Jimmies

Mister Softee drove down our street last night for what was probably the last time this season (unless the F.O.P. is still trying to Fire Krasner, but the ice cream would this time be promoting a Republican who murdered his girlfriend in the bathtub... I digress). That got me thinking about the rumor that I hear at least once a summer, while eating a soft serve cone with sugary toppings—is the term "jimmies" racist?

The urban legend states that chocolate sprinkles are called "jimmies" in some regions (including the generally racist Northeast Philadelphia) after Jim Crow. The myth explains that this is why all-chocolate sprinkles are jimmies, and rainbow-colored sprinkles are just "sprinkles." As someone who has called the topping "jimmies" for as long as I can remember (for real—one of my earliest memories is eating a sundae with jimmies at Grandpop's house in Lawncrest, it must've been like 1992), the first time I heard this urban legend, it gave me pause. Was it racist?

There are three paths to take when considering the veracity and impact of this rumor.

One: it's not true. There is no evidence that it is not racist, but there is more importantly not a single piece of historical evidence that proves that it is racist. If the burden of proof lies with the accuser, then we can take this as truth: the term "jimmies" has never been racist. Snopes did a whole article about the claim, and they uncovered nothing (indeed, a majority of the write-up covers who invented the term, but the conclusion is that, whoever invented it, it has nothing to do with Jim Crow or racism or race at all). So there is nothing to feel bad about, if you used "jimmies" to describe ice cream toppings, and still continue to use it.

Two: who the fuck am I to say what is and isn't racist? Ultimately, if someone is legitimately offended by something, then the burden falls on me to respect that, and to do my best not to offend. What is deemed "offensive" (or, more specifically, "racist") is not for me to decide. It's like when streaming services pulled the Community episode with Chang painted as a dark elf, and the joke was that it wasn't supposed to be blackface, and yet Shirley and Pierce both assumed it was blackface. The character didn't intend it to be blackface, and the context indicated that it definitely wasn't blackface. But it doesn't matter. If someone is offended by the portrayal, then it is racist. End of story. A better example is the "OK" hand signal (index and thumb together, other three fingers out). This was never racist in any way—it literally meant "OK"—but since white supremacists have adopted it as their own signal, it is indeed racist to make the OK sign. So I dunno, I guess I'm saying that if there comes a time that a P.O.C. is offended by "jimmies," then ya gotta respect that. No room for any "um, actually"s.

Three: it's probably actually racist at this point to bring up the urban legend at all. Think about it this way—is there any benefit to white supremacy if this rumor continues to spread? The one I can think of is that it gives racists an excuse to mock something that is so-called racist. This is called reductio ad absurdum, or an "appeal to extremes." It's a logical fallacy that states that if the most extreme example is false, then all of it is false. Just because it is wrong to call jimmies "racist," doesn't mean that there aren't plenty of other terms that have a racist history, and that we shouldn't use them. Though it's easy to imagine a racist uncle bringing this up, right? "Oh man, we can't even use the word 'jimmies' now?! Black people have gone too far!" It's the use of an extreme example (and in this case, a false extreme) to make the rest of the argument look stupid. It's like when the rumor about Paw Patrol getting rid of their cop dog started spreading around the same time as the Defund the Police movement started picking up steam. "What? We can't even have fictional police dogs on children's television now? If this is what 'defund the police' looks like then I don't support it!" and so on.

Basically, you don't have to be worried about what to call tiny milk chocolate confections on top of your ice cream, but you do have to be worried about who is telling you this urban legend, and why. If someone is genuinely worried that a childhood term means that they are being inadvertently racist, then there's plenty of evidence to correct them and allay their worries. If someone is saying that the term "jimmies" offends them as a person of color, then there is much less room for correction—though hopefully some room for fact-based understanding, in this particular case. And if someone is using this urban legend as a bad faith measuring stick for racism, then it is on you to correct not only the falsehoods, but also the faulty logic behind believing that falsehood in the first place.

And then when you're done all that, grab an ice cream cone, and pretend that another great Philadelphia summer isn't over.

Carpe Diem

I wonder how many people saw the title of this blog post and were able to correctly guess that I recently rewatched Dead Poets Society. Yes! We spent our night being advised by the late Robin Williams to SEIZE THE DAY! It was time well spent, in my opinion.

I was first shown Dead Poets Society in freshman year high school religion class, and obviously it hit hard back then. We were watching it at a preppy, all-boys Catholic institution. We were all just starting to examine what it was that we wanted from life. We also felt universally hampered by the adults in our lives, whom we thought we knew much better than already. Opinions about Dead Poets Society vary, and I'll accept all of the criticisms as valid, but man, talk about a movie tailored maid for a fifteen-year-old Joe K***.

