Some weeks ago, I enjoyed the sight and sound of Lindsey Buckingham returning to play live music. Some months ago, the former Fleetwood Mac main man underwent major heart surgery not long after he was fired from the band. Rolling Stone magazine showed Buckingham playing guitar at a school concert as his daughter sang Landslide. He looked so well, although he wasn’t singing yet, probably due to vocal cord damage suffered during his life-saving operation. Hopefully, full recovery will come.
This week, the remnants of Fleetwood Mac played Wembley Stadium, Buckingham replaced by both Neil Finn from Crowded House and Heartbreaker Mike Campbell. The band made not a single reference to Buckingham, which was odd since he was the major reason for their stellar rise from rock and blues obscurity. I would not have attended if you had paid me.
I have no issue with Finn nor Campbell, except to say that they are in this instance little more than jobbing musicians. They have no history with the band, they have had zero by way of creative input. They are there to fill what can never be filled by any number of musicians. The literal heartbeat of the band.
The division, as ever, was fuelled by the differences between former lovers, as the media calls them, Buckingham and Stevie Nicks. It seems Nicks calls all the shots these days, from deciding who can perform with the band and whether they make new music. The new band album, written by Buckingham and Christine McVie, played on by Mick Fleetwood and John McVie could not be called a Fleetwood Mac album. Instead, the record – which was brilliant by the way – went out under the names of Buckingham and McVie. The face of the man who gave the band new meaning and relevance no longer fit.
Mick Fleetwood and John McVie’s contribution to the band is solely as the rhythm section. They don’t write songs, they don’t sing anything. From what I read, Fleetwood adds gurning, bizarre comments and a ten minute drum solo to the event and McVie barely moves. Without Buckingham, they’d probably be third on the bill somewhere, knocking out tired versions of Oh Well to septuagenarians hooked on nostalgia. Now, they tour as a heritage jukebox and count the money. There is little purpose to Fleetwood Mac as a band.
Mick doesn’t think former members – he means Buckingham – will ever rejoin the band, suggesting that he is content to go through the motions and earn an exceptional living playing the songs of yesterday. But without new music, is there really any point? I’d say no, but given the huge crowds attracted on the ever-growing nostalgia circuit, there is a big market for it.
It is my hope that Lindsey Buckingham will regain full use of his vocal cords, to make new music and share it with those of us who can somehow manage without the tantrums of Stevie Nicks. I hope he doesn’t stop thinking about tomorrow. The rest of the band did years ago.
