The Dance

Fleetwood Mac’s The Dance (1997) is in the top 5 of my favorite albums. I remember watching the live performance on TV as a young girl and feeling so moved by it. A big part of that memory also includes my dad rocking out to it enthusiastically, which added to the amusement and fun of the performance. To me, this album and the emotions tied to it are timeless like the smile of an old, dear friend.

The album begins with growing anticipation created by a cheering (lucky) crowd, chimes, and a simple beat from Mick Fleetwood on the drums. Lindsey Buckingham makes his introduction with the rolling, pacing riff that begins The Chain. As the singers begin, their complementing harmonies fill the room with that familiar, sweet sound. Christine McVie builds the foundation of the melody with high, confident tones; Stevie Nicks adds an air to mystery with her smoky voice; Lindsey Buckingham, an air of wild rebellion. Drums and bass rumble over the crowd, the storm introducing the beginning of this great show. The song itself is a morose refrain depicting a struggle for frustrated love. Enter the bridge: a grooving, fast-paced bass solo served by John McVie that always manages to play on repeat in my head after I’ve heard it, which transitions seamlessly into a ripping guitar solo that charges every pore.

Once Stevie welcomes the lucky crowd, we’re immersed in the warm bath of Dreams. The vocal variations Stevie utilizes in this performance haunt my memory. If I’m singing this song to myself, this version is what I’m singing.

From Dreams, we’re brought into the dream-like intro of Everywhere. This song gives me the feeling of new love: that feeling of weightlessness on a flawless spring day. The blending of instruments in this song promotes a feeling of unity, each piece equally important. My favorite part of this song has always been the end, with the dove-like vocalization and continuous guitar, like the song’s taking wing to go sing somewhere else. In a way, it’s a lot like love: even when it feels like it’s left, it’s always still there, muted and omnipresent.

Everywhere dwindles into the high, staccato piano riff that introduces a Fleetwood Mac classic, Rhiannon. This performance of Rhiannon is arguably the best. It includes poetic bookends to the song, which tells a story of longing and unrequited love. Once more, Stevie is on point with vocal variation as she adds a new layer of emotion to an already emotional song. She embodies the strength and confidence of a high priestess calling upon the full moon as her voice dances playfully around the familiar melody.

Following Rhiannon is Lindsey Buckingham’s fiery performance of I’m So Afraid. His playing is sorrowful and obstinate, a contents-under-pressure form of control. The thunderous drums and cool organ add to the almost savage feeling of this song: the growling desperation brought on by fear of the unknown. I’m reminded of gnawing helplessness that feels like something’s attempting to claw its way out from my chest.

Once the gut-wrenching guitar solo of I’m So Afraid has concluded, they transition into a more upbeat song: Temporary One. I admit, I’ve never been a fan of this song. It’s always seemed monotonous to me, with few lyrics I could pick out to sing along with. It may just be that I can’t relate to it.

From Temporary One, we’re led into Bleed To Love Her, another upbeat tune that brings to mind the faces of those I love. The guitar is bright and lively. Lindsey’s voice is wistful. This song evokes feelings of a crush: day-dreaming all day about how to talk to that person, deep sighs when you can’t decide on the right words, and a heightened enjoyment of life in general. “I would bleed to love her,” are the resounding lyrics that profess a deep love and aching need for someone to share even a part of life with.

Big Love is next. With the rest of Fleetwood Mac apparently having taken a break, they’ve let Lindsey Buckingham loose on stage to get some of the insanity out…and no one is disappointed! This track on the album is the most impressive to me, as it’s just Lindsey and his guitar. Normally, I would assume the song wouldn’t sound full enough in that context; but Lindsey Buckingham is here to prove me wrong with his unbridled, slightly unhinged energy, which fills every bit of my attention.

Landslide is possibly Fleetwood Mac’s most popular song. There was a period in my life when I got sick of it because of this popularity—it was everywhere, used in anything. While it’s a great song, even the best songs can become wearisome after so much repetition. Now that the Landslide craze has died down, though, I love this song, again. Its rendition on The Dance is particularly lovely: quiet, intimate, and a little melancholy. This is a truly timeless song, speaking of lessons learned at every turn in life and building on those lessons as time wears on. It’s a gentle reminder that life is fleeting; time doesn’t wait for anyone or anything. It’s a good habit to shed old routines and create new in order to live life as actively and presently as possible.

