The future according to Rush runs like clockwork

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Conceptual clocks were set every which way, calendars were meaningless, and the durable Rush trio was right on time for the first of its two shows at the Air Canada Centre on Sunday. The semi-legendary band is touring its latest album, Clockwork Angels, a thematic record inspired by H.G. Wells/Jules Verne-styled retro-futurism – yesterday's imagined tomorrow land of steam-powered gadgets, adapted to flavour the band's accessible brand of Byzantine rock.

A three-hour concert saw furnace blasts of fire and belches of steam, literally and figuratively. There were old songs and new, and three drum solos at least. It all ended with a strong exit of parts of 2112, a forecasting album made 36 years ago and now a century ahead of its time.

On a stage of whimsical props and steam-punk gadgetry, the non-misfiring night began with Subdivisions, a thing of grandiose eighties synthesizer rock and tumbling drum fills that concerns urban planning, conformity and the restless dreams of youth. The Big Money followed, set to big-screen imagery of commercialism and cash registers, and cheered by audience members who had paid $70 to $160 to hear bassist-keyboardist Geddy Lee in high vocal shrill.

Lee, in shaded granny glasses, hippie hair and Chuck Taylor sneakers, is rather avuncular at the age of 59. Guitarist Alex Lifeson, also 59, used his collection of Gibson products to produce squealing solos and quick-fingered, high-fretboard note-hitting – jumbo-screen close-ups of which enabled us to count the carats of his wedding ring. Drummer Neil Peart, who continues to morph into a sad-faced Buster Keaton look-alike at the age of 60, wore an African prayer cap and sat within an outstanding drum kit that had more chrome to it than a sixties Chrysler factory.

After that, things settled a bit, with a set list that disregarded well-known material and, after a short intermission, settled into the songs of Clockwork Angels, presented with a string ensemble. The crowd was politely appreciative of (though hardly wound up over) offerings strong in synchronized musicianship and a graceful sort of fury. What I would call a heavy, loud sereneness prevailed.

Rush makes serious music; the Peart-penned lyrics of Clockwork Angels were influenced by Voltaire's Candide and John Barth's The Sot-Weed Factor. It all distills into a vision, as Peart has explained, of "one of many possible worlds," driven by steam, alchemy and intricate clockworks.

And yet part of Rush's charisma is its lack of self-seriousness. Some of the concert experience involved Monty Python-like animations on the big screen behind the band, as well as quirky high-budget vignettes starring actor Jay Baruchel and, as jokester gnomes, the members of the band.

The Clockwork Angels set had begun with the busy, shifting music of Caravan, with the line, "In a world where I feel so small, I can't stop thinking big." That kind of thinking is a theme of the band's career – a three-piece outfit of high-minded misfits, a group with no time or concern for expectations and naysayers. The train continues, powered by untraditional imagination and weird ticking.

THE GOODS

Hits: The welcome familiarity of Tom Sawyer, the rugged, jagged razzmatazz of the new song Headlong Flight, and the galvanizing anthem Spirit of Radio. On a stylish, retro-futuristic stage, the helium-voiced Geddy Lee sang (and Rush proved) that "all this machinery making modern music can still be open-hearted."

Misses: The nerdy air drumming by too many crowd members. All the world is a stage, and every third dude is a Neil Peart wannabe.

Overheard: "Hey!" "Hey!" "Hey!" "Hey!" Like Russian folk dancers, thousands of fist-pumping fans shouted out the exclaiming interjections during the night-closing excerpts of the epic 1976 album 2112.

In short: Ideal exploits in steam-powered progressive rock – classic and up-to-date, elegant and studied, but just furious enough.