The following is an excerpt from a short story called “An Eventful Walk Through New York” lampooning the bizarre, critical-flop of an album that is Rush’s third record, Caress of Steel (1975). The story follows an eccentric as he navigates his own mind through the streets of New York City, making ridiculous observations about ridiculous subjects.
The year is 1975. Rush releases their sophomore effort, Fly By Night (1975). Prince By-Tor emerges as a dark and mysterious force to do battle with the champion of goodness and hope, the Snow Dog. However, the band’s third album, Caress of Steel, saw him stripped of his titles, though now yielding the power of both bass and guitar. By-Tor was cast as the hero, violating the universe established in Fly By Night— thus creating a paradox. It is unclear how By-Tor came to fight alongside the forces of good—or could it be that he is simply fighting a greater evil? And what happened to his land and titles? We can only assume the land was taken from him by The Necromancer, but as for the title, less is clear. Was there some kind of falling out between By-Tor and his father, By-Tor Senior? Did he drop his title so as to travel more inconspicuously through the land? Or was there just not enough syllabic space to fit the word “prince” within the time signature? Yes, it is true that Part III is titled “The Return of the Prince,” but sources report that lyricist Neil Peart was very high at the time, so, despite the fact that he wrote every word, we’re discounting him as a credible source.
Furthermore, who are these “men of Willowdale” that By-Tor is trying to save? I mean, why does he care? They’re just three guys from a suburb of Toronto who went and got themselves captured by an evil wizard. Typical. I think By-Tor has more pressing matters to attend to, like, for example, hunting down the dog that kicked his ass in the last album. I mean come on man, have some pride.
This is a very serious issue to me. One of the four walls in my apartment is dedicated to this debacle, I even have that red string that you see in movies connecting crucial facts of the conspiracy to each other. I have it all: liner notes, lyrics, newspaper clippings, interviews, artist interpretations, a seventy two hour loop of the song “The Necromancer” playing over and over and over again; but what I don’t have is something I call the “missing link”—a scarcely populated portion of the wall dedicated to the big one, the question everyone is asking: why in the name of everything that is good and holy is the end of the song so much less awesome than the middle? I mean….really? That solo from 5:29 to 8:37 is mind-melting. Literally. It’s actually banned in most public spaces due to melting peoples’ minds. The problem is that the next four minutes-or-so of the song seems to fall flat. By Rush standards it doesn’t hold up, and what’s curious is that the lull at the end of “The Necromancer” is exactly the point at which By-Tor enters the song…
It is at this point that the narrator breaks the fourth wall, taking on what his editor called, “a sudden change in voice that isn’t consistent with the rest of the article.”
Aha! Piece by piece your plot is unraveled, you shape-shifting knave! You take the guise of a hero by defeating the necromancer and freeing the three fools, but actually you assault the ears of the listeners by turning the riveting complexity of Rush into something as base as The Eagles, or, dare I say it, The Rolling Stones! Prince By-Tor, you knight of darkness, you really are an evil genius.
Article by Luke Dominick