ALEX LIFESON
electric & acoustic guitar, mandola

NEIL PEART
drums, cymbals, hammer dulcimer

HALLO-O-O-O!
Is there anybody out there?

That's what the title is all about. Everybody needs an "echo," some affirmation, to know they're not alone. Sometimes that can be life's most precious discovery -- somebody out there who feels the way you do. You ask yourself "Am I crazy?", "Am I weird?", and you need some affirmation: the echo. While the answer to those questions may still be "Yes!," it's good to know that you're not the only one. You are not alone...

And we're not either. During the making of this record, my partners Geddy and Alex posted some goofy "Inspirational Slogans" on the walls of the studio. Like this one:

We had taken a long break from being "a genius together." After the "COUNTERPARTS" tour ended in May of '94, we took almost a year-and-a-half away from the band, and during that time Geddy and his wife produced a baby girl, Alex (as "VICTOR") produced a solo album, and I produced a tribute to the big-band music of Buddy Rich. We worked; we traveled; we lived our lives; and it was fine.

All of those activities kept us off the streets and out of trouble until October of '95, when we assembled at Chalet Studio, a country retreat just outside Toronto. From my little writing-room at one end of the house, I looked out over the fields and autumn-tinged treetops all the way down to Lake Ontario. With this pleasant backdrop to my computers screen, I began sending a stream of lyrics to the small studio at the other end of the house, where Geddy and Alex hunched over guitars and computes.

In past writing sessions, the two of them often "built" the songs as they went, matching verses and choruses and roughing out the arrangement on a demo tape. At that point we would all listen to the song, and discuss what was good and what might be improved, both musically and lyrically. So much comes clear in that unforgiving form (guitars, vocals, and drum machine) and for me, with my lyricist-hat on, the first time I hear the words sung is a revelation. Unsuspected nuances -- and flaws -- and thrown into sharp relief.

But this time they chose another method: as the musical ideas emerged, they would go through the lyrics and try to match up a verse or a chorus, record that fragment, then move on to something else. They didn't want to get bogged down in the "jigsaw puzzle" of assembling whole songs, but rather keep the momentum going with a flow of fresh ideas. Fair enough, of course -- whatever works! -- but this reporter was growing a little anxious when a couple of weeks went by and he still hadn't heard anything.

However, I continued "feeding the machine" with more lyrics and when I need a "left-brain break," I could go have a bash on the small practice kit in the hall outside my room. During our hiatus, instead of getting away from drumming, it had actually assumed a new importance in my life -- after thirty years of playing the "traps" (for "contraption"), I was able to step away from performing and really explore drumming, and it became a revelation to me.

So, as the days went by I was doubly eager to hear something new. The left brain wanted to know if any of the words were working out, and when I switched hemispheres and practiced my drumming, the right brain wanted some songs to work on. Finally the day came when Geddy and Alex were ready to play me some completed music, and called me into the studio. All a little nervous, we glanced around the Lerxst Sound console and played the tape.

Nothing to be nervous about -- I loved what I heard. Wearing my lyricist-hat, it was gratifying to hear those endlessly fussed-over words come alive in song, and wearing my drummer-hat, it was inspiring to hear so many musical directions to explore, and all the possibilities for rhythmic fun and games. This was going to be good.

Now we began the process of refining the arrangements and developing our individual parts. And now it began to snow -- in Biblical proportions. An early blizzard struck on the first of November. Artic winds swirling in a deep blanket of snow over the woods and pastures, and that seemed to be the weather forecast until the record was finished -- six months later. No coincidence that the Artic theme pervades our cover art, for it certainly pervaded our working environment.

By early December the songs were nearly all written, arranged, and recorded (to varying degrees of refinement), and we were joined by Peter Collins (with his snowboots). In previous years, Peter had been our co-producer on "POWER WINDOWS," "HOLD YOUR FIRE," and "COUNTERPARTS," and once again he came through for us, suggesting many small-but-critical improvements to the arrangements and our individual parts. Perhaps Peter's greatest contribution is his instinct for pointing us in directions we would never have imagined.

Which, of course, is exactly why you have a co-producer.

As the process continued, Peter kept his ears on the "overview" of the songs and performances and let the three of of us, and recording engineer Clif Norrell (Faith No More, R.E.M., Catherine Wheel, etc..) worry over the "inside" stuff -- the nuts-and-bolts of equalization, relative balances, and mathematical precision, Clif's experienced and sensitive cars helped to translate the sounds we imagined into the sounds we heard (no small feat!).

At the beginning of January we started recording at Bearsville Studios, in the Catskill Mountains of New York State, and naturally we arrived there on the very day of the "Blizzard Of '96." Back in Toronto, we moved into the cozy little world of Reaction Studio, and still the snow kept falling (for forty days and forty nights). By April, Spring out to have been sniffing around, but the flurries continued as we moved into McClear Place, ready for the final mix. Different people have different reactions to this crucial time. For myself, an impatient sort who likes quick gratification, I call it "The End Of Waiting"; while Geddy, still harboring visions of sudden perfection and miraculous transformation, refers to mixing as "The Death Of Hope." For Alex, there are more important concerns: Inventions. Dinner. Louder Guitars.

Mixing engineer Andy Wallace (Nirvana, Rage Against The Machine, Faith No More, etc.) came on board at this point (with his snowboots), all fresh and untainted by the recording process.. Working quickly and intuitively, Andy was able to take all of that music we'd lived with for so long and weave it into new and unexpected patterns. When we heard his mix of a song for the first time, invariably we'd say something like, "Wow -- I never thought of it like that before!"

Which is exactly why you bring in a mixing engineer.

And that's our little story: We took a long break. We made a record. It snowed a lot.

Oh there's more -- a whole cinematic "back-story," some of which can perhaps be read between these lines: All the years leading up to where we are today, the eager determination we brought to this project, the dedicated time and effort that went into making it (and not just when it was snowing, either -- two summers went into it as surely as did two winters. Or twenty years. Or thirty years).

And, of course, there are all the songs too, and what's "between the lines" in them. How the lyrics to "Test For Echo" (a collaboration between this reporter and Pye Dubois, like "Tom Sawyer," "Force Ten," and "Between Sun And Moon" before it) give a video-view of this wacky world of ours, and offer this tacit response: "Excuse me -- does anybody else think this weird?"

HALLO-O-O-O-O! Test.. for... echo... Is anybody out there?

"Virtuality" takes a similarly ironic view of modern life -- after all, what the heck is a "virtual song?" And who would want to dance to it? Same in "Resist," with the adaptation of the Oscar Wilde quote: "I can resist anything except temptation." Well, really, -- what else is there to resist?

Like the way I resist the temptation to talk about the music itself, just out of the "group modesty" (although a great baseball philosopher once said, "It ain't braggin' if you actually done it!"). I probably shouldn't even mention all the fine guitar solos and vocal performances, and how my colleagues shine on songs like "Totem," "Resist," "Time And Motion," "The Color of Right" -- hell, all of them.

"Individually, we are a ass..." Yes, that part's true enough, but still - after so many years of apprenticeship, I believe we're finally starting to get somewhere. Together.

Whenever we get there, and wherever there is, I sure hope we'll look out from that stage and find an audience waiting. Otherwise it will be like Gertrude Stein's comment on a certain midwestern city: "We went there -- but there was no there there."

HALLO-O-O-O-O!
Test... for... echo...
Is there anybody out there?

9/96