O.C. POP MUSIC REVIEW : Fans--If Not Critics--Get Rush at Arena Concert

Dear L.A. Times, I can’t believe your Jim Washburn was even at the Rush concert at the Anaheim Arena Saturday night. He certainly didn’t see the same show I saw.

For starts, Rush is a genius, incredible band, and I’m sure they didn’t practice so hard for years just to have some guy with a grudge and a pencil call them “sort of a Dog Squad version of the Police.” Yes, both bands are trios, but Canada’s Rush is so far advanced from the Police’s has-been pop music, it isn’t funny. Stewart Copeland couldn’t even lift Neil Peart’s drumsticks!

That’s just one of many errors in the story. For example, the song before the inflatable rabbits came on was called “Show Don’t Tell” not “Barf Magnet,” as Mr. Washburn had it. Rush doesn’t even have a song called “Barf Magnet.” Nor do they have an instrumental called “March of the Cumbersome Twinkie Trolls.” Do your homework! And what other band, outside of Pink Floyd, even thinks enough of their fans to have inflatable rabbits onstage, really big ones, not to mention real flames and other trippy stuff?

The review also said the band played “several kazillion” notes, when anyone paying attention could tell you they played 2,001,783 notes, each executed with precision and conforming to strict Canadian standards. Your reviewer, obviously not classically trained, can’t even begin to comprehend what virtuoso-level players these three are. Would Geddy Lee change his bass 16 times per show if he didn’t care? Rush rules! Sincerely, Rush fans: To save time, effort and stamps, why not just sign the letter above? Voila! You now have a letter of complaint in a real newspaper.

As most Rush fans probably know by now, all rock critics hate Rush. We have to. It’s in the union bylaws. If we even allow one kind word to slip through about the tundra-taught trio, we could face loss of benefits, such as the free Rush CDs the band’s label sends us. That’s right, for despising Rush, we get all their stuff for free! We use ‘em for coasters around my house.

I must admit that there was a time in my life when I could have liked Rush. It was the pre-teen time, when I got my first cheap high by firing off a roll of caps in my Mattel Tommy Gun and inhaling the smoke. I could have really gotten into “2112” then, before the nausea wore off.

At the risk of having my future supply of coaster/CDs cut off, I have to admit that Rush wasn’t odious Saturday. Even not counting Geddy Lee’s big insect of a voice, the group has a distinctive sound. These guys are sort of a Dog Squad version of the Police: tight and propulsive, with Lee and admittedly techo-fabulous drummer Peart (who had a remarkable drum solo spot) laying down solid yet shifting foundations, and guitarist Alex Lifeson erecting structures of sound over them with his choppy rhythm style and chiming leads.

In both its music and Peart’s lyrics of sci-fi visions and ruddy-faced Canuck Angst , Rush is a very clever band. But for me, at least without the benefit of cap-gun smoke, cleverness only goes so far, and one starts longing for such elements as emotion, intimacy and soul. Those weren’t forthcoming Saturday, though there were those very large inflatable bunnies as well as flames, fireworks explosions and some very clever films.

Over its two-hour show, the band played a mix of old favorites and songs from the current “Counterparts” album. The list included “The Spirit of Radio,” “Cold Fire,” “Time Stand Still,” “Roll the Bones” (overwhelmed by the accompanying film in which dice morph into a talking skull), “Animate,” “Limelight,” “Show Don’t Tell” and “Tom Sawyer.”

Most members of the capacity audience were on their feet throughout, singing along, clapping, toking and acting as if they were having a tremendous time. Good thing we critics know better! Openers Candlebox proved to be just another band without a spark, cranking out the same tedious, undistinguished pap that has been giving hard rock a bad name for two decades. Welcome aboard!

This was the Anaheim Arena’s first time hosting hard-rock, and it wasn’t any great delight. Shall we start with security? Along with intrusive though not necessarily effective body frisks, guards required many concert-goers to empty out their pockets, a demeaning way to treat people who are supposed to be your guests. Not that the security person using the f-word to address people in line set a better example.

Inside, the tight spacing between rows leaves little room for serious air guitar or other displays of rocking out . The sky boxes that ring the hall distract from the concert ambience. With their glass windows and glaring TV sets inside, you almost get the feeling you’re in the middle of a condo complex instead of a concert.

All those hard glass surfaces also may contribute to the hall’s booming, echoey sound which, while not quite so abominable as the L.A. Sports Arena’s, is markedly worse than the Forum’s. You might expect that the older halls would be the slaughterhouses of sound, as they were designed before the modern era of rock concerts. Such concerts have been arena staples for a quarter-century now, and it’s surprising that a new facility would be planned with so little regard for acoustics.