The first thing we hear is Neil Peart counting in the band for “Animate”, a solid combination of guitar, bass, and drums, with just enough keyboards underneath to support the track without overwhelming it at all. “Stick It Out” turns the “Limelight” riff inside out in a nasty way, obliterating any memory of synthesizers, at least for the next four minutes. “Cut To The Chase” is another bouquet of riffs topped by a gem of a solo, and stops just before you’re afraid they’ll take another rap detour. It’s overwhelmed by “Nobody’s Hero”, which boldly addresses a victim of the AIDS crisis in the first verse, alludes to a girl’s death in the second, and generally underscores the need to recognize the ordinary person for all his or her strengths before it’s too late—a message Neil Peart would be faced with a few years down the road. “Between Sun & Moon” explores the mysticism of the universe in a poetic lyric over, again, lots of guitars.
Unfortunately, “Alien Shore” is a clumsy lyric, attempting to reconcile differences in gender and race, and then “The Speed Of Love” actually explores that very concept on a highly intellectual level. Then “Double Agent” turns everything upside down, musically and lyrically, dominated by several spoken (NOT rap, thankfully) sections from the mind of a spy. Where else to go but an instrumental, in this case “Leave That Thing Alone”, giving each member a chance to stand out. Another juxtaposition of styles arrives in “Cold Fire”, which pits unlikely riffing against yet another exploration of the nature of romance. Finally, “Everyday Glory” provides something of a closing anthem, encouraging the youth to strive for greatness despite bleak surroundings.
Counterparts proved just how merely tolerable the last handful of albums had been. The misfires in the middle notwithstanding, here was a solid return to form, manna for air guitarists and practitioners of the real thing, and another step towards respect.
Rush Counterparts (1993)—3½
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