Her music was plaintive but never pathetic, desperate but never disconsolate. I’ll start: If Nicks was brave enough to write about being alone, then McVie had the courage to write about believing in love. I’m sure I was appreciated, but it wasn’t hero worship or anything like that. In a Q+A with the Guardian, McVie conceded that she was never seen as the legend she should have been: “Not too many women have said, ‘Thanks for groundbreaking,’ to be honest. She didn't write about freedom or revenge, didn't take on the persona of a gypsy or a wild heart or a Welsh witch. She was never in Vh1 Divas and never inspired a character in a Ryan Murphy witchcraft show. McVie was the steady heartbeat throughout that tumultuous heyday, as she wrote song after song that professed a belief in the possibility of love.Īnd yet, McVie has never been regarded as one of the flashier members of the band, nor has she received the same adulation as the glittering Nicks. Their divorce, along with the on-again-off-again drama of bandmates Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham, was the background for Fleetwood Mac’s infamous 1977 album, the twenty-times Platinum Rumours. She was a blues artist before marrying Fleetwood Mac bassist John McVie, and after joining the band she became one of their core members as a singer, songwriter, and keyboardist. She was born Christine Perfect - of course she was. If a Christine McVie song is open hearted, it’s in the way that feels wet and beating and quivering. “Over and Over,” from Fleetwood Mac’s 1979 album, Tusk, was the only thing that calmed me down at night at the height of the pandemic lockdown - not because the song was such a lullaby, but because its desperate repetitiveness felt true. A classic McVie jam carries you across each beat of a steady 4/4 with a moody, shimmering synth and the consoling voice of an angel. Christine McVie’s music is not easy listening.
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