by Dorian Lynskey
British - GQ, October, 2013
British - GQ, October, 2013
In the Reynolds Girls 1989 single "I'd Rather Jack", a peculiar moment of year zero militancy in the catalogue of hitmakers Stock Aitken Waterman, the teenage siblings insisted, "I'd rather jack than Fleetwood Mac," the band being a conveniently rhyming example of the kind of middle-aged millionaire has-beens that the rave generation allegedly had no time for. Who needs them? We have Yazz now!
But 24 years later, as Fleetwood Mac approach the UK leg of their latest world tour, their influence is, to quote one of their most infectious songs, everywhere. Their audiophile fanaticism was a touchstone for Daft Punk's Random Access Memories. Last year, the indie tribute album Just Tell Me That You Want Me featured the likes of MGMT and Tame Impala. Mumford & Sons recently closed their massive London show with a massed rendition of "The Chain". Hot Chip even perform a dance floor version of "Everywhere", proving once and for all that jacking and Fleetwood Mac-ing aren't mutually exclusive. If the whispers are true and Fleetwood Mac headline Glastonbury next year, their status as twenty-somethings' new favourite classic rockers will be confirmed.
If only the Reynolds Girls had done their research they would have realised that Fleetwood Mac are unkillable. Their wikipedia page reads like a Russian novel, with new characters popping up before exiting in grim circumstances, including mental illness, alcoholism, adultery and religious cult. By the time they absorbed romantically involved duo Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks in 1975 in a kind of last-ditch corporate merger, the band had lost seven members, with only the rock-solid rhythm section of Mick Fleetwood and John McVie weathering the perpetual storm.
The new vinyl box set 1969-1972 (Rhino) shines light on their underrated output during the difficult years, but it's the classic 1975-1987 line-up that has acquired mythic status. For the first time since the Beatles, a band had three distinct singer-songwriters at the top of their game.
Christine McVie sang the airy love songs with crystalline precision and
the same pragmatism that led her to retire from touring in 1997;
Nicks was a husky SoCal mystic, tougher than her swirly wardrobe
suggested; and Buckingham was the thorny alpha male.