By mid-1975 all signs pointed toward a major commercial breakthrough for Rush. Fly By Night had turned into a minor hit, landing the band some plum tour slots, opening for KISS, Aerosmith, and Blue Öyster Cult. As was the custom in the music industry at the time, the iron had to be struck while it was still hot. The boys had some serious momentum happening, so why not have them crank out another album for a late-year release? They were young and full of ambition, and to make things even better, were given three weeks to record, which, compared to the previous two albums, was a luxury. That crucial, successful third album seemed like an inevitability. How could they mess that up?

Well, they did. Maybe a sign that Caress Of Steel was doomed was how the intended silver cover art was mistakenly rendered a murky copper color by printers instead. Either way, Rush’s third album was a brutal misfire, both artistically and commercially. It starts off in very strong fashion with the boisterous, anthemic “Bastille Day,” a spot-on encapsulation of the way Rush continued to perfect Zeppelin-sized riffs, progressive rock experimentation, and storytelling. However, it’s all downhill from there. “I Think I’m Going Bald” is a lark, a funny poke at Max Webster frontman and friend of the band Kim Mitchell — as well as a piss-take on KISS’s “Goin’ Blind’ — but is nothing more than a toss-off, better suited as a B-side. “Lakeside Park” is clearly “Fly By Night” Part Two, with Neil Peart waxing nostalgic for his St. Catharines home atop a pastoral-sounding arrangement, but lacking the grace, charm, and hooks of the single it tries so hard to mimic.

Caress Of Steel’s most egregious mistake is cramming in two gigantic epics, neither of which succeeds at all. The 12 and a half-minute “The Necromancer” is bogged down by a horribly complicated, sleepy narration by Peart, whose voice is pitch-shifted to a comically low register. Only the final third of the song, a section called “Return Of The Prince,” is worth noting for its shameless rip-off of the Velvet Underground’s “Sweet Jane.” It’s with the 20-minute “The Fountain Of Lamneth,” though, where Peart, Lee, and Lifeson bite off more than they can chew. They have the right idea — the wicked signature riff of “In The Valley” is reprised wonderfully in the closing movement “The Fountain” — but the song quickly becomes muddled with song fragments that are awkwardly stitched together. It’s a harsh lesson every progressive rock and metal band goes through at one point: you can be as experimental, as technically ambitious as you want, but even prog has to be catchy, and these two songs were unmitigated failures.

Needless to say, audiences were baffled by what they heard on Caress of Steel, and consequently sales plummeted. Things got so dire for the band that its tour in support of the record was jokingly dubbed the “Down The Tubes Tour,” and Mercury Records in the United States was less than impressed, pushing the band to put out another proper “hit” single rather than all this self-indulgence. Rush’s true turning point had arrived: either succumb to the demands of the label, or take a mulligan on Caress Of Steel and record the prog rock magnum opus they knew they had in them. The band opted for the latter option, and just six months later would have an all-time classic album under its belt.