Just to reset this discussion now that Simon Phillips is in the room:
The guy I mentioned earlier who I went to High School with who had a Peart kit before I bought my Phillips kit (we both didn't have the tubular bells, whistles, and gong drums in our respective garages to truly replicate their setups) talked about the Schenker track, "Into the Arena" (which you will find in my mini flood of Phillips). He and I wondered who the drummer was, because even my Peart clone buddy dug it. Once I found out who it was, then I became Phillips clone. Too bad we never setup our huge kits together in the same garage, because it could had been a cool "Clone Wars" drum battle that you can smoke a joint to with no Jar-Jar in the same room.
Add the cacophony of two teenage drummers with more drums in the same area than we could find at our local music store trying to play two kicks times two equaling four while trying to play in seven with garage acoustics that could ping a db meter that Seattle Seahawks fans would buy earplugs for, we could have been faced with the same derision you would find people at Guitar Center trying to buy guitar picks, yelling at the guy behind the counter "I SAID, FENDER MEDIUMS!!" with the accessories counter not far from the drum department during the Xmas shopping season.
At least some people forgive George Lucas for Jar-Jar.
The point is: Peart is known for playing in only one band, and you know who the drummer is. Phillips is not as known because he plays for bands you listen to, but don't know who the drummer is.
Reason why? Neil Peart plays in one band that you have a poster of on your wall, while Phillips makes his living recording almost everything, and then go on tour to support that recording when called to, if the money is better than staying at home recording in the studio.
The mini flood of Phillips shows you several things: he can play Rush style music, he can play Who/Pete Townsend style music, Jeff Beck style music, and he can, even with a big drumkit play a Gadd style with Hiromi and Anthony Jackson that recalls Chick Corea era "The Leprechaun". Plus, he played on one of Peart's pet "Burning For Buddy" projects that I didn't link. All with equal technical proficiency of or better than Peart.
Both my high school buddy and I found out later post garages: we had too many drums than the gigs in our formative years required. Thus, we take a kick, snare, a couple of toms, a few cymbals, to then play cheesy "Summer of '69" at a bar that we had to get snuck into, but happy that we are playing a gig that ultimately might propel us out of the garage. We had to save all those rolls for breakfast because "Tear in my Beer" didn't require them. We just became working musicians, and my mantra in life is: the worst thing about work is when you don't have any.
The most challenging gig I ever had growing up was playing in a pit mini orchestra for a play that had dancers. I literally was picked out of my teenage garage realm by the musical director who had no drummer because, well, they didn't have the money to pay one, lol. I was practicing in the garage and this dude walks up, and asks me if I could do this gig. I said sure. He then told me not to bring all those drums, just a few.
I show up at rehearsal, and there are all kinds of "show folk" around: dancers, directors, actors, crew. At this time, I had very little 'formal' training to prepare as a professional in this environment. Of course, I wasn't getting paid hardly. I just got paid in some new drum heads which I needed for the whole rig, some of the rig I didn't use on this gig. That amounted to well over a couple of hundred dollars. For a six day run of about eight shows, that was about as much as I could make stocking shelves at the local JC Penny.
The first rehearsal, I got all kinds of music thrown at me. Everything scripted, cues, breaks, with a musical director trying to be Frank Zappa on speed. I started with several bars of a 3/4 waltz, than a few 5/4 bars that led back into the 3/4, then a latin section for a few more, then a drum solo for four measures, and then go back into the 5/4 bars coming in on the 'and of' the next bar in the 3/4 waltz that cued the lead dancer (who was the girlfriend of the producer) to her spot, then hold for three measures, then kick back into the latin groove, hit a stop to cue, then a floor tom pattern that I ripped off from Zappa's "Live in New York" into crescendo for two measures with a cymbal choke at the final note. Then play incidental stuff for set change.
Now this is just one song out of the whole show.
The kicker is: I had no charts. Even better: the first show was in three hours. I had to cue dancers without killing them onstage with fluctuations of tempo (at one point later that run in rehearsal, they were yelling at the producers that I was killing them, because the musical director decided to add MORE to my plate, thus me rushing the tempo through all of that), I had to cue them hitting spots while not even being able to see them, I had to sync with lighting cues, not be louder than the actors onstage...
I still treasure that experience today because it taught me a lot about being a musician, and especially being a drummer. Of course, there were a lot of perks to go along with the lack of pay. For one thing: hot dancers. I found out dancers love drummers. Of course with show folk, there are a lot of liberal tendencies within that creative community (with said musical director being gay, but never hit on me, yet hooked me up with a real hot exotic dancer in the show who was older than I by a few years), yet in the end, it was a truly collaborative challenge amongst thirty or so people.
If my HS buddy and I had a beer and read this thread, we would laugh at the notion of who was better between Peart and Phillips. We would laugh at how hard we tried play like drummers that ultimately got us gigs, but never playing their music that got us paid. The importance what they do today and for other aspiring drummers is to inspire us, and they aren't alone in doing that. I played in a drum line in high school, one of the best lines at the time in our region of SoCal. Playing with other drummers and percussionists taught me more than playing by myself with my Phillips rig. It still holds true today. I still collaborate with drummers and percussionists because we speak the same language, which is an ancient one.
The "best" drummer isn't the guy you air drum in your car while emulating a stick flip. A drummer's role is to help communicate not only the artists role and vision, but the entire production while making it unique. It's the most challenging, creative, and sometimes thankless gig, even when we do it as our own project. But that's what makes us drummers. Because we love what we do, and when we do, the music is better for it.