They wanna be with you everywhere: why Fleetwood Mac are still totally ubiquitous
A time traveller from 50 years ago might be surprised if they were to visit the UK now – not so much by the echoes of the politics, with an embattled Labour government and a resurgent far right, but by the prevalence of Fleetwood Mac.
The Broadway hit Stereophonic, written by David Adjmi, opened in the West End this week after becoming the most nominated play in Tony award history (it ended up winning five out of 13, including best play). It invites theatregoers to journey back to 1976 and 'plug into the electric atmosphere as one up-and-coming rock band record the album that could propel them to superstardom. Amid a powder keg of drugs, booze and jealousy, songs come together and relationships fall apart.'
If that sounds remarkably similar to the story of how Fleetwood Mac recorded Rumours, then that's exactly what the album's producer Ken Caillat thought: he sued the producers for the play's similarity to his memoir, settling out of court earlier this year, though Adjmi has always denied his play is purely about Fleetwood Mac, regardless of the many parallels.
But Stereophonic is just the tip of the Mac iceberg that has come into view in recent years. Novel readers and TV viewers have enjoyed Daisy Jones and the Six, which also used the Fleetwood Mac template as the basis for its story. Their smooth, adult-oriented rock sound also permeated music throughout the last decade, present in records by artists such as Sharon Van Etten, Julien Baker, the Weather Station and more. If you want a dancier version of the band, you can go to the club night Fleetmac Wood, playing beefed-up remixes.
And Mac themselves are as popular as ever: in last week's album chart, the compilation 50 Years – Don't Stop sat at No 6 (after 340 weeks on the chart), while Rumours is at No 22 (after 1098 weeks on the chart). Nearly half a century on from Rumours' release, Fleetwood Mac are still very big business.
Partly that's down to the continued resonance of the story of the album: two couples tearing themselves apart and committing their feelings to tape. (It is perhaps not a coincidence that Abba, another 70s band whose troubled relationships were set to lush pop, are also undimmingly popular.) But it's also down to the music: Rumours still sounds like a treat when you play it.
'I think Dreams in particular feels very modern sonically,' says Tamara Lindeman, the Canadian musician who records as the Weather Station. 'The naked kick/snare/bass line; the way that there almost no instruments inhabiting the mid-range, just a voice; the really tight short reverb; the super short and compressed drums.'
'That's really modern, and sonically resembles a lot of R&B and hip-hop in a way – it's similar in how that modern music inhabits those frequency ranges. Also I would say Stevie Nicks' internal sense of rhythm feels so modern – the way she hangs around the beat, often a little behind and kinda swung. It's not like how other singers of the time sang.'
Dreams had a flush of viral fame after being mimed to by cranberry-juice swigging skateboarder Dogg Face on TikTok in 2020, and those who attended Fleetwood Mac shows during this century have noticed a change in the band's audience. Twenty years ago, their live crowd had been predominantly ageing couples, but by the time they played what turned out to be their final London shows at Wembley Stadium in 2019, the presence of a great many young women was startling.
For Lindeman, that development came as no surprise. 'Stevie Nicks and Christine McVie both wrote incredible hits. In a lot of ways it was a band led by women – two really powerful voices and writers. For me in particular the songs by Nicks and McVie are the ones that resonate and last – those are the ones you think of when you think of Fleetwood Mac, more than Lindsey Buckingham's hits. Of course young women are showing up.'
Nicks, whose failing relationship with singer/guitarist Buckingham was one of the themes of Rumours, has become a particular hero in recent years. 'She does that thing of writing personally and vulnerably about her experiences, but with this strength that comes through anyway – it's totally vulnerable but she stays tough, like a superhero of the heart,' Lindeman says.
There are more prosaic reasons for Fleetwood Mac's continued presence in the culture though, not least the appetite for work they displayed during the first 20 years of this century. While most veteran superstar bands begin to ration their appearances as time passes, Fleetwood Mac stayed on the road for months on end, keeping their name alive. Not for them the handful of stadium shows in major markets: their touring schedules show their willingness to work. Nor did they complicate their message by releasing new music: the focus was always firmly on the past.
It has paid off. Now, two and a half years on from the death of Christine McVie and the final passing of the group (for now: drummer and founder Mick Fleetwood would be open to a new iteration), Fleetwood Mac are the hippest old people in music.
