A blissed-out romp that starts with a fake-out: Are those white-hot guitars or a cranked-up Hammond organ over Peart's ramrod drums? Hard to tell, but it's a magical combo.
One of the consistent pleasures of any terrific Rush song - just pick one - is taking in the sheer spectacle of their efficiency, the almost freakish way in which the team always pulls together but everybody gets to be a starter. Here it's Peart, whose feverish and inventive playing creates its own kind of orbit. But even when the other players are spinning into the far reaches of space (Lifeson's solo is particularly cosmic), he never leaves them stranded.
Lifeson's guitar takes on a shimmering quality for the ride-out, an unforced jam that moves with the ease of a victory lap.