Say You Love Me fills the room, next. This is an optimistic, loping tune that’s difficult to listen to sitting still. The bass in this song is particularly epic in its impish banter with the rest of the instruments.

My Little Demon begins with Lindsey Buckingham’s small explanation about the song. During this introduction, Mick lets loose on the drums—letting his demons out in real time. I can almost see those wide eyes and crooked smile—that have become so endearing to me—as he takes some time to troll Lindsey mid-concert. Like most other Lindsey songs, My Little Demon has a certain level of unhindered passion to it. If Lindsey Buckingham was a basic element, it would be fire; and he always finds a way to infuse his performances with that wild, heated roar. This song is close to my heart because it’s so relatable. We all have our personal demons that create weird, stupid stumbling blocks in life. Mine have featured mental illness, which turns into a life-long journey with my demons. The lyrics illustrate perfectly the back and forth I’ve experienced with myself: suppression versus expression; what’s the true me, and what’s the bipolar me?

Things calm down for the next track, which is ushered in with the flow of chimes: Silver Springs. A song of longing and loss, Silver Springs is just about as heavy as My Little Demon in its own way. No matter where I am in love, this song always makes my heart ache due to Stevie’s impassioned performance. There’s such a lonely finality to this song: the feeling of an important, familiar era ending and an era of the unknown beginning. Fear and hope battle each other in this song: equal and opposite forces clashing to create something beautiful and unforgettable.

Silver Springs is followed by a funky old tune, You Make Loving Fun. Christine McVie songs tend to have a bright, buoyant overtone to them, and this song is no exception. It’s nearly impossible to listen to this song without singing and/or dancing along. She sings of celebratory fresh love that makes a person feel like they’re floating. This feeling is communicated well by the bouncy rhythms of the drums and keyboard, as well as the breezy tone with which she sings.

Stevie calms the room down a bit with Sweet Girl, next. I’ve never quite understood this song. I feel like it has something to do with her contrasting wishes for fame and simplicity—or it could be the contrasting wishes of those around her. Maybe there were people who thought she’d lose her sweetness after living the rock and roll life for too long. I’m not sure; but, if that is the case, it’s something everyone encounters eventually in life. It’s like in Game of Thrones when Maester Aemon tells Jon Snow to kill the boy. There comes that moment in life when we need to destroy who we are now in order to become our best potential selves in the future. I feel like this is part of what Stevie was dealing with while writing this song.

After the brief tranquility of Sweet Girl, the energy of the show is brought right back up with Go Your Own Way—another classic of Fleetwood Mac’s. And, characteristic of Fleetwood Mac, this popular song is about breaking up and going separate ways in life. It really brings home those frustrated, angry, and questioning feelings that occur when a break up is still raw and hard to cope with. And it’s a rockin song!

Next in the set is Tusk, a primal, almost ritualistic, song. It creates the mental picture of being in a dense forest at night, standing before a large bonfire in a clearing, and hearing the wild nightlife around me. It meshes together feelings of uncertainty and instinct, like a cornered beast about to strike. Jealousy and betrayal are the main themes in the lyrics of this beautifully composed song. It offers a spark of insanity and a large dose of deep-belly rage. It’s that ‘what the hell’s going on?’ seething frustration that oozes from the speakers. This performance is ended with the assistance of the University of Southern California marching band, something they continue on into the next and final track.

I feel like any Fleetwood Mac performance isn’t complete until Don’t Stop is played. This staple is a friendly reminder to never give up on that which feeds your joy. Similar in meaning to The Beatles’ Dear Prudence, this song is good medicine for depression or general sadness or discouragement. Help your fellow humans smile and carry pride in their existence; don’t dwell on the cringes and frustrations of your yesterdays because, today, you are a new you. You always have the choice of moving forward and improving your decisions. It’s the perfect end to an exhilarating show!