Mac and cheese

by JOHNSON CUMMINS

Having grown up a card-carrying punk rocker in the early 80s, hating the coked-out, middle-of-the-road, over-produced soft rock of the era was just par for the course. Of course, as my teen angst tempered, I finally succumbed a bit to the softer side of things. It would take me up to just a couple of years ago before I could finally dig into the sun-bleached, coke-soaked sounds of Fleetwood Macs two classics, 1977s Rumours and 1979s Tusk. When their Unleashed tour pulled into the Bell Centre this past March 25, I was only too ready to finally bury the hatchet with the band I had for so long rebelled against.

Apparently I wasnt the only Johnson-come-lately and if you squinted hard enough, you could actually find a smattering of indie rock kids who were catching Fleetwood Mac for the first time, but the majority of the crowd of 11,000 was decked out in denim shirts and NASCAR hats while soccer moms got out of their $150 seats to shake it (or perhaps, more accurately, sway it) to the oldies. With a set that lasted for two and a half hours, and thankfully with no new record to schlep, this was nothing but the hits with drummer Mick Fleetwood laying down the backbeat like a cement mixer throughout. Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckinghams vocals have always been the bands true calling card and their harmonies seemed completely unweathered by time as they crooned through Second Hand News, Sara, Dont Stop, Go Your Own Way and a couple of surprises like Tusk, Storms and a revisiting of Fleetwood Macs Peter Green era with Oh Well.

It wasnt completely peaches and cream (or perhaps cocaine and cognac would be more apt here) as Buckingham ended most songs with facial expressions that seemed to say, Check me out, Im Lindsey fucking Buckingham, and snuck in his own solo material like Go Insane. Christine McVies absence was definitely felt, especially on Say You Love Me, but the worst was Nicks and Buckinghams insistence on sending a message by holding hands three times over the show, which came across as too rehearsed. The stench of fromage hit the high heavens when Buckingham really hammed it up in one section and embraced Nicks for a very, very long minute, like a sad puppy who had just peed on the rug, before finally kissing her shawl-adorned shoulder blade (blech!).

Staged public affection and retarded between-song banter aside though, Lindsey and Stevie are still indisputable talents. Nicks had the entire audience in her hands with a simple sway while Buckingham proved he was one of the most underappreciated guitarists of the 70s. Even in their autumn years, it was nice to see a band still hungry, able to revisit songs from three-plus decades ago with a newfound vigour while retaining the original heart-wrenching moments that spurred these classics.

For all of you punkers still scratching yer noggins over the Mac, heres some bones being thrown yer way, so heads up. Tonight, April 2, you can open up your mouth and say, Awwwwesome when the rifforama of Barn Burner, the punk rock of the Castavets and the doom and gloom of Squalor level lEscogriffe. On Friday, you can catch one of punks elder statesmen, Charlie Harper, when his U.K. Subs pull into Katacombes with Ab Irato, Diskonected and

Captain Finger. Tell em Lindsey and Stevie sent ya.

ADULT-CONTEMPORARY REX?
JONATHAN.CUMMINS@GMAIL.COM