It's no secret that Buckingham did his share of boozing and snorting in the '70s and '80s. And it's no secret to anyone who's ever heard "Go Your Own Way", "The Ledge", or "Come" that he can be vindictive, some may say misogynist, toward women. But is Harris describing isolated, drug-fuelled incidents that seem endemic of the time and culture she was living in -- or serial, criminal abuse? Can she be trusted -- even sympathized with -- or is she out to make a buck?
These questions are ultimately the crux of Storms. You definitely can't accuse Harris of over-intellectualizing her story.
And her friendly, conversational writing voice is still largely that of a spunky young adult, especially in her ongoing interior monologue. Her reaction to hearing Dennis Wilson claim that he'd slept with her: I can't believe he'd tell such a lie! If everyone [in the band is] at each other's throat, that's the last place I want to be.
I hate Japan anyway. Harris' descriptions of the other members of Fleetwood Mac offer little beyond conventional wisdom. Understandably, there's tension between her and Nicks, who comes across as a bit of a flake who would never let her good intentions get in the way of her diva persona and coke-enhanced eccentricities.
Christine McVie is Nicks' tough, vodka-swilling foil, chummy yet sardonic.
Fleetwood himself emerges as the lovably bumbling band matriarch whose penchant for poor financial and personal decisions and hopeless inability to deal with them except by snorting mounds of coke and laughing them off would be tragic were it not so often funny. The only one who really seems dignified and the least bit well-adjusted is John McVie, who makes but a few appearances.
Harris' most succinct insight into the band's insular, incestuous world comes when she says, "Nothing was allowed to hurt the band, except the band itself".
That phrase describes Fleetwood Mac, and probably many other superstar rock acts, as well as any one phrase could. As for Buckingham, he is portrayed more or less as the classic "tortured artist" -- mercurial, unpredictable, sensitive yet driven, a romantic, and a narcissist. Harris describes him alternately as someone who "always preferred to be among objects rather than people For someone who lived and toured with the man, Harris doesn't have a lot of insight into Buckingham's music or its creation, save for the songs he wrote about her.
She still seems to feel great pride and passion about Buckingham's decision to take creative control of the band and lead them down new, less commercially-friendly paths for Tusk , the follow-up to Rumours. Her encouragement and support during that period are probably her greatest contributions to Buckingham's music. Despite the relative lack of new insights and "dirt", Harris's enthusiastic tone and unpretentious nature are endearing, and ultimately make Storms an enjoyable read. She chronicles a jet-set, rock'n'roll fantasy through which the likes of Eric Clapton, Brian Wilson, Rod Stewart, and Nicks' coke-snorting poodle all pass.
There are enough amusing anecdotes to keep momentum going -- some of the book's best moments involve Buckingham taking the piss out of Mick Jagger and, of all people, Kenny Rodgers. You could almost describe the better part of Storms as a bittersweet, Almost Famous type of nostalgia trip.
But you can't, for a couple reasons. For one, the story of Fleetwood Mac at its commercial peak is a sad one. By the end, Harris' life has literally become a car crash as she struggles to find her way home to Oklahoma. The other reason why Storms ultimately leaves a lump in the stomach is the reason why books like this are dicey propositions in the first place: They're not answered; and, more importantly, it doesn't matter. The events Harris refers to happened more than 20 years ago. Buckingham is now happily married with children and seems to have faced and dealt with the pain of those years, partially through his more recent music.
Lindsey acted like a jerk when he met Kenny Rogers! Lindsey was mean to everybody during a recording session! Lindsey and I went to Hawaii and ate some coconut cream pie! Everyone else will believe that this could have been pared down to a two-part article in Rolling Stone. There was a problem adding your email address.
Email Newsletter. Log In. The idea came from Santana keyboardist Gregg Rollie. The four musicians cut two demos together: Nicks collaborator and Eighties synth-rock also-ran Sandy Stewart penned the harmony-soaked tune, and the demo was the first song Nicks presented to the band for Tango in the Night.
Makes no sense. Perfect for this record. In , L. After Welch left the band, a somewhat slicker version of the song recorded with Buckingham, Christine and Fleetwood became a solo hit for him. It remains a beloved soft-rock chestnut. He was funny, sweet — and he was smart. McVie later described the ease with which she composed her songs on Rumours: Nor do I think I would want to.
I am someone who values musical themes. Someone who feels there should be a consistency from night to night with something. Buckingham rocks out with the raw spirit of a freewheeling garage band, while Fleetwood cuts loose on the drums.
In a lot of places it was well-written and in others it really was not , and it scratched the salacious gossip itch, but basically it's the story of a very young woman who gives up everything to Support Her Man because she's in love, and he turns out to be abusive and controlling. I want to go on the record. Historical Fiction. This person thought that Lindsey, in particular, needed professional help or at least get some anger management therapy. The secrets of the inner circle shall naught be revealed. I rate this four stars due to it's lack of depth. I enjoyed reading this book I'm a fleet wood Mac fan since the Mirage and tango in the night album..
That was just Mick and myself late at night in the studio, me at the piano. That has to rate as one of my top-five moments in the band.
Not directed at anybody in particular but at the business, the need to conform to some vague set of commercial standards. An obscure gem from the years between the original Mac with Peter Green and the modern Buckingham-Nicks incarnation. Guitarist Danny Kirwan was a great songwriter in his own right, fond of dreamy Beatle-struck ballads like this single, which chimes in the mode of Badfinger or Big Star. But, tragically, Kirwan slipped into a void much like his fellow Mac guitarists Green and Jeremy Spencer — he suffered a mysterious mental breakdown, vanished from the music world and drifted into homelessness.
This smoky blues ballad sums up the lost legend of Peter Green — especially the version on Live in Boston, recorded in February They lost: My mind would be racing. I love it. Christine McVie was fed up with all of them. After Fleetwood Mac finished work on their self-titled LP, they found themselves at a loss as to which song to release as a first single.