Fleetwood Mac
Tusk

THE REVIEW

“Tusk” is a punk record, did you know? Yes, because according to Mick Fleetwood, renowned rock dinosaur, in 1978 Lindsey Buckingham was completely enamored with those abrasive sounds and was head over heels for the Clash (tu quoque!) and their direct and streetwise approach. In reality, Lindsey had a particularly keen ear and surely loved the classic American rock, roots, and blues. However, he was fascinated by the very wave sounds of the Talking Heads, Devo, and Laurie Anderson. And he absolutely wanted to follow that music or rather, that attitude. The real problem was the other members of the Mac, lying on the edges of their swimming pools in Beverly Hills enjoying the phantasmagoric proceeds of the all-time million seller, “Rumours.” But Buckingham, now the recognized leader of the millionaire band and the true architect of their fortunes, cared little about the others knowing that his choices would be the guiding ones. Thus, locked in the bathroom (yes, in the bathroom!) with a thousand ideas and all his contraptions, he began strumming on improbable keyboards and hitting boxes of Kleenex in search of “that” sound. The lo-fi demos that emerged would become the backbone of “Tusk,” and if this isn’t true DIY, then it’s pretty close! In a couple of months, Lindsey recorded several homemade tapes in a sort of creative ecstasy. Then he called the others to gather and confined them in that gilded prison of Studio D in Los Angeles for almost a year. Among velvet cushions and tapestries on the walls, champagne flowing, and naturally cocaine as if it were snowing in Trentino, the double album took shape. What can be called "the creation of a creative process" had its startup in the most informal way possible.

The album that progressively takes shape is controversial, partly disorienting, and ambiguous. On one side, Lindsey and his “Brian Wilson-like” sonic research, on the other, the lush and epically scaled production of Stevie Nicks and Christine McVie’s songs. In between, the record label, with its balls in a spin over the pharaonic daily recording expenses, still always confident in the smash-hit single. Stubbornly determined to differentiate “Tusk’s” musical identity from that of “Rumours,” Buckingham’s adventurousness, however, proves to be far-sighted. The low-fidelity arrangements, jagged refrains, almost faded vocal performances, muffled percussion, and answering machine choir still make the album highly enjoyable and ever so current today. And in this, I feel like comparing it, with absolute and due respect for the Bible of rock, to the Beatles' White Album.

Beyond this slightly bizarre approach, what, in my opinion, makes “Tusk” a great album are the songs that compose it and the melodic inspiration of all the members, who reaffirm themselves in a state of grace. Firstly, Lindsey’s songs are magnificent. “That’s all for everyone” harmonious and enticing, “The Ledge” compact and thumping, the lively "I Know I'm Not Wrong”, the sweet “Walk a thin line” and the exuberant "What Makes You Think You're One" which becomes a daring jam session in live performances. Then there's “Tusk.” The title track constitutes a separate chapter and is the embodiment of the spirit of the whole album as Buckingham had conceived it. Guided by the hammering percussion of Mick Fleetwood, juxtaposed with the repetitiveness of the refrain, it transforms from a subdued murmur to a frenzied spiritual mantra, in a belligerent final chorus, almost gospel-like. It is a piece far removed from everything the band had recorded until then, a daring mix of rhythm and vocal explosions, a single contrary to the radio-friendly. And yet paradoxically, it’s a memorable piece and critics even more than the public recognize it immediately. In short, if one of the group members was having fun with indulgence during the creation of “Tusk,” it was undoubtedly Lindsey Buckingham.

In pure composition, freed from the experimentalism of the curly-headed visionary guitarist, Christine Mc Vie is no less. Her songs are fluid, relaxed, and also explorative. The laid-back and mellifluous "Over & Over,” the airy groove with vocal dubbing of "Brown Eyes,” embellished by the uncredited guitar work of Peter Green, the simple and convincing ”Never Forget” and the pop-tinged third single "Think About Me" which faintly recalls “You make loving fun.” Exercises in style and melodic balance, excellent material.

I left Stevie Nicks’ compositions for last, certainly not because they are secondary in the album’s economy, quite the contrary. Of “Sara,” everything has already been said and written, it is a ballad that should never end, emotionally devastating in its beauty. And how can one remain impassive before the enigmatic magic of “Sisters of the Moon” and its crescendo partly reminiscent of “Rhiannon.” Stevie is in the fullness of her compositional maturity, very instinctive and emotional. Evidently, the sensational daily snorts, which will soon force her to redo her nasal passages, do not compromise her crystal-clear talent as a composer and performer. And her ballads remain memorable. Like the moving "Storms,” dark and solitary, where her voice loses, breaks, and recomposes itself. Or like the tender “Beautiful Child” or even the lively and captivating rock-blues of “Angel,” the true “missed single of the record.”

Beyond the initial provocations, it would be objectively difficult to call all these songs “punk” per se. In truth, they overflow with Buckingham’s folk & blues background, and after all, they were recorded with a budget with which, at those times, one could almost plan a trip to Mars. But they retain the affinity, simplicity, and conciseness of punk. In many ways, they sound exactly like they are: punk rock reflected through the mirror of a millionaire band.

“Tusk” was greeted with some coldness and achieved “only” four million copies sold, an impressive quantity by today’s standards, but well below the haul of “Rumours.” The Warner Bros. executives and industry experts considered it a half disappointment, but the record showed that Fleetwood Mac hadn’t stopped in 1976, and for the moment, wouldn’t be mimicking themselves. The world tour that followed “Tusk,” leaving aside the sentimental disputes, the betrayals among the band members, and the daily withdrawal crises from cocaine, was probably the best ever. The pieces, live, gained greater vigor and quickly became classics. Thus, the album has grown considerably over time, to be recognized by many as Fleetwood Mac’s true “masterpiece.” I consider it such, an album out of time, where Buckingham’s propensity for creative excess in conceiving and realizing his “Smile,” ultimately sublimates the band's stylistic and musical identity, without taking anything away from the magic of that sound created just a few years earlier. As far as I am concerned, “Tusk” remains an engaging and fascinating listen even today, imperative for an understanding and appreciation of the band's musical history and all California rock of the seventies. Loving Fleetwood Mac is also this, marveling still, after 40 years, at the absurd and fantastic alchemy that these five people managed to create back in 1979.