In 1997 and 1998 Rush’s comfortable, relatively peaceful world was rocked by unimaginable tragedy. Neil Peart’s daughter Selena was killed in a highway accident on her way back to university on July 4, 1997, and if that wasn’t awful enough, his wife Jackie died of cancer ten months later, inconsolable after the loss of her daughter. At Selena’s funeral Peart told his bandmates to consider him retired, and after Jackie’s death he set off on a colossal, 55,000 mile motorcycle journey that would result in his bestselling memoir Ghost Rider: Travels On The Healing Road. As long as Peart was out, Rush was no longer a band; it was as simple as that. It would only continue if he decided to return, and it wouldn’t be years until Lee and Lifeson got a definitive answer. In the meantime, the pair kept up appearances at public events, and Lee kept the creative juices flowing, putting out his solo debut My Favorite Headache in 2000.

In 2001, Peart started to let his mates know he was ready to try to make new music again, and so began the long, laborious, 14-month feeling-out process that would result in Vapor Trails. As Lifeson would tell writer Martin Popoff, “The expectations were different. It wasn’t the same band anymore, and we weren’t the same people — not just because of what happened to Neil. We had all grown and matured a lot. When you get to your mid-40s, you definitely go through a change, and I think that’s reflected in the sound.”

It’s interesting how all this was going on at the same time as a lost and creatively stifled Metallica was trying to find itself again in exactly the same way. Although one could easily draw parallels between Vapor Trails and St. Anger — both are brutally stripped down, feature looser and grittier-sounding recordings, dabble in atonality, eschew guitar solos, were overlong, and were agonized over — what sets Rush’s effort apart is the undeniable chemistry between the three musicians, which miraculously remains intact throughout. It was a new Rush people were hearing, but that old familiarity was there as well, and although it was far from a rousing success, it was a very encouraging sign, with a handful of songs that are a pure joy.

It’s absolutely fitting for this album to be kicked off by Peart, and “One Little Victory” opens like a house on fire, featuring his most energetic drumming since 2112. Lee and Lifeson hold up their end with a nasty heavy rock groove, the darkness of the riff melody reflecting Peart’s lyrics, which aren’t so much optimistic as doggedly determined to get through tough times. And indeed, that’s the prevailing feeling of Vapor Trails: therapy through creativity. It might not all work, but it’s a necessary step for the band to take. “Ceiling Unlimited” is one of the album’s brighter moments, made all the more potent by the band’s simplified approach, this being the first album since Caress Of Steel to not include keyboards. The mid-album trifecta of “Vapor Trail,” “Secret Touch,” and “Earthshine” is especially strong, highlighted by Lee’s vocal performances, his mature singing adding texture to the material. The key track, however, is “Ghost Rider,” the closest Peart comes to directly addressing his hardships (“Pack up all those phantoms/ Shoulder that invisible load”), forming the album’s heart and soul.

Complicating things are the differing mixes of the album that now exist. The original 2002 version of the album, for all its sporadic strengths, is marred by an unfortunately muddy, overly loud mix that reduces everything to sloppy-sounding sludge. Much superior, though, is the 2013 reissue, which was given a complete overhaul by David Bottrill. Although it doesn’t make the inferior songs on the record any better, it makes the entire album much more pleasant a listen, bolstered by a much clearer, richer sound than the original ever had. If you’re going to buy Vapor Trails, make it the remix, and ignore the 2002 version.

Vapor Trails was an experiment, and a necessary one at that. If it wasn’t for that record, the world wouldn’t have witnessed Rush’s post-millennial renaissance, from the triumphant Rush In Rio live album, to the band’s successful 30^th Anniversary tour, to the late-career high water marks Snakes & Arrows and Clockwork Angels. “The greatest act can be one little victory,” Peart writes at one point. Vapor Trails was such a little victory, a difficult, wrenching, modestly triumphant statement that Rush was back.