In 1974, Fleetwood Mac was considered a blues-band past its prime, struggling to find a good rhythm since the departures of Peter Green, Danny Kirwan and Bob Welch. In dire straights, Mick Fleetwood found a northern Californian couple and invited them to reinvigorate a tired and tested band. The resulting quintet is probably one of the most well known line-ups in rock history: Mick Fleetwood on drums, John McVie on bass, Christine McVie on piano and keyboards, Lindsey Buckingham on …
There could be hundreds of good country albums out there, I don't care, I haven't made my way towards them yet nor do I know if I will. Instead, Midnight North went out and blew my brains with a solid rediscovery of why country actually can rock.
"Paradise"was those precious extra minutes. And if anything, it made me savor the duo's quirky awkwardness just that little bit more because this album is all about revealing some secrets while keeping others.
Two-seconds. That’s all it takes. Two-seconds and then the needles drops, kisses and reveals what’s about to happen. Two seconds and the guitar kicks in, and every montage of “a young man going to wear the nation’s colours in a foreign land” runs, screaming through my brain.
I've heard It Won't Be Soon Before Long, Hands All Over, Overexposed and parts of V. I acknowledge their existence. None of them will matter like Songs About Jane mattered.
He's a spectre that stays alive through the ever-wavering power of his voice-- he sings anxious, nervous and sounds hyper-super-fucking-self-aware.
However, I doubt any of these red hot peppers have anything on Anthony Kiedis, Flea and Chad Smith, who seem to plow through the years like a Carolina Reaper would my soul.