Audioxide

Since forming in the late 60s, Fleetwood Mac have been appreciated by a strikingly wide range of music listeners: fathers and songs, mothers and daughters. The band have dipped their musical toes into pop, rock, blues, country, folk, and everything in-between, remaining fiercely inoffensive throughout. Their songs are good enough to be enjoyed by multiple demographics without ever causing too much of a stir. It’s as universal as contemporary music gets. I don’t believe anyone has ever demanded to turn off Fleetwood Mac at a party.

This is a level of pleasantness that can sometimes prove damaging. It’s said that the greatest art – whether it be music, film, painting, or whatever else – should at least evoke a reaction. Fleetwood Mac’s self-titled album is one of the most passive pop albums I’ve ever listened to, and my response is as placid as the music itself. That’s not to discredit the depth of the songwriting, nor the quality of the musicianship. It just doesn’t warm my cockles, so to speak.

Fleetwood Mac is enjoyable throughout its running time, though “Rhiannon” stands out as an obvious highlight. Outside of that moody pop gem, the album lacks the staying power of its successor, which is why Rumours went on to become one of the most commercially successful and critically acclaimed releases in contemporary music. That’s where the band struck gold. Here, they set a solid foundation to build upon. Fleetwood Mac is enjoyable, unspectacular, and adored by aunty Nicky when she’s three glasses of wine down on a warm summer’s evening. Better than Bublé, I suppose.

Easy listening can be a dangerous game and so it’s proven here. My feelings on Fleetwood Mac’s self-titled 1974 album have slid gently from warm to lukewarm to tepid over several listens. Nice is nice, but without a bit of needle it can teeter into boring.

That’s not to say there aren’t some great moments. Stevie Nicks frankly steals the show with “Rhiannon” and “Landslide” - to such an extent that I get that Surrealistic Pillow feeling of, ‘Why isn’t she singing on more tracks?’ Beyond that I actually struggle to reach for concrete examples.

There are lovely spells in the tracklist certainly - the arrangements and production throughout are clean and gentle - but I’ve been surprised by how blurry the lasting impression has been. It’s like a half-remembered dream.

I think we might ruffle some feathers here. Luke warm receptions to a classic like Fleetwood Mac is a surefire way to lose friends and attaching adjectives as tepid as “nice”, “pleasant”, and “easy listening” will probably have some reaching for their pitchforks. It’s telling, however, that we all sniffed out the Stevie Nicks cuts on this album as our favourites without even knowing it. This is an album from a band in transition, with Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks joining following Bob Welch’s departure, and a considerable portion of the track list repurposed from Buckingham and Nicks’ eponymous album, Buckingham Nicks.

Album opener, “Monday Morning”, sits alongside “Rhiannon” and “Crystal” as highlights in this track list, but with the former two initially earmarked for the Buckingham Nicks follow up album, and “Crystal” having already been released on their first album (with a warmer, brighter arrangement to boot), these tracks feel distinctly different to contributions from the rest of the band. “Landslide” makes for another, Nicks penned, highlight in the latter half, standing out with its paired back instrumental and Nicks’ pained, ponderous lyrics.

I do just find most of Fleetwood Mac pleasant to listen to, as tepid a sentence as that may be. It’s got the beautiful mid-70s folk-rock sound throughout, and there’s some clear foundational work for a string of influential, excellent material from the band over the next decade. But between the dual personalities that come with writers getting comfortable with one another, the hand-me-down tracks and the lack of staying power from the rest, it’s hard to dwell on this album for long after it’s over.