move on was tangible. “The big keyboard thing was a change up, and we were going to go somewhere else next time around,” Terry says, a touch wistfully. “Little did I know at the time, there wouldn’t be a next time around.”
The cover design for the new album was tricky, given Hugh’s limited remit – he was given no more than the word “signals”. “It was such a broad concept that it was baffling for all of us,” he says. It took a number of months to come up with a cover concept everyone was happy with, as Hugh trialled everything from Marconi and the RKO tower, to the ECG idea again (lucky they didn’t use this – The Police came up with a similar idea for ‘Synchronicity’ soon after). “We went through every permutation we could,” says Hugh. Using Canadian logic of a kind that Bob and Doug would be proud, in the end he went for the most primitive of messages. “I said why don’t we have a Dalmatian, a dog sniffing a fire hydrant. I don’t get it, they said. Well, think about it.” Once they’d got it, they liked it – particularly as the hydrant fitted with both the suburban undertones of ‘Subdivisions’ and certain meanings of ‘Chemistry’. The back cover incorporated a mock-up local map, showing imaginary subdivisions (that’s housing estates, for anyone in the UK) and buildings based on the band’s nicknames.
Whatever had happened behind the closed doors of Le Studio, the wider public was none the wiser. ‘Signals’ was released in September 1982 to a generally receptive audience (though clearly, a hard core of ‘2112’ fans found little to change their minds that Rush had sold out commercially). At the same time as the release, a specially produced laser show went live at Laserium installations in cities on both sides of the Atlantic. Externally at least, the band put a positive spin on how the album had turned out – but Geddy was the main spokesman. “‘Signals’ is definitely the direction that we’ve wanted to go in for a long time,” he remarked at the time – but he had been driving it, and the keyboard-laden ‘Subdivisions’ was one of his favourite tracks.
Everyone felt able to look forward – not least to the tour. Howard and his crew had been configuring what was the band’s biggest set yet – doubling the number of lights and upgrading the sound system. Bigger wasn’t necessarily more technically complex, but it did mean more stuff. “The only real issue, if it really could be considered an issue, was finding enough space in the trucks,” says tour manager Nick Kotos. The visuals were extended as well, a deliberate tactic as the band became ever more fixed to its kit. This time, the plan was to integrate film clips with the live performance. “It’s a very expensive medium to get involved with so we had to budget ourselves carefully, and try to get the most out of 30 seconds of film that we could,” said Alex. Despite their growing popularity the boys were still refusing to play festival-sized events, as they didn’t want to compromise their stage show.
The tour started 3 September, each opening night with the ‘Three Stooges’ theme tune – an indication (if any was needed) that the band weren’t taking themselves too seriously. There was plenty of ‘Signals’ in the set, so it can’t have been all bad, but the band declined to play ‘Losing It’ live in the absence of Ben Mink. Taking his usual stage right position, Alex favoured short hair, sharp suits and narrow ties, spurning heavy rock garb for pop togs. “You can only wear satin pants and boots for so long,” he said. The third night of the tour, and with no particular fanfare, the proceeds were given to UNICEF.
In chart terms the band were as big as they’d ever been. The afterthought track ‘New World Man’ reached Billboard #21 in October 1982; despite Neil’s opinion that the reality audio of ‘Countdown’ didn’t quite work, it was put out as a single in any case, with a video of the space shuttle launch provided by the band’s NASA contacts. “They’ve been very cooperative and quite friendly,” said Alex. You betcha.
‘Signals’ gave the band its first ever Number One – in the newly created Billboard album rock chart at least, a position it held for two weeks. Video play of ‘Countdown’ via MTV played its part in the album’s success, despite the band’s mixed feelings about the channel. “MTV has the same flaws that radio has, in terms of being too programmed and too easy to try and find a formula for,” Neil had remarked: unsurprisingly, the band turned down an opportunity to participate in an MTV contest.
Neil was starting to work through his own demons of fame, not least by taking a bicycle on tour for the first time and discovering the art of pedal powered obscurity. “I’m just another guy on the road,” he commented. “I’ll always choose a little farming community and go into the local diner and just sit there and listen. The incognito aspect of it is really nice but also you’re seeing real people in their real, everyday lives.” Neil found that by mixing with the ordinary he was able to keep in touch with normality, even when on tour. “I have acquired a whole new affection for America,” he said.
The ‘Signals’ tour came to a close just before the holiday season, and the first couple of months of the New Year had been allocated to non-Rush activities. As well as quitting smoking, Geddy produced an album for the Howard Ungerleider-managed synth-pop band Boy’s Brigade, who had been the support band from the tour. Geddy also played bass on a couple of tracks for Marie Lynn Hammond, on her album ‘Vignettes’.
Most importantly, the self-imposed break provided a much-needed opportunity to think about what on earth it was all for. Nobody was suggesting a split, but all recognised that things could not go on as they were. The possibility of dispensing with electronics was less than remote – they were part of the musical fabric of the time. One by one, the various options for change took one step back, leaving one poor soldier still standing, oblivious, in the front line. The producer. As Rush had gone on tour they had expressed their continued satisfaction with Terry Brown, but the months of tour bus discussion and introspection had given cause to re-evaluate this perspective. By the beginning of 1983, the band’s feelings about their “fourth member” were clearly in turmoil, as indicated in an interview with Geddy by the UK music mag, Melody Maker. “One day we might decide to go for a change, but if we did it wouldn’t be through any lack of respect for Terry,” said Geddy. “It would be merely a case of time and change, but I really don’t know if that’ll ever happen.”
