2112 (1976)
1.2112
I.Overture
II.The Temples of Syrinx
III.Discovery
IV.Presentation
V.Oracle:The Dream
VI.Soliloqy
VII.The Grand Finale
2.A Passage to Bangkok
3.The Twilight Zone
4.Lessons
5.Tears
6.Something for Nothing
If a copy of this record were to be discovered centuries after a nuclear catastrophe, lying beside a worn-out pressing of Caress of Steel, one could be forgiven for assuming decades—rather than mere months—had passed between them. The transformation is that stark. Gone is the directionless experimentation and fumbling pseudo-mysticism of its predecessor. In its place stands a confident, fully formed statement by a band that had clearly decided what it wanted to be—and how loudly it wanted to be heard.
And thank heavens. Industry patience was wearing thin. The group, well aware of this, had even christened their prior tour “Down the Tubes.” But instead of crumbling under executive pressure to craft a radio-friendly concession, they doubled down on their convictions. If this record was to be their last, they’d go out doing what they loved, on their own terms.
Side one is, of course, the reason why 2112 continues to be revered decades later. The title track occupies the entire first half, and while the term “epic” had been poisoned slightly by its misuse on Caress of Steel, here it finally finds the stature it deserves. The concept is standard dystopian fare: music has been outlawed by some Orwellian body of priests, and our hero stumbles upon a forbidden guitar. Cue spiritual awakening, confrontation, and despair. Narratively, it’s not exactly Shakespeare. But musically? Musically, it’s brilliant. The structure ebbs and flows with remarkable discipline. Bombast is offset by quiet reflection. Tension builds, breaks, and rebuilds. It remains a concert staple for good reason (in many different forms - some abridged). The piece achieves what earlier “epics” only hinted at.
Side two, lacking the same narrative conceit, often goes unnoticed. It shouldn’t. It may not scale the same thematic heights, but it’s an unmistakable improvement over everything that came before. The Twilight Zone, with its slightly kitschy tone and pulp-inspired lyrics, is easily forgiven when placed in context: the band were still in their early twenties. The ballad Tears is a particular gem—delicate, understated, and genuinely moving. That they never again attempted anything in this vein is both puzzling and unfortunate.
The closing track Something for Nothing brings things to a rousing finish, though lyrically it suffers from a touch of youthful dogmatism. Peart’s flirtation with Ayn Rand reaches full bloom here. In fact, the entire record bears the inscription “Dedicated to the Genius of Ayn Rand.” He would later distance himself from such earnest libertarianism, but in the moment, it felt like conviction.
And what of Peart himself? Let’s just say his former life in the tractor parts business was well and truly behind him. The drumming throughout is precise, expressive, and—crucially—never indulgent. The entire trio, in fact, seem to have leapt forward as musicians and composers. The production, too, is a marked upgrade. Everything here sounds intentional.
2112 wasn’t just a comeback. It was a defiant declaration of artistic identity. It rescued a career, galvanized a fan base, and paved the way for everything that followed. The band had finally found its voice—and it roared.
Go back to the main page
Go To Next Review