I've seen it multiple times since, and over the years, it's gradually turned from an impactful treatise on life to somewhat of a nostalgic piece. We all eventually lose that youthful joie de vivre, and turn from a Neil into a Mr. Perry.

So if I told you I felt weird after watching it the other night, then you can probably assume I mean that I feel like the lessons of Dead Poets Society are now falling on deaf ears. I cannot hear the Call to Life over the constant hum of deadlines and debts and doldrums. This wasn't revelatory—I know that this is what the slow slide into middle age is supposed to feel like. Sucking the marrow out of life isn't necessary every day of your existence. Simple, unexciting pleasures can still combine for a fulfilling life.

I'm also starting to wonder if I even ever knew what carpe diem meant in the first place. Oh, there were years of my life when carpe diem weighed heavily on my mind, when the desire to live life to the fullest was sought and often found in the moment. But I also think that "carpe diem," for me, sometimes morphed into a sort of do-whatever-you-want mantra, which hasn't aged well, as far as memories and nostalgia go.

I remember at the end of the summer of 2010, me and Mike and Ed were walking through Temple's campus to get back to the BSL, and the looming threat of graduation was pushing me to carpe diem the fuck up during what I assumed was going to be my final summer. Anyways, we're a block away from Cecil B. Moore station, and we pass a neighborhood bar. My idea was to go inside and order a Flaming Dr. Pepper. This, for some reason, was my idea of living life to the fullest.

I actually already briefly mentioned this anecdote before (#20), so you should know how this ends—for multiple, compounding reasons, we were nicely asked to leave the bar. I've widely viewed this as a slightly self-deprecating but ultimately amusing anecdote, and "carpe diem" is the reason why I've allowed myself to view it in that way. The way I've interpreted the concept was being able to remain comfortable in new situations, if that makes sense. "Sucking the marrow out of life" is another way to say that you can face being in a situation while still maintaining that you belong.

There are other ways to look at carpe diem, but that's how I've always seen it. But now I'm realizing that there's another side to that coin. Yes, I felt comfortable walking into a bar in North Philly and (attempting to) experience something new. However, this also means that everyone else—the largely black, middle-aged patrons—were probably uncomfortable, directly because of my carpe diem-fueled actions. Carpe diem to me was, to them, a stranger rubbing his privilege in their faces. Without getting too far down this path, I'll even say that it was racist.

So it's probable that I never even knew what carpe diem was in the first place. If not, then at this point I'm taking issue with the whole idea of carpe diem anyway. Sucking the marrow out of life seems barbaric, honestly, the more you think about it. Wouldn't you rather take some of that marrow and share it with friends?

That's not to say that the characters in Dead Poets Society even knew what carpe diem meant, either. Charlie's misinterpretation of it led to him being expelled from school. Neil got so wrapped up in it that when his father forcibly made him stop living life to the fullest, he went in the complete opposite direction and ended his life all together. And who are we even to say that Mr. Keating knew what carpe diem really meant? Do we really think taking a teaching job at some stuffy prep school is living life to the fullest?

Fifteen-year-old Joe would be aghast at this blog post, this call for moderation, this bleak interpretation of what "living life" really looks like. He could never fucking imagine that life would go on after the parties wound down and life settled into a slower gear (indeed, he was pretty adamant in his belief that he'd be dead before reaching 30). When "carpe diem" means playing life as hard as you possibly can for as many hours a day as you can, then anything else might seem like you're no longer carpe-diem-ing.

And if that's true, then fuck it. I'm not living carpe diem. I found a different way to live. I'm cool with that. Consciously reevaluating carpe diem means that I'm not going to find myself staring down the barrel of a gun, so it's all good.

This should probably all be a lot more obvious to a 32-year-old than I'm making it out to be here. Sorry! That's what happens when you're 32 years old and you watch Dead Poets Society again!!!

A Bunch of Mini-Reviews Compiled from a Rare Night Out

I'm at the point where I'm writing most of these blog posts like two weeks in advance. I only note this because, by the time you read this, maybe the Phillies will have been eliminated from playoff contention. So I will not review anything to do with the actual game, a.k.a. the de facto reason for the night out in the first place. Just in case the Phillies are no longer in contention, ya know. It's the Phillies! They probably blew it!

