Fleetwood

Okay. Let's talk about Fleetwood by Mick Fleetwood. Frankly, I love all the incarnations of this band, though the later excesses are pretty impossible to reconcile. (If you're like me, hearing Mick Fleetwood try to rationalize spending gobs of money on having Christine McVie and Stevie Nicks' hotel rooms completely redone - meaning painted pink and having a white piano moved in - before their arrival in every city on every tour will make you wanna slap somebody upside the head with a copy of Get Okay. Let's talk about Fleetwood by Mick Fleetwood. Frankly, I love all the incarnations of this band, though the later excesses are pretty impossible to reconcile. (If you're like me, hearing Mick Fleetwood try to rationalize spending gobs of money on having Christine McVie and Stevie Nicks' hotel rooms completely redone - meaning painted pink and having a white piano moved in - before their arrival in every city on every tour will make you wanna slap somebody upside the head with a copy of Get In The Van. I mean, seriously, ladies, beige walls at the Sheraton just too much for you to bear? But I digress.) The first half of this book is pretty fascinating stuff if you're into the 60s London scene at all, though, okay, it's no White Bicycles. I'd love to read a more objective/in-depth account of the Peter Green/Jeremy Spencer/Danny Kirwan years, not to mention the Bob Welch era, which I think is really underrated. (Seriously, Future Games. Hot damn.) Still, if you're one of those people who thinks that FM went straight from being a trad blues band to falling under Stevie Nicks' witchcraft spell and becoming the titans of soft-rock overnight, you might find the "lean years" quite enlightening.The second half gets into all the queasy, sleazy details of the Fleetwood Mac your mother knows and loves. I'd heard a lot of these tales and was still fairly agog, especially with Mick's weird

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forays into psychotic groupie territory (and boy did I never need to hear the term "veal viper." Ever.) I wish there was more music-nerd stuff about the actual recording of the albums, but this isn't that type of book. Favorite anecdote: Lindsey Buckingham gets drunk during a show on the Tusk tour and starts openly mocking Stevie's dance moves on stage. After the show, Christine McVie bitch-slaps him, throws a drink in his face, and warns him not to ever make this band look foolish again. Considering this book was written right after Lindsey left the band, he's treated fairly respectfully throughout, even when he doesn't necessarily deserve it. (Second favorite anecdote: the late-80s "breakup meeting" where Lindsey's whining about not being appreciated despite being the mastermind of the band was met with Christine reminding him matter-of-factly that, except for "Gypsy" and "Big Love," all of FM's big 80s hits were her songs. Which is true! Dammit, I want a Christine McVie autobiography and I want it now.)Overall: If you don't mind a narrator who's made and lost obscene amounts of money and thinks he's completely entitled to all of the excesses that fame has afforded him and his band (for example: Mick buys a new Rolex for several thousand dollars, and, a few weeks later, during a moment of "enlightenment" in Africa, seeing that the people around him don't need that much to be happy, he smashes it to pieces.) then by all means, dig right in. If you consider yourself to be one of the 99%, you might want to have a hot shower and a copy of a Ramones record at the ready while you read it, just to cleanse yourself of all the bad Hell-a record biz juju. (Or Future Games. Seriously. That album is awesome.)(...Aaaand I think this is the most I've written about any book on Goodreads except for Infinite Jest. Frankly, I'm a little appalled at myself right now.) ...more


Category: Review

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