This flimsy batch, 15 studio sets on, surely rests outside anyone’s list of the best Fleetwood Mac albums. It’s inarguably unmemorable, albeit less forgettable than what came next from this perpetually morphing and disintegrating group.
But having finally given Behind the Mask more than scant attention for the first time since it was new 35 years ago — when it epitomized all that was numbingly dull about rock at the dawn of the ‘90s, shortly before Nirvana-et-al. upended everything — I’m here to report that it doesn’t entirely suck. Depending on your need for seemingly fresh Mac nostalgia, you might actually like it.
Hell, maybe you did back then. (But … why?) Maybe I’m just the same curmudgeonly bitch I was at 21, when this CD* meant as much to me as the latest Milli Vanilli single and I took snotty glee in watching it rapidly fill used racks at every nearby Wherehouse.
From this older-not-necessarily-wiser vantage point, my skills at separating gems from dreck is more finely (and generously) honed. Plus I abide a proven rule regarding C. McVie copyrights: they rarely disappoint. I’d peg her success rate to this point well above 80 percent, and she doesn’t misstep here even when the production does, as on the leaden title track (which nonetheless features the only shred of Lindsey Buckingham within).
Yet, apart from the effervescent twin peaks ‘Skies the Limit’ and ‘Save Me,’ Christine largely yields the spotlight to Stevie Nicks (often absent in her own numbers) and new additions Billy Burnette and Rick Vito, who combined don’t add up to half a Lindsey. Their generic material ranges from almost appealing balladry to out-of-place rockabilly.
I do hear what they were going for: an extension of Tango in the Night that might incorporate what Don Henley and Bonnie Raitt were achieving at this time in boomer rock history. But gloss can’t hide weak songs. These never sink in. I’ve spun Behind the Mask three times in the past month; couldn’t remember a damn thing about it each time I restarted.
[*Regarding CD: None but a handful of devoted fans ever bought this on vinyl. But pictured here is an original pressing. Because I’m an incurable completist.]