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.
