Trump Thinks Britian Is Spying On Him On Orders From Barrack Obama

[Thumpalumpacus]

Neither Red Barchetta or Dancing Queen address anything deep, like poverty or war or oppression. 

RUSH's Red Barchetta isn't the same as say writing a song about fighting social injustice. It is just about a teen who likes driving fast. Having gotten speeding tickets as a teen, I learned real quick that shit is not worth it. I still like the song, but no, that song is not deep one bit.

See, this really shows how little you understand what's going on. I did an explication of this particular song for an English comp class back in college. It is a story about the dangers of overweening state power beating down individuals, and an exaltation of the bucolic and traditional over the urban and modern. It uses a joyride as the metaphor to carry the message. At one point in the song, the bridge, the lyrics drop from narrative to sensory ("sunlight on chrome / the blur of the landscape / every nerve aware") -- but when you look at the imagery and sequence of events in the lyrics, it is a clear warning to not permit too much power to fall into the hands of the state.

Start with the idea that his uncle lives "far outside the wire". Which wire is this? Is it technological? Imprisoning? It's clearly a boundary of sorts. His uncle's place used to be a farm, before the "Motor Law". On Sundays, the protagonist would "elude 'The Eyes'" (capitalized in the original). Clearly, the point is that the government is regulating something as innocuous as a joyride.

Once he uncovers the car again, he "commits his weekly crime". A Sunday drive being against the law? Do you see the point unfolding? And not for nothing is the "gleaming alloy air-car" "two lanes wide" -- it takes up all the room, forcing retreat. Is it government forcing the retreat of rights? Or is it technology forcing the retreat of individualism?

My uncle has a country place, that no-one knows about
He says it used to be a farm, before the Motor Law
Sundays I elude the ‘Eyes’, and hop the Turbine Freight
To far outside the Wire, where my white-haired uncle waits

Jump to the ground
As the Turbo slows to cross the borderline
Run like the wind
As excitement shivers up and down my spine
Down in his barn
My uncle preserved for me an old machine –
For fifty-odd years
To keep it as new has been his dearest dream
I strip away the old debris, that hides a shining car
A brilliant red Barchetta, from a better, vanished time
Fire up the willing engine, responding with a roar!
Tires spitting gravel, I commit my weekly crime…

Wind in my hair –
Shifting and drifting –
Mechanical music
Adrenalin surge –

Well-weathered leather
Hot metal and oil
The scented country air
Sunlight on chrome
The blur of the landscape
Every nerve aware
Suddenly ahead of me, across the mountainside
A gleaming alloy air-car shoots towards me, two lanes wide
I spin around with shrieking tires, to run the deadly race
Go screaming through the valley as another joins the chase

Drive like the wind
Straining the limits of machine and man
Laughing out loud
With fear and hope, I’ve got a desperate plan
At the one-lane bridge
I leave the giants stranded
At the riverside
Race back to the farm
To dream with my uncle
At the fireside…

Neil Peart, all rights reserved