New Deck Tavern

The entire 3400 block of Sansom Street is blocked off, so there were plenty of seats for my three colleagues and I to grab some post-class drinks. There is a risk of overrating New Deck here—I had an excellent time, but that could probably be attributed to the fact that I was with new friends and old beers, and the combo of the two made for some nice chemistry. New Deck was just there, ready to serve us. Credit where it's due—I thought it was going to be expensive, and it ended up just being moderately priced. Citywides were available for $7, which, as far as non-divey bars go, is pretty reasonable. I thought the chicken nachos were going to be overpriced, but they were the densest, most packed nachos I've ever eaten, so at least I know where the money is going. It had been about six years since I'd been to New Deck. It's not the best bar in the city, but it was sure damn great to be back.

GRADE: 3.5 pukes out of 5

SEPTA

A truly awful showing today for everyone's least favorite public transportation system. Took me two hours door-to-door trying to get to school in the first place—the bus was forty minutes late, the El stopped at Spring Garden for fifteen minutes for reasons still unexplained—so I was late to my small-group meeting about a Sex and the City episode (don't ask). Then, on the way from New Deck to South Philly via Pennsport, the eastbound El was stopped again, this time for an HVAC system that wouldn't stop smoking. At least it didn't explode?

GRADE: 0.5 pukes out of 5

2nd Street Brew House

I was there for two beers—craft beers were the only option, $6 was the lowest price for a beer served in a plastic cup—and even during that short time, I was accosted by one of the only two other people who were in there. He was a trumper and an antivaxxer. Worse (or better, I can't decide), he was one of those self-described assholes. He even showed me a little patch that he carries around in his pocket that said "Certified Asshole." Just because you're lampshading that fact doesn't make it any less true, brah! I really only know any of this because there was a big sign on the door that said I needed to show my vaccination card to the bartender, but I tried to do just that and she laughed in my face, and said that they only hung the sign, but are purposefully not enforcing it. The beers held me over, but I don't think I'm going to be returning.

GRADE: 2 pukes out of 5

Gooey Looie's

It's been a while, but I was finally able to cross another cheesesteak off my list (which is itself tacked onto the overall bucket list). Gooey Looie's, I gotta say, stood out from a crowded pack, and I'll tell you why. Three reasons. One, they were accommodating; I stopped by an hour or so early (hence the layover at 2nd Street Brew House), and they said they could take my order early, no problem, and zero pushback. Every single cheesesteak place in the city knows that you want a cheesesteak, and so they think they can be rude with you—not so with Gooey Looie's. Two, it was hidden; instead of flashy neon, Gooey Looie's was tucked away in some little mid-block shopping mall-esque group of shops, right in between an accountant's office and a lawyer's office. It's like they want to be a secret, which makes you feel cool when you finally learn that secret. Three, the sandwich itself was excessive. I have sincerely never eaten a cheesesteak with this much meat on it. It almost bordered on too much, but ya know what? Give me a cheesesteak with too much meat over a cheesesteak with not enough meat 100 days out of 100. The excess meats just falls off anyway, no problem. Great sandwich! Don't let the fact that my dad took one bite and immediately puked, and kept puking for like a half hour—he's blaming that on the medicine he took earlier in the day, and not Gooey Looie's.

GRADE: 4.5 pukes out of 5

Bryce Harper's At-Bat Song

There's nothing wrong with being a fan of "'90s party anthems," or however you wanna describe Nelly's "Ride wit Me" (which was actually released in 2001, but I guess "the '90s" is a malleable term). I just think that it's a strange fucking choice for Bryce Harper especially. The man is being paid a total of $330 million to play for the Phillies for thirteen years. The inevitability of the Phillies disappointing us year after year, and the probability of Bryce never getting a World Series ring, means that you might have a right to question whether our favorite Phillie actually wants to be here. He'd never admit that he'd rather be anywhere else but here, but still, if you take his walk-up song at face value, then you'll hear a different tune: "Why do I live this way? / Must be the money."

GRADE: 1 puke out of 5

Song of the Week: "Checker Drive"

Check out some of the other songs of the day/week/whatever HERE.

"Checker Drive"

Telethon

from Swim Out Past the Breakers

2021

Telethon had their work cut out for them. A mostly unknown indie band that stormed into my life in late 2017, they knew exactly how to get my attention. This was hooky, lighthearted pop punk with indie stylings and a huge gimmick: The Grand Spontanean was 30 songs, and they comprised a relatively intense (but, again, fun and lighthearted too) rock opera about the end of the world. I was smitten.

