Wait, wait, wait … what’s this?
Is this a #VinylTwosDays pairing appearing on Friday instead?
Thorough readers — and thank you very much, you’re why I bother Instababbling — might have noticed a footnote on my previous post indicating I’m unshackling my chronicle of A&M Records from once-a-week confinement. Haven’t decided yet what hashtag (if any) ought to replace #TuesdaysWithJerry, in tribute to late label co-founder Jerry Moss. But that’s really no reason to stop me from plowing ahead.
We’ve reached the point in my year-old deep dive into Christine McVie’s vast discography where we must ask, for the first of several times: Who among us remembers this guy?
If you were lucky enough to catch Fleetwood Mac during the first North American leg of their Tusk tour in late ‘79 — and you bothered arriving on time — then you probably saw a warmup set from this likable fellow, Danny Douma.
If you’ve spent time listening to any of these alternate versions of Fleetwood Mac’s beloved behemoths, whether in vinyl form (like this parallel Tusk) or via scores of tracks that litter deluxe-edition digital copies, you’ve got to admit: Sometimes it’s really hard to discern much difference between outtakes and finished products.
I hardly know where to begin with this beast.
Were this an ongoing deep dive into the varied sounds of Lindsey Buckingham, I’d know exactly how to start: Despite memorable material from Christine McVie and Stevie Nicks — including the utterly gorgeous, sometimes seductive ‘Sara,’ my pick for the latter’s peak moment in Fleetwood Mac or otherwise — this thing still plays like LB’s first solo LP.
To re-address @jldrueke’s question: Yes, I am including this one in my Christine McVie deep dive, for reasons some fans automatically know while others will learn below. That said, I’m not so sure I’d consider Bob Welch’s solo debut a truly bizarro follow-up to Rumours, as Jeremiah suggests.
Yes, I’m still insisting the alternate versions of Fleetwood Mac’s most popular albums (‘75-‘87) are worthy of individual assessment amid this deep dive into the discography of the late great Christine McVie.
When it comes to the rough-cut mirror-image of Rumours, though, many of the truly illuminating session gems are only bonus bits on the ‘Super Deluxe’ edition of this blockbuster. Fortunately for fans unwilling to splurge or incapable of spending so lavishly, those tracks are streaming as well.
Gawd, not this thing again.
I confess: My deep dive into Christine McVie’s discography that began soon after her death last December has been stalled for far too long by Rumours.
I suspect you may have some questions.
‘Wait … didn’t you just write about this album a month ago?’
Yes. Well … sort of. In a way. But also … no, not really.
‘Is that a different cover? I don’t remember Mick looking like that, or staring directly at the camera.’
Your memory serves you well. This is the ‘alternate’ version of Fleetwood Mac’s self-titled ‘75 breakthrough.
At last: success for Fleetwood Mac!
Finally my sputtering deep dive into the enduring work of the late Christine McVie has reached its crucial turning point, the classic that ushered in new hires Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham for the 10th lineup of this revolving-door talent collective, not even a decade old by the summer of ‘75, when their own self-titled ‘White Album’ debuted. With it came the longest lasting, most influential, scene-shapingly famous form of what remains an endlessly amorphous entity.
Before my slow-drip deep-dive into the career of the late Christine McVie sinks into her most famous and overly analyzed phase, starting with Fleetwood Mac’s transformative breakthrough of ‘75, I think it’s worth taking a two-years-prior detour into this barely buried treasure. Frankly, Buckingham Nicks, a highly accomplished debut that bafflingly bombed and got the duo booted from Polydor, looms almost as large in the Mac legacy as touchstones that came before or after it.