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Andrew MacNaughtanFebruary 25, 1964 January 25, 2012

photo Monica Curran

ANDREWREADYTOSHOOTTHEFINALSHOW

OFTHE RUSH TIME MACHINETOUR,

THE GORGE AMPHITHEATER, W ASHINGTONSTATE,JULY 2, 2011

REMEMBERING ANDREW

From our first meeting in 1985 until his tragic and unexpected passing (the day after what we

never suspected would be our last photo shoot together), Andrew and I shared a lotof history,

from the best to the worst. With Rush, we had toured together all over North America, South

America, and Europe, and Andrew and I also spent a lot of family time in our various

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homes in Toronto and Los Angeles, at the MacNaughtan cottage on Georgian Bay, and at ours

in Quebec. Andrews path first crossed mine when we both lived in Toronto, and continued

when we both lived in Los Angelesin my case, entirely because of Andrew.

But to begin at the beginning . . .

Andrews photographs first caught my eye in 1985, when I was assembling material for

the tourbook to accompany Rushs Power Windows tour. At that time the band didnt employ

any exclusive photographers, so Pegi Cecconi at our office sent me a big pile of submissionsfrom numerous peoplemainly plastic pages of slides, in those days.

Andrews live shots really stood out from the rest; they were more vivid, somehow

highlighting both the drama of the rock stage and the personalities of the players. That was

an unusual quality, and I chose several of his images for the book.

In later years, Andrew became the bands near-exclusive photographer, in concert, formal

portraits, and documenting our rehearsals and recording sessions. He even served (suffered) as

our personal assistant for two tours, Presto and Roll the Bones. As other assistants we have

employed over the years would agreewere they not bound by strict confidentiality

agreementsit was not a glamorous or easy job.Throughout that turbulent time, all of us remained friends. Though Andrew was something

of a self-confessed neurotic, he had a terrific sense of humor, and like me, he could laugh

himself into helplessnessespecially over the antics of Alex, who Geddy and I have long

described as the funniest man in the world.

It was Andrew who bestowed on me the enduring nickname Bubba. (I like to think

because he considered me the anti-Bubba, but I will never be sure.) He is thus

commemorated by my website departments, Bubbas Book Club and Bubbas Bar n Grill.

As for Andrews own nicknames, Alex, Geddy, and I, and the crew guys, first called him

Tony Randall, and Dr. Smith (from the old TV showLost in Space), but finally settled onZulu. Perhaps because he was the anti-Zulu. As those earlier nicknames suggest, another

of Andrews self-confessed qualities was his extreme whiteness. I used to joke that making

dinner for him was always easy: meat, potatoes, and over-cooked vegetables.

While Andrew worked and traveled with us back then, whenever any of us asked him to

do something, it was prefaced by a quietly melodramatic address in his direction, Oh . . .

Zulu . . .

By the late 90s, when I was lost in my own sorrows and traveling aimlessly by

motorcycle all over North America, Andrew had moved to Los Angeles. He kept in touch

with me, and urged me to come there and have fun. That didnt seem very likely to me, and

I was resistant, but I finally agreed. That October I steered my motorcycle to the Sunset

Marquis in West Hollywood for a short stay.

And you know, I didhave funhanging around with Andrew, his roommate Will, his Jack

Russell terrier Bob (one of the most characterful and agreeable dogs I have ever known), and

meeting new friends like John Kastner, Dave Foley, and Matt Stone. On that visit and others,

we had some long, funny nights at Daves house in the Hollywood Hills, wits well refreshed

andit seemed to usdazzling.


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Andrew and I attended the South Park Halloween party, him as an SAS officer and me as

Mandy the English biker chick. Andrew cut a slightly better figure as a soldier than I did as

a leather-clad, foam-enhanced drag queen, seven feet tall under a gigantic blonde bouffant,

with lavish, lurid makeup by Johns girlfriend, Nicolebut I was definitely more imposing.

Grown men wept.

In those days, Andrew and I often talked on the phone from wherever I wandered, and

shared our sorrows and anxieties. Typically, Andrew was determined to find a match forthis crusty old widower. When my motorcycle had carried me back across the continent yet

again, to pause in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Andrew sent me a few test Polaroids of a photo

assistant he had been working witha pretty dark-haired girl named Carrie. Again, I was

reluctant, gruffly telling him, not interestedbut finally I made my meandering way west

again, and stopped for a while in Los Angeles.

One day Andrew, Bob, and I were hiking along a trail overlooking the Pacific, when

suddenly we were startled to see a rattlesnake stretched across the pathright in front of

Bob. Andrew courageously kept Bob awayfar, far awaywhile I chased off the snake by

tossing a few rocks in its direction.Andrew arranged a double-date with Carrie, me, and someone he was seeing for only the

second time. So it was a strange, somewhat uncomfortable evening. A few days later, Andrew

and Bob led Carrie and me on a hike along that same Pacific trail. There were no rattlesnakes

this time, and Carrie and I talked easily, but a few days later I was riding away again. Then I

found myself circling back toward Los Angeles accidentally, and I met Carrie in Laguna

Beach for our first date alone.

It was there I saw her across the proverbial crowded room, and fell. That was in late 1999,

and the following September, Andrew was an usher at our wedding in Santa Barbara, and

gave a sweet speech as our benefactor.Just around that time, Andrews new partner, Alex Privitera, joined the family

completing a happy ever after suite. To Carrie and me, Andrew and Alex became our

favorite gay couple, sharing fun times in Toronto, Los Angeles, London, Quebec, Georgian

Bay, and an unforgettable New Years Eve in Palm Springs. They also often entertained Carrie

in Toronto when I was recording or rehearsing there. In May, 2010, Andrew captured a

radiantly-lit portrait series of Carrie and Olivia, at ten months oldanother memory to keep

always, and look at on our wall every day.

Andrew and Alex had an unusually close and enduring relationship, and together they

created a delightful and welcoming home in Toronto full of exquisite works of artone of

Andrews greatest passions.

And apart from the personal memories, it is his own art that will endure. Not long before

his untimely passing, Andrew published a book of fine-art photographs titled Grace, based on

his travels in East Africa. (Like a fair portion of his work in recent years, it was done to

benefit othersAndrew contributed generously to worthy causes like the Casey House

hospice and Art Gives Hope.)

In addition, his portraits and live shots of nearly every major Canadian performer of the


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past twenty-five years will be viewed forevera rich national archive of our arts and

entertainment history.

Many will feel fortunate to have known Andrew, and perhaps myself more than

mostintroducing me to Carrie was a life-changing gift. But even long after all of us who

knew Andrew are gone, his name, his unique creative eye, and his beautiful and perceptive

images will live on.

[Andrews generosity can be continued at: www.artgiveshope.ca]


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