I first heard Fleetwood Mac not because I was seeking them out, but because their music just seemed to be everywhere. It was there on family road trips, playing on the car stereo as the highway stretched out in front of us. It was there in the background at get-togethers, echoing softly through a room filled with laughter and conversation. Songs like "Dreams" and "Rhiannon" weren’t just part of a playlist; they became part of life’s atmosphere—always there, even if you didn’t fully realize it.
There’s something about Stevie Nicks’ voice that sounds like it’s lived a thousand lives. It carries a kind of wisdom and sadness, even when the lyrics are hopeful. It’s not just the words she sings, but the way she sings them, with a crackle in her voice that makes you feel like she’s letting you in on a secret. Lindsey Buckingham’s guitar riffs, Christine McVie’s soulful keys, and the steady rhythm from Mick Fleetwood and John McVie all come together in a way that’s as raw as it is polished. Their songs feel like a conversation between friends—sometimes tender, sometimes bitter, but always real.
Listening to "Landslide" for the first time felt like being seen in a different way. It was about more than just the fear of change or the nostalgia for the past—it was about the inevitability of growing up and moving on, whether you’re ready for it or not. There’s a line in that song, "Can I handle the seasons of my life?" that still hits hard because it’s a question you never really stop asking yourself. And that’s what Fleetwood Mac does best—they make music that you can grow up with, music that meets you wherever you’re at.
As I’ve gotten older, the songs take on different meanings. What used to be background music now feels like it’s speaking directly to the experiences I’ve collected along the way. "Go Your Own Way" isn’t just about heartbreak anymore; it’s about accepting the reality that sometimes paths diverge, and that’s okay. "The Chain" isn’t just about anger and betrayal; it’s about the ties that keep you connected to people and places, even when everything else falls apart.
Fleetwood Mac’s music has aged with me, shifting from something I listened to casually into something I turn to when I need it. The band itself went through its share of drama and reinvention, which adds another layer to their songs—knowing that behind every melody and harmony, there was real pain, joy, and everything in between. It makes the music feel less like a polished product and more like a story you’re being told by someone who’s lived through it.
Fleetwood Mac isn’t just a band—they’re a reminder that growing up is a process, full of high points and rough patches, and that the memories we make along the way are worth holding onto. Their songs capture that in a way few others can, not by offering answers, but by letting you feel whatever it is you need to feel.