WORDS.

Sometimes harrowing, sometimes hilarious, always enthralling.

Quick warning: there are going to be spoilers ahead. You’d assume that was obvious given it’s a review, and I can’t really comment on specific things without mentioning what those specific things are. Still, best to have a disclaimer regardless.

Those who know me are aware I don’t really “do” reading books. Not in an untelligent, “I’m too cool for books” way, mind you. I’ve just always had trouble sitting down and paying attention to what’s been written without being distracted by something brighter or shinier. It’s a miracle I even managed to write this. So, naturally, when it was announced Rush singer/bassist/keyboardist/foot pedal guy Geddy Lee was bringing out a memoir. Aptly titled My Effin’ Life, I waited with bated breath to find out whether it would be released as an audiobook, which, to my delight, it was, with the bonus of being narrated by the man himself.

So, on 14 November, I started my one-month free trial of Audible, and “purchased” the audiobook with my one free credit kindly bestowed upon me by Lord Bezos. Now, I’ve never done a review of anything, and I’m painfully aware of how biased I am towards basically anything Geddy does, given Rush were, and sort of still are, my one true obsession, so I’ll try not to just blow smoke up his arse during this little review, but, even while donning my cap of objectivity (not to be confused with my seldom-worn cap of Objectivism, which we’ll come to later), there’s not much to fault.

Before Geddy’s story kicks off, he begins with a chapter dedicated to telling the accounts of his Jewish parents, who, having been born in Poland during the 1920s, miraculously survived the Holocaust, having been transferred between several concentration camps. You may wonder how that relates to Geddy’s “effin’ life”, but he makes it abundantly clear: he was told these stories by his mother as he grew up, and they shaped him as a person. Geddy cross-checks facts between various sources to ensure everything recounted is as accurate as possible, which is commendable. It’s clear he’s passionate about preserving the story of his family in an age where it feels like the atrocities of the Holocaust are being forgotten by some. It’s incredibly heavy to hear, and I’m not ashamed to say I cried several times during the chapter, but I do feel it’s essential to get through, even though he politely invites people to skip the section if they would prefer not to brave it.

It doesn’t get much chipperer until a little later on though, as Geddy next discusses the death of his father while he was just 12 years old, and the long period of grieving, which, according to Jewish practice, insisted he recited a prayer, the Mourner’s Kaddish, thrice a day for eleven months and a day. He also wasn’t permitted to listen to music for pleasure during this period, which included his bar mitzvah. It all must have been incredibly tough for someone about to become a teenager, with some aunts and uncles too concerned about his long hair to support him during a terrible time. All of this, combined with an amusing anecdote in which he caught his father secretly eating bacon a couple of years prior, caused him to lose faith in his religion, though he still remains, in his words, a “cultural Jew”.

Onto his rock ‘n’ roll origins, Geddy sounds in his element while he explores his inspirations, name-checking so many bands and artists from the 60s and early 70s, and also while telling the tale of the early days of Rush. Listening to him reminisce over getting their first gig, playing the bar circuit, and recording their debut record with drummer John Rutsey, is so captivating, even if you’re not so fussed about the intricacies of it all. Geddy is a natural storyteller, with little details peppered in to help transport the reader/listener (consumer? That just sounds bizarre) back to the scene he’s describing.

I mentioned intricacies in the last paragraph, and, as someone who lives for the bite-size pieces of music trivia most people are more indifferent about, this memoir is a real treasure trove. I love finding out how all my favourite bands and artists are connected, so when Thin Lizzy were mentioned, you can only imagine the ginormous shit-eating grin that grew on my face. I was already aware that Rush and Lizzy briefly toured together, but after looking deeper into it, I discovered not only was the tour in 1976, the year of both 2112 and Jailbreak, but those two albums were (possibly) released in the same month! What a treat for minus-20-year-old me.

Geddy never shies away from certain topics that some may avoid, including the difficulties he and his wife had in their marriage while he was touring with Rush, and, of more concern to me, Rush’s connection with Ayn Rand that seemed to dog them (in certain spaces) throughout their career. He makes no apologies about being inspired by Rand’s books including Atlas Shrugged and The Fountainhead, but insists it wasn’t so much political than the notion of being individualistic (and dare I say... selfish?) from an artistic point of view, to not compromise or conform and create radio-friendly music just because some men in suits tell you to. I’d just like to chime in here and say I'm inclined to agree with what he says (it's nuanced, but I'm writing this under the assumption everyone reading this review will immediately go out and buy the memoir so they understand exactly what I'm agreeing with), though I know some people would invoke Dril’s Law. To be fair, this line of thinking worked out incredibly well for Rush. With pressure to create a more commercial record after the relative failure of 1975’s Caress of Steel, the band went ahead and created 2112, another album with a 20-minute epic, which shot them to new levels of fame, and, nearly half a century later, is still regarded as one of the greatest classic rock albums of all time.

