Review: Fleetwood Macks on Lubbock

Big Guy calls me on a random Thursday afternoon and asks what I'm doing that night. Working out? No! We're going to a free Fleetwood Mac concert! Aww yeah!

Uh oh. It's at the United Spirit Arena. No drinkies for us. We decide to play Scavenger Hunt. Big Guy lays out the rules: 10 points for a female mullet, 5 points for a male mullet, 10 points for an interracial couple, and 10 points for hair dyed an unnatural shade like pink, blue or green. (Later, he also proclaims that he deserves 15 points for something he calls, "King Mullet.")

"Will you give me a dollar to yell 'Bush sucks'?" Big Guy asks. When I agree, he asks, "How fast can you run?"

My first thought as Fleetwood Mac takes the stage: What is Stevie wearing? What are those? Moon boots? She has this…weird sorceress dress on, and these boots…my God, they must be 5 inches tall-at the toe. She's clomping around the stage like they're very heavy. Weights, perhaps, to build calf muscles?

"Okay, now, which one was she married to?" I ask Big Guy. "Lindsey Buckingham," he replies. "But she had sex with that guy too." He points out Mick Fleetwood. "Aw, hell, I think they all had sex with each other."

They sing a new song called "Peacekeeper" and I realize I've heard it. It has one of those great repeating sounds that I love! I elbow Big Guy and sing along to the sound.

"What is that?" he asks.

"I think it's a duck call," I respond, and he makes like he's using a duck call each time it plays. We're stone cold sober but it's riotous. Between the duck call, making fun of Stevie's boots and the scavenger hunt, we're not winning any friends. Big Guy claims the guy next to him just farted on him.

I've heard more Fleetwood Mac songs than I thought! All those years being tortured by Mom's endless Majic 95 paid off. I can actually hang at this concert. However, I've learned to fear Stevie leaving the stage. When she leaves, Lindsey sings.

Steeeevie! No! Please come back! Please? Stevie? Big Guy leans over as Lindsey begins his guitar solo while crooning some indecipherable phrases.

"I can't tell if he's on 'ludes or I am." Lindsey is singing totally off-key and then things go from bad to worse as he launches into a freaky guitar solo that reminds me of how much I hate jam bands. Dude, where the hell is Stevie? Please come back out here and sing "Landslide." Please save us, Stevie. Alas, she cannot hear me over the painful tweaking of guitar strings as Lindsey completely loses his mind and is determined to wail on his guitar until our ears bleed. Oh jeez. He just won't stop. It's almost like we've entered a private moment that shouldn't be witnessed as he writhes around on stage. He just starts to bang on his guitar, one hand and then the other. Ever seen a little kid bang on his highchair with a plastic spoon? This looks very similar and sounds much worse.

I black out for a while, and when I come to, the rest of the band is back, and they're all playing together. There are these graphics of a marching band playing horns, and Stevie and Lindsey are running around the stage together. It's totally weird. Lindsey eventually picks up his guitar again, starts swinging it around and then crouches down to finish the song. It looks like he (1) hurt himself, (2) is really overcome by the moment or (3) a combination of the two.

Big Guy leans over. "Now that was just pathetic."

I am the first to spot a female mullet and score 10 points. "Do I get any points for a stars and stripes shirt?" I ask Big Guy.

"Naw, too easy," he replies.

Then Mick Fleetwood comes out from behind the drum set and he's wearing…dear God, is he wearing knickers? Knickers and tights and little red elfin shoes. What the hell? But stranger than that is when he returns from the encore to play a totally whacked out drum solo that can only be appreciated by the heavily medicated, and he has some sort of Drum Machine Vest. It's almost like some psycho has strapped dynamite to his chest and is playing it just before he blows himself up. Then there's his facial expressions—very similar to Blond Tips—his eyes are practically bugging out of his head, and then other times he plays the drums with his eyes closed. Never do his eyes look quite normal.

Of course they close with, "Don't Stop." Big Guy takes credit for calling this, like the entire arena of 10,000 people didn't already know it too. I shake my head.

"Closing with a hit, how passé," I comment, borrowing one of El Dilector's favorite phrases.