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Reuters
28 minutes ago
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Playing it smart: Five questions for the ECB
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The Guardian
36 minutes ago
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Why aren't you working with Paul Oakenfold?' But we're not the fucking Happy Mondays. We'd already been doing that shit for years. We wanted to acknowledge our connection to where we'd come from: Black American music.' This major label era for the group produced moderate commercial success before they wound things down in the mid-1990s. But in the years since, everyone from New Order to Trent Reznor has cited the group's influence. Mallinder continued to make electronic music via groups such as Wrangler and Creep Show, the latter in collaboration with John Grant, a Cabs uber-fan. Watson says leaving the group was 'probably the most difficult decision I've ever made' but he has gone on to have an illustrious career, winning Baftas for his recording work with David Attenborough on shows such as Frozen Planet. He recalls 'the most dangerous journey I've ever made' being flown in a dinky helicopter that was akin to a 'washing machine with a rotor blade' by drunk Russian pilots in order to reach a camp on the north pole. On 2003 album Weather Report, Watson harnessed his globetrotting field recording adventures with stunning effect, turning long, hot wildlife recording sessions in Kenya surrounded by buzzing mosquitoes, or the intense booming cracks of colossal glaciers in Iceland, into a work of immersive musical beauty. When he was at the Ignalina nuclear power plant in Lithuania with Oscar-winning composer Hildur Guðnadóttir, recording sounds for the score to the 2019 TV series Chernobyl, he couldn't help but draw parallels to his Cabs days. 'It was horrific but really astonishing – such a tense, volatile, hostile environment,' he says. 'But it really got me thinking about working with those sounds again, their musicality and how it goes back to where I started.' 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These will be interwoven with a set Mallinder is working on with his Wrangler bandmate Ben 'Benge' Edwards as well as longtime friend and Cabs collaborator Eric Random. 'We've built 16 tracks up from scratch to play live,' says Mallinder. 'With material spanning from the first EP' – 1978's Extended Play – 'through to Groovy …' Mallinder says this process has been 'a bit traumatic – a very intense period of being immersed in my past and the memories that it brought, particularly of Richard. This isn't something you can do without emotion.' Mallinder and Kirk were not really speaking in the years leading up to his death, with Kirk operating under the Cabaret Voltaire name himself. 'Richard was withdrawn and didn't speak to many people,' says Mallinder. 'And I was one of those people. He wanted to be in his own world. It was difficult because I missed him and there was a lot of history, but I accepted it.' 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Times
39 minutes ago
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Riding a polo pony — how hard can it be?
Polo may be the only sport in the world more sensibly played on elephants. Cannoning round a field on a horse, swinging a croquet mallet the wrong way round, is like driving a Formula 1 car one-handed while using your other arm to practise your serve. In India, they play polo on elephants. Elephants are generally more inclined to lumber than speed, and come with their own elephant whisperer to steer. Alas, I'm in southwest London not Rajasthan, it's decades since I sat on a horse, and I've never had a riding lesson in my life. Nevertheless, I arrive for my first ever polo lesson well prepared. I am wearing cowboy boots and two bras. I am invincible. For one hour only, Nube is my horse. She lives at Ham Polo Club and looks at me doubtfully, as well she might. 'Her name is Spanish for 'cloud',' says my teacher, Manuel, stroking her nose. I sign a waiver promising that any calamity that befalls me will be entirely my fault. I look at Nube, wonder what the Spanish is for 'oh shit', then haul myself into the saddle and very nearly straight over the other side. When I'm safely installed, they insist that Nube is placid and small, even though the ground seems a long way down. But she is also a polo pony, and polo has always struck me not as placid but borderline lethal. We clippety-clop to the training ground and I hope for the best. • Read more luxury reviews, advice and insights from our experts Ham is a rural idyll near the A3, a place of vast green polo lawns, broadleaf trees and little white clubhouses stacked with catering company chairs. Traditionally, summer in England isn't summer without the royals being photographed at a polo match, from Charles and Camilla in the 1970s to William and Harry in the 2000s. Just