Oh yes it would, and indeed did. Not only was it deemed necessary to involve someone more up to speed with electronica, but also the band felt that an outsider’s view on the recording process – a so-called “objective ear” – would help avoid the in- too-deep situations of the last album. Terry hadn’t created the situation on ‘Signals’, indeed, nobody had. Neither was he able to resolve it, no more than any of the three band members. “We were so close to Terry, he was in the band almost, and he wasn’t objective anymore,” said Geddy. “We could anticipate his input and structure our music around that.” Says Paul Northfield, “I think they reached a point where they knew what Terry was going to say before he said it.”
While the trio recognised the fact that Terry wasn’t the main cause of the problems, they saw his departure as an opportunity for resolving them. “It was really a necessary thing, not out of any disrespect or any problem in communicating with each other, but a matter of our band falling into a dangerous rut,” said Geddy at one point. “We wanted to put ourselves in a kind of shock treatment.” By projecting the situation onto the hapless producer, they could avoid having to look too hard at themselves. “I think it was a smart move,” says Terry philosophically. “It was either that or a band member change, and that wasn’t on the cards.”
The person who had been so vital to Rush in the early days, who had snatched ‘Hemispheres’ from the jaws of defeat, and who had such a huge influence on ‘Permanent Waves’ and ‘Moving Pictures’, was to be given his cards. Just before the band went back on the road, they went to Terry and told him what the plan was – in the manner of, we’ll still be friends. “They basically said that, you know, we’re just going to have a sabbatical, and we’ll get back together again,” says Terry. “It never happened, unfortunately, which was rather a shame.” Despite all that, the band were still proud of what they had achieved with Terry as co-pilot. “I think there will always be that recognizable chemistry that happened back then with Terry,” said Alex. “Terry will always have a soft spot in our group.”
And then, for the band, it was time to move on.
In truth, it wasn’t just Alex who thought the technological balance was awry. Geddy’s live performances were complicated by having to juggle between the different instruments, and his bass playing – his first love – was suffering. Dangerously, he and the others started to wonder – why?
It was like the band had eaten from the tree of artistic knowledge – once they’d asked themselves why they were doing what they did, it became difficult to carry on with any zest. “I found myself going on stage thinking about baseball rather than the night’s show,” said Geddy. There was too much momentum for any existential thoughts to change anything, however – SRO had just taken on a new general manager in the shape of Val Azzoli, the band had just picked up top group and top live band awards at the Labatts’ Music Express awards, studio schedules for the next album were already being defined and besides, there were all these dates to play.
On a stormy night in Phoenix at the end of February, the novelty of the technology became all too apparent. “Before the show there was a big voltage surge that blew out all of the keyboards and all of the sequencers,” explained Geddy, who managed to salvage a Mini-Moog from the mess. “We just said, fuck it, let’s just go on.” Snatching victory from the jaws of defeat, the band took heart in doing what they did best – getting out there and playing their hearts out. Effused Alex, “The night ended up being fantastic! It didn’t sound quite the way it was supposed to sound, but after a while we got comfortable with it and were able to forget it, and we played our hearts out! The audience was really behind us, and it was a great feeling to be up against a real serious problem and finish it off, coming together and being positive.”
The tour continued into Europe in May – and, as had become the norm, the band brought its entire set across the Atlantic. “The shipping bills are enormous,” said Nick Kotos, “but we do make a profit.” While on the UK leg of the tour, Rush took the opportunity to approach a number of producers, including such luminaries of the eighties pop scene as Rupert Hine, Trevor Horn, Peter Collins and Steve Lillywhite. “They went traipsing around England,” says Paul. “They loved Frankie Goes to Hollywood, and they were very interested in a lot of what was going on in England so I think they pretty much exclusively looked to England at that time.” Trevor and Rupert declined the power trio’s approaches: “I didn’t really understand what I could do for them,” says Rupert. “I too quickly thought of them as being a heavy rock band.” Not that they lived like one – the boys were spending their pre-show time in Berlitz French lessons, with a different tutor in each city. “Of all the bands that I have represented, I have never walked into a back stage area where it had ‘quiet please lessons in progress’,” says Neil Warnock. Rock and roll.
By the last date of the tour, a level of agreement had been reached for the next album – not to dispense with electronics, but to ensure that guitars had their fair share of the mix. The usually mild-mannered Alex was not entirely mollified – he started remarking he should get out more, take up a hobby or find a solo project; however, the forced march the band had undertaken for almost ten years, left little room for manoeuvre. “There’s not enough time,” he would complain – quietly.
As the recording schedules started to loom once more, Rush still didn’t have a producer. “We talked to so many people who were looking for that magical person with all the answers who simply didn’t exist,” said Geddy. “Working with Terry spoiled us because he was a very honest and responsible person and we were running into all these people who were horrible.” “They interviewed a lot of people,” said Paul Northfield, who was given the opportunity to set out his stall. “I got a phone call from them saying look, we have interviewed 20 people and 15 of them don’t know as much as you do.” He flew to Toronto, but his arrival served only to remind the band they needed a fresher pair of ears. “Alex said, ‘I love you, but I want to work with somebody I don’t know’,” says Paul, stoically. “It was a little tough, but I understood his reasons.”
Finally the band settled on Steve Lillywhite, whose track record with U2, the Psychedelic Furs and Simple Minds fitted exactly with the band’s aspirations. He was able, willing and most importantly available, so the band could stop worrying about that aspect. It was time for another album, as far as Alex was concerned it was going to have guitars.
Lots of guitars.