A dear ticket but I couldn’t miss the chance – possibly the last one – to see the ‘classic’ Fleetwood Mac line-up (white-boy blues pedants form an orderly queue). And I’m glad I went. Two and a half hours or so of concentrated marvellousity. A parade of one timeless gem after another. Really, how many bands can do that?
There is a sense, of course, in which Fleetwood Mac are their own tribute band. However the evening was all the better due to the absence of “and here’s another new one”. We had paid to see them do the hits – and they did. All of them.
The band were in much better form – excellent form – than I might have expected Stevie Nicks and Christine McVie were in lovely voice (Ms McVie looking downright foxy). Lindsey Buckingham is a heck of a guitarist and Mick Fleetwood looked like he was having a ball. John Mc Vie probably was too – as much as he ever has any way. They looked like they were actually glad to be on stage with each other, which was lovely.
Less middle-aged than you might think.
It made me think..
I was close enough to see that when the band came on stage, before the lighting came on, Buckingham & Nicks were holding hands in the dark. Does that matter? I found that it mattered to me. Reader, I shed a manly tear.