The world is round. Women like Rush. Friendship is the soundtrack.

 

I was in London, listening to records, when I heard the song, "Tom Sawyer," by Rush.

I was 15. I thought: "Wow. That's the weird song that's been on the radio all summer." 

Not unlike Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody," it was a hit that sounded like it should have been an obscure novelty song.

Too long. Too many changes. Too many time signatures.

And what the holy hell are those lyrics about, anyway?

In that same summer, vising with family in Ireland, my cousin John, a musician, had plastered his entire, small bedroom with rock posters and magazine covers. One of the most impressive was a Rush poster. 

"Tom Sawyer" became a broader world's introduction to a band that for nearly a decade had recorded songs and albums that by some standard, shouldn't work. 

Certainly, some critics thought so.

Consider "Xanadu." It clocks in at just over 11 minutes, and, taking a cue from Samuel Taylor Coleridge, describes a quest for immortality that ends in madness. And it's not even their longest song.

But on closer examination, things critics didn't like about Rush were actually common fare during this period -- lengthy, concept-driven compositions. Intricate instrumentation. 

High-ranging vocals. Epic themes of space travel, mythology, forbidden love, forbidden universes, pushing back against conformity. References to literature. Wearing satin robes on stage.

While other bands got a pass, somehow, Rush was always stopped at the gate. 

It was the fans who blew those gates open. 

In fact, unkind reviews only seemed to spur on fandom, because of the message that resonated in the band's work. Not everyone will dig what you do. Do it anyway. No one's writing your ticket but you. 

But, wait. Just wait a minute. 

Someone out there, and possibly, a Rush fan, is saying, You're....a girl! 

Oh, yes. I was 15, a girl, and I loved rock music. I loved to sing rock music, and write about rock music.

Weirder still, my very first paid rock review, in a national magazine, was of an album by -- yes, that's right -- Rush. It was Highwire, a great publication that provided opportunities for young journalists.

I didn't care that it was something of a passing joke that of all the rock bands in the reactionary, male-dominated world of rock music, Rush was the band women didn't, or couldn't, or shouldn't appreciate. 

Here was a band that I connected with, and so I wrote about them. I wanted a career as a writer. So, I didn't ask anyone's permission. I just started. 

"Donna's ability to illuminate the best in a person shines through her many roles -- as a broadcasting pioneer, media historian, university professor, and community advocate."

I went to an all-girls school, and Rush was just one of the varied bands most of my classmates enjoyed. No one put them in a category apart from Van Halen, Led Zeppelin, or The Who. 

In the years to come, I would argue, and still argue that women as consumers of rock music were not as obvious because historically, women did not attend rock concerts in the same numbers as men. 

There are a lot of reasons for that -- not least being that women and girls did not always feel safe, or welcome, in noisy, crowded stadiums. 

As with so much, men and women loved the same thing, in separate spheres. Men rocked out at concerts. In their rooms, women listened to records, or the radio.

It was a quieter space. But it was no less powerful. 

One night, I was listening to a radio show, a retrospective of the band's career up to that point.

What caught my attention was that in the early days, when Rush was struggling to break into bigger radio airplay, the person who helped get them over that hurdle was not a man. 

It was a woman, the first female music director of a radio station in Cleveland, Ohio. I remembered that this woman was credited on the back of the band's first album. 

Her name is Donna Halper. 

Now, as we used to say in the days of cassette tapes, fast forward about 15 years. 

I was an arts editor at Gate House Media, and a film was premiering at The Regent Theatre in Arlington, Mass.

The film was the documentary, Rush: Beyond the Lighted Stage. Donna Halper appeared in it four times, and, it turned out, is a native of the Boston area, same as I am.

I reached out to interview her for my article.

Later, we met up at the premiere. She was surrounded by a throng, and shouted over them, with her arms open: "Margaret!" with a light and warmth, as if we'd known each other a long time. 

About two years later, in 2012, Donna asked if I wanted to go to the upcoming Rush concert with her. We might even meet the band, although there were no guarantees.

Backstage, at the TD Garden in Boston, we did get to meet Geddy Lee, and Alex Lifeson. 

I had the chance to be in a picture with just them. I said, "No. This is something we're doing together. It's about us."

Around this time, my husband, the scientist and poet Lawrence Carradini was fighting terminal illness.

Donna and Larry and I had met up often, and in Larry's final days in the hospital, Donna came to visit and pray with us. 

She was also among the people who came to visit him in hospice, where he stayed just a week and a half before he died. 

In January 2020, Rush drummer and lyricist Neil Peart died, after fighting his own terminal illness. 

The loss of this person I never knew brought me right back to my husband's last moments. It brought me back to loss of my cousin, John, to heart failure, and before him, his father, Michael, to multiple sclerosis, and his mother, my grandmother, devoted Elvis fan.

In no small part, this was because Neil Peart's death was a personal loss for someone I know and care about.

Recently, Donna suggested me for a Podcast, in which the topic was women, and Rush. I was part of a panel of fascinating women of different backgrounds, from around the world.

I talked about how this unplanned and unexpected continuum of Rush-related moments led me to meet Donna. 

Knowing her, it's easy to see how Donna became a champion for a mostly-unknown bar band from Toronto. Donna's ability to illuminate the best in a person is a quality that shines through her many roles as a broadcasting pioneer, media historian, university professor, and community advocate.

I thought about this when I asked her to write a foreword for one of my poetry books, This Scarlet Dancing -- which she did. What she wrote stays with me
amid the challenges of my vocation.

My career as a journalist has brought me to many places, many experiences. The soundtrack of my life surely includes a Rush song or two, regardless of length.

And, Rush fans, indulge me here -- if it's true that there really is a Rush lyric for everything, then Donna Halper became that long-awaited friend.

Meg Smith is a writer, journalist, dancer and events producer living in Lowell, Mass. She welcomes visits to megsmithwriter.com.