“When I'm really thinking about something—I mean when something's really bothering me— again, the best thing that I can do is go to the music room, or to the office, where I can write. Because once I put it down and I can read it back, and I can think about what I'm saying, then it makes sense to me. When I'm just thinking it in my head, it's going around and around, and I feel like a little child unable to make a real, substantial decision. And we were talking about our lives... the rest of our lives.” – Stevie Nicks, 1992
Stevie Nicks played her first show of 2023 last night with Billy Joel at SoFi Stadium in California. It also happened to be her first show since the late 2022 passing of her beloved bandmate and self-proclaimed best friend Christine McVie.
Stevie and Christine—no last names needed—were the heart of Fleetwood Mac. Although Lindsey Buckingham’s guitar heroics and sonic innovations shaped the band’s sound, the women were the hitmakers—the writers responsible for “Dreams,” “Everywhere,” “Gold Dust Woman,” “Rhiannon,” “Little Lies,” “Sara.” In the male-dominated rock landscape of the ‘70s and ‘80s, Stevie and Christine were two of the loudest voices, musicians who brought poetry and passion to the genre.
Rockstars who came of age in Nicks’ era are supposed to be untouchable. But part of Fleetwood Mac’s era-defying popularity comes from their vulnerability—how much they invited listeners into their messy lives. Their songs could be bitter and petulant—but also jubilant and romantic, or sad and wistful. Fleetwood Mac were willing to share their heartbreaks and triumphs, to show us their imperfect sides, the times they weren’t their best selves. And they were unapologetic about being so brutally honest. Fleetwood Mac were no fans of sugarcoating.
Unsurprisingly, Nicks brings that same energy to her solo career. And her solo shows in recent years have doubled as ways for her to grieve and honor departed friends, including Prince and Tom Petty. At SoFi Stadium, she sang “Free Fallin’,” a recent setlist staple. But the last song of the encore was “Landslide,” which Nicks performed in front of video screens projecting photos of her and McVie taken across the decades.
It felt more like Nicks sharing her private scrapbook with the crowd—curating photos and memories like a form of communal mourning, the kind of photo display you might see at a somber memorial service.
You saw young Stevie and Christine mugging for the camera and performing together onstage in the 1970s, all fluffy hair and glowing skin. There was Christine in the studio, focused intently on her piano. A portrait of a smiling Christine wearing a “Nobody’s Perfekt” t-shirt—a slogan that’s cheeky nod both to her maiden name (Perfect) and the spelling error. Stevie and Christine holding hands and striding onstage. A shot of the duo circa Tango in the Night, with crunchy and teased-out hair. And Stevie and Christine in later years, posing with the ease and comfort you only experience with lifelong friends.
Nicks wrote “Landslide” in the years before she joined Fleetwood Mac. Over the years, she’s ascribed multiple origins to the song. “It's about a father-daughter relationship,” she said in 1998. Six years later, she told Q: “I wrote it (Landslide) for Lindsey - for him, about him. It's dear to both of us because it's about us. We're out there singing about our lives.”
What isn’t in question is she wrote it in Aspen, Colorado, in a time when Nicks was at a crossroads. The now cult-classic (rightfully so) Buckingham Nicks LP had underperformed, and Lindsey was on tour with the Everly Brothers. Nicks was behind in Colorado trying to pick up the pieces of her life.
“I had gotten to a point where it was like, ‘I'm not happy. I am tired. But I don't know if we can do any better than this. If nobody likes this, then what are we going to do?’” she told Performing Songwriter in 2003. “So during that two months, I made a decision to continue. ‘Landslide’ was the decision.”
“Landslide” can be interpreted as Stevie laying out the worst-case scenario—everything collapsing around her like a massive snow avalanche—so she could instead make room for success. She doesn’t have all the answers, of course—and self-doubt always creeps in:
Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?
It had somehow never occurred to me until seeing video of her SoFi Stadium performance that “Landslide” doubles as an elegy for the passage of time and an acknowledgment that life is fragile and fleeting.
With McVie’s death, Fleetwood Mac is effectively done—and while Nicks has always maintained a solo career, the realization that the band isn’t there anymore changes the song’s meaning significantly. The “you” in the song is Fleetwood Mac—and, in a way, “Landslide” is her grieving the loss of her band and moving forward.
Well, I've been afraid of changin'
'Cause I've built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I'm getting older too
Nicks wrote those lyrics when she was in her twenties. When we’re in our twenties, getting older seems different. We’re becoming who we’re supposed to be, growing into adults, and it can be frightening and disorienting. You start to feel your life coming into focus and, for the first time, experience the passage of time in a way that makes you feel the weight of responsibility. Even though chances are good you do have decades of life in front of you—there’s still the sense of life slipping away.
Fifty years later, the lyric “And I'm getting older too” feels particularly piercing. This time around, life is slipping away. The lyric acknowledges mortality, both our own and that of other people. There’s more urgency to changing and trying new things, because tomorrow isn’t guaranteed—and it might be the last time you’re able to do something.
“Landslide” and Nicks’ elegy for McVie hit me especially hard today because my father-in-law, Hubert Golden “G” Wardlaw, Jr., passed away this morning.
It wasn’t entirely unexpected: He had been living with Alzheimer’s for years, and the ever-vigilant (and wonderfully compassionate) hospice care workers had been keeping my husband apprised of health changes and progressions. He died peacefully in his sleep, which is the best you can hope for. Goodbyes were said; music by Dave Brubeck and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir eased his journey in the last few days.
Life has felt both precarious and precious since early February, as it became clear that G was in life’s twilight. As it turns out, dying is sometimes a long and drawn-out process full of uncertainty. Watching a relative die is exhausting; the sadness and pre-emptive grief take up residence.
But the abundance of compassion shown toward G, my husband, my mother-in-law and my sister-in-law made the transition easier. Hospice treated him with kindness and dignity; caretakers in the facility where he lived told stories about G’s delightful demeanor and joking nature; friends were tender and sensitive to the fraught time.
Fleetwood Mac fans are particularly protective of Stevie (and Christine, for that matter). And at SoFi Stadium, even on video, you could sense the warmth and compassion beamed toward Stevie during the song, and the love directed to Christine’s memory.
Nicks was overcome by emotion by the end of the song and wasn’t able to sing the last few words. Her band gracefully finished the song as she put her head down and the stadium lights dimmed. Ever the professional, however, Nicks addressed the crowd through tears before taking a bow.
“There’s really not much to say,” Nicks said, “We just [unclear] know that she’s still here. That’s how I’m trying to deal with it. Thank you for listening.”
“Landslide” over the years has come to be about perseverance—about losing your footing and being swept away by snow, but being able to get back up and move on. Maybe now the song takes on another meaning: to cherish every day and make the most of your life, because you never know what tomorrow might bring.
Oh that made me cry in the best way. Thanks for a lovely writeup. And I’m so sorry for your loss.
My deepest condolences. Beautiful words and thoughts, to say the least.