Despite my hesitancy to full embrace this white witch, I love Fleetwood Mac. Who doesn't? Some of their albums, like Tusk, are generally accepted as unparalleled, brilliant pop songwriting. But I realize that I what I appreciate in albums by Mariah Carey (decidedly less generally accepted) and other R&B pop divas is similar to what I love about Fleetwood Mac.
Before Aaliyah and Timbaland, before Mariah Carey and all her brilliant producers on The Emancipation of Mimi, before Beyonce and her shrewd genius to hire whomever she needs to get the sounds she wants, there was the amazing combination of Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks. It takes some complex structure building to harness all that wild vocal energy well. [Which may or may not relate to the Dargis quote in the previous post about certain dazzling actresses overpowering, or sharing authorship of, some male-made movies that they're in.]
Buckingham’s solo albums are unbeatable; they’re unbelievably good productions. But, like Timbaland’s solo stuff, not quite as listenable as you'd like them to be. And Stevie Nicks on her own is hard to take. But combine the two, especially with a little time and upheaval and some Marin County views, and you have the best kind of album magic. As Nicks wails so hazily, “Thunder only happens when it’s raining.” Totally, whatever that means. Then add Christine McVie and it gets unreal. (Sorry, music's not my usual beat.)
SOME VIEWS OF MARIN COUNTY:
Headlining this Magic Mountain Fest on Mt. Tamalpais:
The Miracles and The Byrds
Mt Tam Woman by Suzanne Deveuve
Also on this same list?
Ronnie Ronette and Phil Spector.
Neil Hagerty and Jennifer Herrema of Royal Trux.
But it’s Fleetwood Mac especially—with shimmering, deep, complex, insane, sometimes tense layers of pop—that remind me most of what, I think, is the best music being made in the last ten or fifteen years: r&b pop.
