If it’s been awhile since you’ve been reminded of Lindsey
Buckingham, I understand completely. He’s someone that we tend to take for
granted, and then something comes around to remind you. It may be that lost
classic “Trouble,” from Law & Order
that you hear out of nowhere, only to remember how awesome it is. Maybe it’s a
spin of Fleetwood Mac’s Tusk where
you discover how much the man emulated Brian Wilson, to the point where you
understand the risks that were involved with that album, particularly after the
success of Rumors.
Or maybe it’s that moment when you first heard Lindsey’s
version of the awful Fleetwood Mac song, “Big Love,” when you discovered that
underneath all of that embarrassing 80’s crud was a song of incredible beauty,
provoked only by an acoustic guitar and Buckingham’s lightening fast finger
picking style.
It had been years since I was reminded of this, probably as
long as that version of “Big Love” became famous, prompting guitarists to drool
and your parents to say, “I told you so.”
A few years ago, some friends checked out Lindsey in Des Moines at a snug
little ballroom. His prowess was repeated, and I was envious of it. So when I
received word that he was coming through the area again, I promised myself that
I would not ignore it and I even promised my wife a ticket, to which she asked,
“Who is Lindsey Buckingham?”
Don’t beat her up too much; a woman my age asked the same
thing when I told her and I could have easily avoided both moments by saying
“The guitarist from Fleetwood Mac.”
Fleetwood Mac doesn’t mean that much to me anymore. I still
get a kick out of Tusk and Rumors was on my parent’s stereo for two
solid years before it ever came off, so I’m quite aware of its greatness. I
remember buying a copy for myself in college, only to give it to a girlfriend
because I discovered that I was still sick of it. It wasn’t until the deluxe
reissue came out with all of its nifty demos and studio outtakes that I warmed
up to it, thereby reminding myself, “Gee, I wonder what Lindsey’s been up to.”
On a whim, I found his latest Seeds We Sow-my first Buckingham album since Out Of The Cradle-stomaching the cover art that screamed, “He’s in
a mellow mood.”
But cover art is for record loyalists and old luddites, the
shit that was being beamed to me in ones and zeros proved to be some revelatory
stuff. The first spin found Buckingham alternating between impressive wordplay
and straight up weird pop music, some of it very familiar to 1981’s Law & Order with ultimately no
chance at commercial accessibility.
Not that it matters much to Lindsey, and that’s the beauty
of it. Seeds We Sow fluctuates from
folk social commentary (“Seeds We Sow”) to spastic new wave political pop (“One
Take”) to a telling, frenetic piece of dreamy fingerpicking (“Stars Are Crazy”).
Whatever the direction, it’s unmistakably Lindsey and it’s an unfortunate
oversight to anyone who may have missed this left-field pop gem, penned by a
man now in his early sixties but who continues to create with youthful exuberance.
It’s only during the dramatically beautiful penultimate
track “End Of Time” where the topic of mortality finally comes up. It’s a
plaintive plea for reprieve-of which, he’ll never get, of course-but it’s a
gripping moment where Buckingham tempers his unfettered nature and delivers the
most mature moment on the record.
Ignore the adult contemporary cover; within the grooves of Seeds We Sow is a lush display of
someone continues to approach music like a kid in a candy store. Within that
ageless performance is a man who has reached the heights of popularity and come
away from it with the kind of integrity that you’d hope all of those classic
rock heroes would someday find.
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