Fly By Night (1975)

Fly By Night (1975)

The difference between Rush’s debut album and its follow-up Fly By Night is astonishing, and you hear it immediately in the opening bars of “Anthem.” The blue-collar, Zeppelin and Cream-derived heavy rock is replaced by a clever blend of progressive rock complexity and heavy metal fire — guitar and bass displaying flamboyance rather than groove, punctuated by cannonading bursts by the trio’s gawky new drummer. And those verbose lyrics are a far cry from the “Hey now baby, I like your smile” of the previous album:

“Anthem of the heart and anthem of the mind/ A funeral dirge for eyes gone blind/ We marvel after those who sought/ The wonders of the world, wonders of the world/ Wonders of the world they wrought.”

Indeed, Fly By Night is defined by Neil Peart, who joined Rush in mid-1974 when drummer John Rutsey was physically unable to continue touring with the band. Peart’s unparalleled skill inspired Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson to step up their game, and the end result is a confident step towards a series of groundbreaking albums that took hard rock and heavy metal into strange, ambitious new territory. Additionally, it was clear the band was fully aware they needed a lyricist in a desperately bad way (“Hey, he reads books,” is the famous line Lee and Lifeson cite as the reason to have Peart write the lyrics) and Peart’s efforts on this album offer a glimpse at the rich science fiction and fantasy themes the band would immerse itself in over the next four or five years.

The way the band playfully tinkers with the art rock affectations of Yes, King Crimson, Genesis, and Emerson, Lake & Palmer in such an unpretentious manner is a big reason why Fly By Night is so charming to this day. Coming on the heels of the ferocious “Anthem,” “Beneath, Between, And Behind” is an ebullient little three-minute electric romp that echoes English folk music, while “Rivendell” explores Tolkien themes by delving into much more restrained, acoustic fare, marking the first time audiences hear restraint from this power trio. The breezy title track echoes Yes at its most pastoral — and a little Byrds, for that matter — and Peart’s wistful musing about leaving home for the first time has gone on to be an enduring classic rock single to this day.

“By-Tor And The Snow Dog,” meanwhile, is the most important song on the album, anticipating the progressive metal epics that Rush would compose over the course of the following five albums. An eight and a half-minute suite that cleverly builds tension during a remarkable instrumental break — led by a revelatory performance by Peart — it also marks the first time listeners catch a glimpse of the band’s uncanny knack for sly humor behind the experimental façade. Peart might have brought instrumental brilliance and literary ambition to Rush, but he also helped instill a sense of levity — and you can’t help but crack a smile upon learning that the epic fantasy tale of “By-Tor And The Snow Dog” is nothing more than a joke about how one of Rush’s roadies was accosted by the two dogs owned by Anthem Records boss Ray Danniels.

As major a turning point as Fly By Night is, it’s by no means perfect, and is still very rough around the edges. “Best I Can” feels like a leftover from the debut album, its pedestrian approach — not to mention Lee’s lyrics — clashing with the ambition of the rest of the record. “Rivendell” carries on for twice as long as it should, and the seven-minute “In The End” doesn’t coalesce nearly as well as “By-Tor” does. Still, Fly By Night remains a sentimental favorite of many Rush fans, the turning point where the band started to forge its own identity. The band’s most definitive work was still off in the distance, but the boys were now well on their way.