Tag Archives: Stevie Nicks

On Rumours (I Want To Be Stevie Nicks When I Grow Up)

In case you’ve been living under a very conveniently shaped rock, you may have heard of a small band named Fleetwood Mac. And unless there’s a lot of room under that rock, you may know they released one of the greatest albums of all time – Rumours – in 1977. And under a very small pebble beneath that enormous rock, you may find the knowledge that the very same fantastic album was rereleased in an expanded edition this year with never-before-heard exclusive tracks and live demos.

But hey, a little less living under rocks and a little more, Rock on, Gold Dust Woman.

Rumours means a lot to me, and probably too much.

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(so close)

I owe this love to four great women – the first two, Christine McVie and Stevie Nicks, aka, the women behind the Mac. I’ve idolized their sound, their style, their melodies, their deep-understanding-of-relationship-emotions, and their lyrics and you don’t know how many times I wish I could go back in time and shake a tambourine alongside the both of them. The second two are my mom and my roommate Kathrine, both of whom understand my love for the album, and have played it for me multiple times.

If you’ve ever had any emotional reaction to a breakup or a rocky relationship, Rumours is for you. So basically, if you are a human being with a pulse, I am convinced that there is a song on Rumours that you need to hear, and will love. I don’t need to wax poetic about the fact that the album was recorded while the entire band was pretty much divorcing each other and caught up in relationship messes. After all, there are whole documentaries related to this fact, and they play on repeat at our house, but that’s neither here nor there. Who hasn’t taken the Stevie’s advice in Dreams? (I mean, players do only love you when they’re playing.) Who hasn’t wanted to yell out to a former flame to Go Their Own Way or that seriously, after this, they’re Never Going Back Again? If the bass line (that bass line!) and harmonies in The Chain don’t hit you hard, are you even breathing? Haven’t you wanted to tell someone, both simply and overwhelmingly powerfully, that “You Make Loving Fun? And, even if you’ve heard it in a million political campaigns, ‘Don’t Stop thinking about tomorrow’ is still true and powerful. And, mind you, this is all without even touching on the tears and the sweetness that Songbird is sure to bring.

But no, it’s not like I’m obsessed with this album or anything.

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I’ll sum it up easily. About a month or so ago, Kathrine and I went to go see The Long Players play Rumours in full. The Long Players are a Nashville local band full of expert musicans known for playing classic albums all the way through, with which me and Kathrine’s 40-year-old-white-man-taste in music, is extremely wonderful and helpful, considering most of our musical heroes are dead, no longer touring, or no longer together. Having never seen Fleetwood Mac live (yet), this performance had a lot riding on it, and it did not disappoint, to the point of even having old guitar players from Fleetwood Mac onstage (!!!). Even though it wasn’t 1977 and it wasn’t the real band, Kathrine and I sang every song with the fervor of superfans, surrounded by our favorite melodies. However, the best part came from when we looked around and noticed that the venue was PACKED, even so far as to find out it sold out that night, which, in Nashville, is unheard of. And in that packed crowd, we realized we weren’t alone in our love for this collection of songs and what they’d gotten us through, because everyone else there had the same feelings, even if they’d been listening to the vinyl since before we both were born.

There was a large group of women in the front row with us, and they kept turning to me and Kathrine and smiling, because I think they knew. I mean, they had to know, just like my Mom knew from a young age, that her singing “Landslide” in our home, along with my penchant for wearing ponchos, big blonde waves, and 70s fabric would make me love Stevie Nicks a great deal. But I am convinced that these women in the front row had to have known that Kathrine and I both strongly want to be Stevie Nicks when we grow up (or really, now) because they had wanted to be her as well. They had all wanted to drape scarves over a mic stand and wear flowy outfits and twirl around the stage and tell off past loves through the best lyrics, and they had lived that dream, growing up alongside her. Fastforward to now, and even though we were all a few years behind, together, ages 22-70, we were all Gold Dust Women, rocking on and swaying along with a tambourine to Mick Fleetwood’s solos and fills and sharing the harmonies (and emotional baggage) with Lindsey Buckingham.

And in that moment, more than anything, I remembered that good music makes you feel something, no matter how many times you’ve heard it. Good music makes you happy and sad and angry and honest, but it doesn’t try and tell you what to do. It simply sympathizes and fills you with the sense that you’re not alone.

Even though I’m not Stevie Nicks (yet), I still have Rumours to love.

