The Osbournes TV show is such a genius idea you wonder why executives didn't think of it before. Just picture the missed opportunities - nightly beatings on the Jacksons, abstract gibberish with The Lennons or tuning in for the less salubrious nocturnal habits of the Motley Crue extended family. And what about Fleetwood Mac? Now we're talking. Guaranteed sex, drugs, rock n'roll with success and excess in unimaginable proportions. Imagine the ratings.
But it wasn't to be and for better or for worse, we're left with the music and a few snapshots of frazzled souls. That was until the classic line up (minus Christine McVie), namely Lindsey Buckingham, Stevie Nicks, John McVie and the ubiquitous Mick Fleetwood, reconvened for a world tour in support of their recent LP 'Say You Will'. It seems money talks no matter how bitter their past fall outs.
Tonight it's fitting that the unparalleled 'Rumours' underpins the whole set - a twisted collage of break-ups and betrayal on the one side and requited and unrequited love and lust on the other. In short the history of the 'Mac encapsulated. From the opening adrenaline rush salvo of 'The Chain' and 'Dreams' to the sublime 'Go Your Way' that rounds off the main set, the sheer class of the aforementioned masterpiece is graciously recreated once again.
Hats must also be tipped to Buckingham's unexpectedly brilliant solo rendition of 'Big Love' and for recapturing, how shall we say, the crazed wiredness of 'Tusk' which ended with him shadow boxing his former lover Nicks. Tongues were sent wagging with the pair strolling across the stage hand in hand and singing 'Landslide's sweet harmonies lost in each others eyes. Ah, bless them. They probably just got caught up in the moment.
And they weren't the only two. There's plenty to saviour but during such reunions where new material gets in the way of fond reminiscing, it's fun spotting who's actually enjoying themselves and who's doing it for the bank manager's benefit. Suffice to say McVie falls into the latter category and is practically statuesque throughout while Nicks, for all her cape-twirling hippie dance jigs, evergreen sultry manner, and still heart-stopping voice, fails to convince us she's actually too bothered either way.
Which just leaves the two generals of the band. Fleetwood's wide-eyed grin and late rallying drum exhibition can't detract from the fact that it's Buckingham who not only steals the show but seems to be the only one really investing any emotion in the whole affair. Either that or he was just in need of the ego massage that readily comes his way.
As cynical cash-ins go, this was a cracker. A decade-long absence from the stage has definitely made the public's heart grow fonder for the band's AOR musings and if this "one-off" turns out to follow a Rolling Stones touring cycle, they'd be welcome for a long as their hearts are in it. Keeping, or should we say generating such enthusiasm is going to be Buckingham's biggest challenge to date.