Going back to Ayn Rand for a minute (sorry!), Geddy ruminates over the meaning of Rush’s 1980 song “Freewill”, stating that those who “choose free will”, as per the song lyric, do not have license to act however they like without consideration for how they’re affecting others, giving the example of wearing a mask during the COVID pandemic as him exercising social responsibility, lamenting the Dale Gribble tribute acts who love to spout nonsense on social media, twisting the lyrics of that song to suit their own agenda. When debating these issues, it would be so easy to say something polarising and alienate a significant portion of your audience (and I’m trying my absolute hardest not to!), but Geddy approaches everything with welcome diplomacy while still being assertive in his beliefs, a lesson I believe many could learn from… myself included.

Hang on. “Social responsibility”? Doesn’t really sound like something they’d be too thrilled about over at the Ayn Rand Institute, does it? Not for me to assume their political beliefs, but could those who sought to label Rush a conservative or right-leaning band be wrong? It’s almost as if they haven’t listened to “Red Tide”, “Territories”, “The Larger Bowl”, or many other tracks they released post-1976! But I’ll leave all that for another article.

With many more stories of touring and recording with Rush (a reminder they were together over forty years, so buckle up), the memoir ends in a similar vein to how it began: tear-jerking stories concerning the deaths of family members and close friends, with a particular focus on bandmate Neil Peart’s passing in January 2020 from glioblastoma (brain cancer). Whether you’re a die-hard Rush fan or not, it’s utterly heartbreaking to listen to Geddy describe the events, from the blunt email he received while on vacation about his friend’s diagnosis, to their last meeting in which Peart told him how proud he was of the body of work they had produced together since 1974.

I came away from the 16-hour-long audiobook (talk about getting my free trial’s worth!) with the sense that it was cathartic for him to write all these things down, and I really hope it was. Though he readily admits he hasn’t been an absolute saint at times, I’d argue simply admitting that is more than most would dare to, and Geddy comes across every bit as charming, funny, and goofy as previous interviews and documentaries would have you believe.

Even as someone who loves almost every Rush song and thought he knew everything about them, I learned so much more, which greatly satisfied the ever-growing black hole of pointless trivia inside my brain. The only thing this book doesn’t address that I desperately want answered is the mystery of why Rush decided to change the ending of The Analog Kid when they played it live. It’s always puzzled me as I think the studio version has a much stronger ending, but I suppose that’s not particularly pertinent to a memoir. Ah well, I’ll have to wait a bit longer for an answer. The only other hole I can poke in the book (figuratively. Please don’t poke actual holes in books) is that there are so many references to movies and TV shows I’ve never seen, but in all fairness, that’s to be expected given I basically only ever watch The Simpsons on repeat.

If you’re a Rush fan, My Effin’ Life is a must-buy (the audiobook even has Alex Lifeson read a few excerpts, as well as a couple of previously unheard demos from Geddy’s 2000 solo album My Favourite Headache), but I’d encourage any music lover to give it a try. There are a ton of great anecdotes that aren’t just the same old “look at me, I snorted a dozen lines and had sex with a 16-year-old” stories you’re likely to hear from other rockers of that era. The guys in Rush were just plain oddballs, with one tale of Lifeson entertaining people backstage by putting a bag over his head and sticking his arms through the bottoms of his sweatpants really encapsulating their sense of humour.

As a bonus, Geddy is currently on tour promoting his book, starting in North America and finishing in the UK. A different special guest interviewer is present in each show, with, at the time of writing, the likes of Paul Rudd and Eric McCormack taking on that role. Ticket prices may seem a little steep, and I was a bit perplexed at first, but knowing it includes a free hardcover copy of the memoir (which retails at £30) on arrival at the venue, as well as a donation to the Lakeside Park Memorial Fund for Neil Peart, I’d argue they’re quite reasonable. Besides, it's not like I paid for the audiobook! I’ll be going to the Sheffield date on 13 December, and, what with there being a Q&A section during the show, perhaps the mystery of the Analog Kid live ending will finally be solved.