once, there was Meghan and Kate at the Guards Polo Club in 2019, back when everyone was playing happy families, but no more. These days, Charles is too old, William's too busy, Harry plays furiously in Santa Barbara or Florida, and Kate's always been allergic to horses anyway. Polo, though, is still indelibly associated with the royals. Chestertons, the estate agents, sponsors the annual Polo in the Park weekend in central London, in a bid to combine the sporting and the social with diversity (not just posh people), inclusivity (not just country types) and, presumably, selling houses. Described as the world's biggest polo festival, Polo in the Park is a veritable melting pot at the Hurlingham Club in Fulham, where the Princess of Wales used to bring George and Charlotte for tennis lessons when they were little. Back at Ham, Nube and I are bonding, a bit. She makes it clear with every snort and toss of her head that I am an idiot and she knows best, and she is not wrong. Polo ponies are trained to be extremely responsive, I am told, but the flipside of that is that they need to be told exactly what to do. This is difficult when your main focus is not falling off. I hold the reins in my left hand, as Manuel's shown me, and grip the front of the saddle with my right, to his consternation. I'm used to saddles with pommels, I tell him. The last time I got on a horse was when I lived on Vancouver Island in my twenties, and over there the saddles have pommels. A couple of times a week, I'd pick up a toffee-coloured horse called Rocky from the local stable after work and we'd head off fearlessly into the forest to explore. That was then, I was 24 and Rocky, bless him, was a Ford. Nube is a Ferrari. How I sit, and lean to swing the mallet, how I hold the reins, where and how I kick and with which part of my heel are all carefully calibrated parts of the equation geared to getting her to do what I want. Get any part of it wrong and Nube will effectively shrug, take the path of least resistance and do what she wants, which is stop. Manuel is an Argentinian professional polo player who's been riding since he could walk. He makes cannoning round a field swinging a mallet look as easy as falling off a log, or indeed a horse. From my reassuringly stationary position at the side of the pitch, I watch him demonstrate a rising trot. 'Now your turn,' he says, with an encouraging smile. I rack my brains for diversionary polo-related small talk. 'Is Prince Harry any good at polo?' I ask. He considers this with the seriousness all things polo deserve. 'He's a decent amateur,' he replies. 'Now lift the reins so she knows to move forward and kick your heels. Keep kicking so she knows to keep going.' 'And Prince William?' I ask, exhausting my supply of polo-related small talk quicker than I'd hoped. 'Probably a bit better,' he says, adding that he didn't like Harry's Netflix programme Polo at all. It concentrated on the social side, not the sport itself, he complains, so he watched two episodes and gave up. The gist of his conversation is that polo is about adrenaline and sportsmanship and manly excitement, not royals, or blondes necking bubbly on the sidelines. 'Your turn!' he says cheerfully. 'I'll come too!' So off we set. I go bounce, bounce, bounce and start to worry for Nube's spine and my own. Manuel confirms that he has had a bad back for years, which is discouraging, but we persevere. My steering seems OK even though my rein handling is deemed erratic — 'lift the reins, don't pull! She thinks you want her to stop! Kick!' — but the bouncing improves sufficiently that we try a figure of eight round two traffic cones, with success if not aplomb. I grasp my mallet, activate my core, and lean over to hammer the ball two, maybe even as far as three feet ahead. I swear under my breath, Nube snorts and soon I'm getting cross. I want to be good at this, but I'm not. I want to look at ease in the saddle, but I don't. I could ride a bit when I was younger, and had a pommel, so why can't I do it now? I read Black Beauty as a child. I know my Jilly Cooper. I watched Rupert Campbell-Black canter elegantly across my TV screen in Rivals and honestly, how hard can this be? Every so often Nube and I find our rhythm and I get a tantalising glimpse of just how wonderful riding must be. Then it's gone and I'm bouncing around in the saddle like a double bra'd jack-in-the-box. After my lesson, I walk bow-legged back to the clubhouse. The polo ponies look down their noses at me from their stalls. Nube is led away without so much as a disdainful backward glance. In the distance, real polo players gallop across the pitch with languid grace, turning on a dime and belting the ball to kingdom come. Rocky would have been good at this, I think, if he'd ever got the chance, but next time I think I'll try elephant polo. Anyone can ride an elephant. How hard can it be? Chestertons Polo in the Park is at Hurlingham Park on June 6, 7 and 8.
