I remember it well. It’s 1984: I’m 13 years old, it’s 6am, bloody freezing cold and I’m doing my paper round. To transport me away from this grim reality I have my Walkman (that’s a mini cassette player, kids) playing Rush’s first live album All The World’s A Stage. The album, released a decade earlier, blew my mind. It placed me front row and centre at this mythical concert. The guitarist was playing out of his skin, the bass player hammering punchy, melodic basslines with his insane vocals reaching notes I didn’t know existed… and that drummer. Oh my god, that drummer. When I started drumming lessons, my older brother gave me the album. I played it to death, doing my best to play along to every rhythm and drum fill. What I was hearing was incredible. He brought suc...