And so Rumours continues to exist and evoke feeling, whether the full band tours again or makes new music. Rumours captures one small moment in time, 11 songs, and just over 39 minutes total of musical satisfaction – for me, at least. Rumours  is cheaper and more efficient than any therapist, worn-in and well-traveled and loved like a good pair of leather (and lace) boots that fit perfectly each time you put them on, and, in constant rotation on 3 separate vinyl copies in my house.

And even though I could spend a million more words on just talking about why “Silver Springs” is one of the best songs ever written should have been a part of the original album release (seriously), I’ll end this emotional album overflow with a quote that Kathrine has said time and again-

“Maybe one day I’ll love a man as much as I love Rumours…but probably not.”

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I Blame Justin Timberlake And The Hummus

I was going to write a New Year’s resolution post, or rather, finish it, but then it struck me that finishing said post was the point.

I had all these intentions but then things go sour or I get stressed, and so instead of writing, I come home and lay facedown on my bed and listen to a whole Ryan Adams album while half-moping, with a distressed golden retriever by my side who would like to help, but also is confused as to why I am not petting him every 2 minutes.

You see, I wanted to write about everything today. I wanted to write about how obsessed I am with the fact that Justin Timberlake announced that he’s returning to music and how also Destiny’s Child is releasing new music and how hearing this made me both scream, “BEST DAY EVER” and also not able to move my hands correctly to type a “hooray!” text to everyone for some time because they were shaky with happiness. I wanted to write about January things and about what I’ve learned so far in 2013 and about the dream I had last night in which Stevie Nicks (!!!) appeared and told me to keep going.  I wanted to write about how my boyfriend finally downloading emojis on his iPhone has been both the best and worst thing to happen in the past week. I wanted to write about Honey Boo Boo Child and I wanted to write about pizza. I wanted to write about my best friend becoming a featured contributor on my favorite website. I wanted to write about the napkins with pugs on them that a dear friend sent me in the mail and I wanted to write about how I have so many crafty ideas now that I discovered I have both spray adhesive AND glitter in the living room, currently at arms reach.

I wanted to write, I really did. But then something came up- like it always does – and I didn’t. I got distracted by a text message, maybe. Mostly, I read a blog post that I think is cleverer and more on point than my words and that made me discouraged, which instead, should have inspired me to write. Or maybe I got distracted by the hummus in my fridge and how it would taste on a Wheat Thin. Or 49 Wheat Thins. Or maybe I was about to type “wordpress.com” into my browser but then took a detour and found myself in a black hole of online shopping, adding too many things I can’t afford to my cart. Or maybe I just forgot, just put it off, just moved on to the next thought.

But, like it or not, I’m a reluctant writing addict. Words and sentences and paragraphs are art to me, are therapy to me, are home to me. There’s so many situations I have gotten over by writing about them or made better by writing about them or been able to laugh so hard at by writing about them. I have so many dumb stories and moments that I assume no one can relate to or no one cares about, but then I write them down and- BAM! – I realize I’m not the only one. Published or unpublished, typed or handwritten, full complete sentences or words on a page – they’re all important. Writing is something I come back to, but not nearly enough.

So I’ll get back to those New Year’s Resolutions later, but the top of the list is to WRITE and write, write, write and then write some more.

Write when it’s easy and write even more when it’s hard. Write seriously and write mockingly. Write for fun and write for work. Write Thank You cards and personal birthday cards and don’t slack on an email when it would take 5 minutes more to make your point better. Write down things you are thankful for and write down things you want to change. Write blog posts even if the idea of having a blog makes you feel silly and almost embarrassed sometimes. Write til your fingers bleed- figuratively or literally. Write compliments to yourself on your mirror in lipstick. Write fake ad campaigns and jingles for commercials that are better than the current ones you hear while you are waiting for the newest episode of “The Mindy Project” to play on Hulu. Write to your parents. Write to people you wish you could meet. Write poems that rhyme and write love letters you’ll never send and write your grocery lists in your best cursive with hearts above all the i’s. Write when you’re in a bad mood, write when you are stressed, write when you are broke. Write when you are overjoyed, write when you are in love, write when you can’t imagine a better day.

Most of all, write and don’t stop. Don’t compare your words to anyone’s but your own, and don’t be afraid to try new ones. Constantly write the thoughts in your head down somewhere. Write notes in the margins of your books. Write in other languages. Write down your big ideas and write down that funny quote your friend said at brunch. Write down lists of fake band names that you’d use if you were ever a rockstar. Write scripts that may never see the light of a studio, write songs that you may never sing, but, more than anything, just write.

And when you think you’ve written enough, write another page.

Or write another blog post…about writing.