I was never a huge fan of Rush; I liked “ All the World’s a Stage” and “A Farewell to Kings”, and I can appreciate the stellar musicianship of the band, but I now find them to be damn near unlistenable. On a Friday night in June, 1997, Barney Fife and I ventured to the Jones Beach Theatre to see his favorite band from Canada. Fife spent his formative years playing air guitar and air drums alone in his room instead of hitting the weights thereby morphing into a thirty year old man in a 50 year old body. We were mid way up on the mezzanine level at Jones Beach Theatre and he began to get annoying, his usually whiny self, so I decided to wander. I made my way into the orchestra, excused myself in front of the first row seats, and found myself leaning on the stage with Alex Lifeson above me and a great view of the amazing Neil Peart on drums. I felt a little bad for bailing on Barney so I decided to try and bring him down; I told each usher on the return trip out of the orchestra section to remember me, as I obviously did not have a ticket for the front row. When I got back to my real seat, I told Fife to come with me back down to the orchestra, and I would put him on the stage in front of his heroes. We made our way down the aisle and I told each usher “He is with me”, but at some point we were stopped and told that only I could continue to the stage. I shrugged my shoulders and said “ See ya Fife” and went back to railhugging the stage with my newfound friends in front. It was a great concert from my vantage point, and I really did not mind hoofing it back to Merrick Road to find my way home, but somehow Mr. Fife pulled up alongside me in his jalopy, I hopped in, and was quickly dropped off at my front door.

Crossroads

The Stars Look Down

Rock on!

GQ