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At Fleetwood Mac show, Stevie Nicks confuses North and South Carolina. Or... something.
BY THÉODEN JANES | PHOTOS JEFF SINER
Charlotte Observer
BY THÉODEN JANES | PHOTOS JEFF SINER
Charlotte Observer
Stevie Nicks was threatening to steal the evening, as can tend to happen when Stevie Nicks is in your band.
Not that there’s anything wrong with what the rest of Fleetwood Mac was doing on Sunday night at Spectrum Center in Charlotte.
It’s just that, well, Christie McVie — as remarkably velvety as her voice still sounds, relatively speaking, at 75 — isn’t much of a showwoman; and Mick Fleetwood — while he still seems to be having oodles of fun beating on the drums and shouting “WoooOOOOOOOooooo!,” at 71 — is perhaps too much of a showman, so that his manic persona almost feels like a schtick; and John McVie — I mean, he still can tickle the bass authoritatively, at 73 — but he now blends into the scenery as much as the band’s lesser-known seventh, eighth, and ninth men.
As for Lindsey Buckingham replacements Neil Finn and Mike Campbell, I’ll get to them in a minute.
But for now, like I was saying, it’s kind of hard to take your eyes off of Stevie Nicks. Or your ears.
Something about the way she drifts around the stage, twirling 360 degrees on her toes, shaking her tambourine to what seems like the beat of her own drum, waving her hands like a madwoman — it’s almost like everyone else is performing a show for middle-aged couples in button-down shirts and dressy blouses while Nicks is at Burning Man riding a pot-brownie high.
