Could It Really, Really Be?

It isn’t easy singling out one person as your favorite member of FLEETWOOD MAC, the most famous (and infamous) version of which had five members and made five classic pop albums between 1975 and 1987, all of which are deeply burned into my (and many other people’s) conception of what pop is supposed to be. It was a perfect band whose combination of voices was almost *too* perfect: three singer-songwriters whose allusions and harmonies coiled through each other’s heads like threads of high momme count mulberry silk sheets, and an alpha rhythm section that led them to places they otherwise might never have gone. Pull out any piece and the whole thing falls apart (or maybe just becomes ordinary confessional pop-rock); put that piece back in and absolute magic. Choose just one piece? Neither possible nor useful.

But, dammit, it might’ve been CHRISTINE MCVIE, whose bluesy alto, zen spirit and seemingly effortless gift for pop melody seemed to be the center of the whole enterprise. We tend to gravitate to the tortured geniuses, flamboyant loudmouths and other attention-seeking puppy dogs in bands. Christine McVie was the opposite of that, by both choice and necessity. She was, to quote the New York Times’ LINDSAY ZOLADZ, “the serene eye of the storm.” The one who could stare into a camera, ask "How does it feel being a sex symbol in rock and roll?,” and answer: "I don't know; ask STEVIE NICKS." The one who, even when she was dining on cocaine with her bandmates, “don’t think I did anything terribly outrageous. Except I once threw a cake out the window which landed on top of a taxi.” The one who all but demanded to not be looked at. The grounded one. The normal one. The one whose last name, before she married the bass player, was PERFECT.

She was also the one who wrote and sang “SHOW ME A SMILE” in 1971 and “OVER MY HEAD” in 1975 and “YOU MAKE LOVING FUN” in 1977 and “NEVER MAKE ME CRY” in 1979 and “MYSTIFIED” in 1987 and, in between, tossed off an unequal share of the biggest hits of one of the world’s biggest pop bands from her perch behind a bank of keyboards way off on stage right.

One of them, meant as a message of encouragement to her ex-husband, the bass player, whom she was not, at the time, talking to, would go on to soundtrack a presidency. Her songs were sometimes blunt and obvious and sometimes fragile, malleable and ocean deep. Her signature song, which she said came to her in the middle of the night, “as if I’d been visited,” was sequenced in the middle of the band’s signature album, the one that chronicled two devastating breakups, including hers. It’s a love song that, on paper, can be interpreted to cover almost any romantic situation, light or dark, that you need it to cover. On record, it told a band that was falling apart that there’s still love in the world and “it’s all right.”

I’m crushed by the news of Christine McVie’s death which, even though she was 79 and had struggled with health issues, arrived suddenly and unexpectedly. And still I hear a songbird whispering to me like it knows the score, telling me it is, and will continue to be, all right, and to not stop thinking about tomorrow.

(STEVIE NICKS' reaction to her bandmate and friend's death was beautiful and heartbreaking. MICK FLEETWOOD checked in publicly, too, part of his heart having flown away.)

Twitter Stool Rap

TWITTER, currently awash in racism, homophobia, antisemitism and mass denial of observable truth, has permanently suspended the account of my friend, DRAG CITY singer/songwriter EDITH FROST, for the crime of making mild poop jokes about Twitter boss ELON MUSK (and, full disclosure, changing her user name to “Elon Musk,” which Twitter's interface allowed her to do; it did not, oddly, allow her to change it back). The disappearing of Edith happened summarily, with no warning, and should alarm any creative person, or any fan of creative people, who's found sustenance in the communities that thrive on Twitter even in the face of radical corporate change. “This needs to be more of a scandal,” fellow indie artist DAMON KRUKOWSKI tweeted. He's 100% right and Twitter is 100% wrong and 200% petulant and should be publicly shamed and pooped on. Here’s one of my favorite Edith songs and, since ‘tis the season, an Edith Christmas tune, too.

Dot Dot Dot

The NEIL YOUNG doc HARVEST TIME, a cinema-véríte-style lullaby to the innocent joy of making music circa 1971 in both a barn (with microphones capturing the “natural reverb” of the dirt, trees and hills outside the barn doors) and a proper acoustic hall (with bemused members of the LONDON SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA), is playing in select theaters around the world tonight only (some will have encore showings on Sunday) and will be included in the 50th anniversary box set of Young’s album HARVEST that comes out Friday. It beautifully captures a world that seems so long ago but also, weirdly, not. With, of course, very good Neil Young music... MOTOWN chairwoman/CEO ETHIOPIA HABTEMARIAM is leaving the label where she’s spent the past eight years “to pursue new endeavors”... UMG buys 49% of indie label group PIAS. Founders KENNY GATES and MICHEL LAMBOT retain control of the company... CENTRAL CEE, PINKPANTHERESS, KNUCKS and LITTLE SIMZ were the big winners Wednesday at Britain’s MOBO AWARDS, honoring music of Black origin... SPOTIFY WRAPPED is to listening what INSTAGRAM is to hiking... (In related news: YOUTUBE's top songs of 2022)... Rules for writing a Christmas song in 2022.