The main question haunting the cadre of rock gods from yesteryear is when to lay down the instruments and submit to artistic euthanasia.
For Lindsey Buckingham, former guitar virtuoso of Fleetwood-Mac fame, it seemed his resignation to the tomb of “has been” was sealed following his 1992 release of Out of the Cradle.
Sure, Buckingham had Fleetwood’s mid-’90s revival, but lukewarm leftovers never carry the flavor of fresh releases.
When tracks from Buckingham’s Gift of Screws LP were synthesized for Fleetwood’s Say You Will, Buckingham’s solo career seemed officially D.O.A.
But with last year’s release of Under the Skin, Buckingham proved himself worthy of existence beyond the grave.
And tonight at 9 p.m., Buckingham will place himself onstage for believers and naysayers alike at The Depot.
With the lightning speed of a pop-laden Valkyrie, Buckingham’s fingers extol the virtues of pop-gone-right. Under the Skin has the licks, the catchy hooks — the makings of a modern iteration of Fleetwood’s best Rumors-era work.
Buckingham takes the high-minded pretension of Art with a capital A and distills its essence into digestible nuggets. Don’t misread: His tunes don’t carry the saccharine-coated sweetness of Clear Channel favorites or Billboard toppers — Buckingham’s music never betrays its rock-folk origins for the sake of popularity. Name another pop artist who is able to synthesize a fugue — a music style not popular since the days of Bach — into a pop album.
As such, his music typifies what pop should accomplish at its best: a balance between sales and sentiment.
And for a mere 35 bucks, Buckingham will prove tonight that not only do resurrections occur in the rock arena, but that some things age with the grace of wine, not vinegar.
