Quote:
Originally Posted by David
(Post 1159118)
Right on. What's odd is that we ledgies are the ones who keep hoping for those relationships to turn permanently Hallmark, as if the wisdom of age and experience makes you square your shoulders and be overcome with affection for your bandmates. So we read all the interviews and watch all the activity onstage, and whenever there's something sweet going on—a compliment, a smile, a kiss—we figure that's the long-hoped-for breakthrough in the relationship. But I think the rest of the world (or at least the rest of the world that ever thinks about Fleetwood Mac) isn't bothered at all by the cattiness, the insults (they're a little more veiled the past few decades than they used to be), the refusals to participate, the demands, the passive-aggressiveness. Because that's how people behave in real life—unless they're Mr. Rogers or Judith Martin. If I think of the people I love or whom I'm close to in my life, I could never be confident that I would never again get mad at them. We get older and more nostalgic for all we've been through, but we don't stop getting mad or annoyed with one another.
You're right: that is their dynamic. That's them. But there's something fishy about that story because I can't picture those two checking in to adjoining hotel rooms on tour. In fact, doesn't Stevie generally go find her own multiple rooms (for all her girlfriends), sometimes in a different hotel?
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I believe it was dressing rooms that were next to each other at the venue not hotel rooms and we don't know that it was actually LB "banging" and not one of his people.
"Next on the playlist is Nelly Furtado’s “Maneater”, thumping at an impressive volume. Nicks breaks into a funky, arm-waving dance from her makeup chair. Wincing slightly, she calls out to Johnston, ‘We don’t have an ice pack here do we? Because I need it.”
But her assistant had just been called out of the room on other business. “Um, Stevie?” Johnston says. “Lindsey has requested that we turn the music down.”
Nicks rolls her eyes, her expression matching the little girl’s the photograph. “OK, maybe we should go into a different tape, since he’s next door,” she says. “We can go with something that doesn’t have quite that much bang. All he’s probably hearing is the drum, like in a car. This is the first time he’s ever been next door to us. That can never happen again!”
She switches to a new playlist of singer-songwriters (Jackson Browne, Sting) and Lite FM-ish dude rock (Goo Goo Dolls, The Fray). Nicks has no fear of the uncool; She invited Kenny G to play on one of her albums, composes lyrics while listening to a New Age station on satellite radio and devoured the Twilight books by firelight, even writing a song inspired by Bella’s plight.
Nicks keeps adding her own perfect harmonies to the song on her playlist, rendering the chorus of “How to Save a Life” suddenly haunting (she thinks it’s about visiting a friend in rehab). “I never sing along to the melody,” she says. “I always go for the harmony. And that’s been since I was really little, because my granddad was a singer, and he would bring me 45s and he’d say, “You’re a harmony singer. You’re a perfect Everly Brother.” Her grandfather, A.J. Nicks, was a semipro country performer who wanted to take her on tour when she was five; her parents demurred.
After a few minutes, we hear pounding on the wall. The music still isn’t low enough. “Relations with Lindsey are exactly as they have been since we broke up,” says Nicks. “He and I will always be anatagonizing to each other, and we will always do things that will irritate each other, and we really know how to push each other’s buttons. We know exactly what to say when we really want to throw a dagger in. And I think that that’s not different now than it was when we were 20. And I don’t think it will be different when we’re 80.”