I almost described The Grand Spontanean as a "breakthrough" in the previous paragraph, but that's not even remotely true, is it? They are still unknown. I mean, I was a huge fan of that 2017 album, but even that wasn't enough for me to do the most basic follow-up with Telethon; their June 2019 album Hard Pop came and went and I didn't even notice. (This might say more about who I allow to be my tastemakers/gatekeepers than anything else, but regardless.) It was only two weeks ago that I ended up back on Telethon's Bandcamp page—so soon after and already I don't even remember how I got there—and realized that they had released a new one late this summer.

As far as I can tell, there is no underlying theme to this one, and certainly no overarching story a la rock operas. My first reaction was that Telethon made it harder on themselves to get to me—I am a goddamn sucker for rock operas, and I wondered if Telethon would still have "it" if you stripped all that away.

Incredibly, they do. Swim Out Past the Breakers might be even better, if I'm being completely honest. It's so good that now I'm thinking that maybe Telethon used that apocalyptic tale as a crutch, that maybe if you took apart The Grand Spontanean and examined its parts, it couldn't stand. You can do that with Swim Out—look at each song, consider their values individually—and the album only becomes stronger.

At first glance, you might not see more to Telethon than your typical punk-pop-indie fare. If I had to triangulate the sound, I'd place 'em between... Bomb the Music Industry!, Jimmy Eat World, and Free Energy? All great bands, but not necessarily enough to stand out. Except that every song on this album has just that little something extra that gets to me, that makes Telethon stand out. A little glockenspiel here, an inspired guest vocal there (Franz Nicolay! Chris Farren! Future Teens!), an intriguing premise here, a disparate genre roped in there.

"Checker Drive" is the most obvious example. The chorus has been in my head all week, but that's not enough for one to consider a song "great." "Checker Drive" becomes great during the extended outro, in which the song all of a sudden turns into this sort of soft rock, television theme song exercise, plus also works as a pseudo-homage to "Layla." I can barely find anything online about Telethon, but I did happen to see that frontman Kevin Tully said that the end of "Checker Drive" was one of the coolest things they ever did. I'm hard-pressed to disagree. (P.S. make sure you don't listen to the "Single Version," which excises the outro altogether!)

I don't know that any particular "Song of the Week" necessarily needs to have a "point," and if so, there is no point here. I'm just writing to let you know that I really enjoyed this new Telethon album, and that I won't be stupid enough to forget this band again. Now what's your excuse?

Album of the Week: A Beginner's Mind

Whew. That was something, huh? Two Degrees of Record Club is over. Let's get back to have the members of Record Club pick their own goddamn albums. Maybe we'll even get to listen to some new music! What a novel concept!

To ensure a smooth transition, I have chosen the album, and I have chosen an artist you may know, and an album that was just released two days ago. Let's do what Record Club was designed to do, and explore this bitch together.

Check out the archives, check out the playlist, and now check out the new album below.

WEEK 139 — September 26-October 2, 2021

What we're listening to this week (Joe's pick):

ALBUM: A Beginner's Mind

ARTIST: Sufjan Stevens and Angelo De Augustine

RELEASED: September 24, 2021

WHAT GENRE IS THIS: Indie folk, probably with bits of electronica, if Sufjan stays true to form

WHY JOE PICKED IT: New music!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

TRACKLIST:

1. Reach Out
2. Lady Macbeth in Chains
3. Back to Oz
4. The Pillar of Souls
5. You Give Death a Bad Name
6. Beginner's Mind
7. Olympus
8. Murder and Crime
9. (This Is) the Thing
10. It's Your Own Body and Mind
11. Lost in the World
12. Fictional California
13. Cimmerian Shade
14. Lacrimae

LENGTH: 45:27

 

WHERE TO LISTEN FOR FREE: Bandcamp

 

READING SOME SHIT: The conceit of this album is that each song was inspired by a film. So start with the Wikipedia page for a handy list of all fourteen films that served as inspiration. And then move onto this conversation with both artists for AnOther.

PREVIOUSLY ON RECORD CLUB: It's been a while since we've done this Record Club trope—a collaborative album between an artist you probably already know and an artist you probably don't. We previously reviewed albums by Jim James and Teddy Abrams, Jens Lekman and Annika Norlin, and Iron & Wine and Calexico. All of those were in 2019 though, so it's good to get back to it. Another 2019 album connection—this album was conceived and written in a cabin owned by Bryce Dessner, who plays guitar and keyboard for the National (also twin brother to Taylor Swift's new bestie, Aaron Dessner). And finally, of all of the movies that served as inspiration for these songs, at least one of them is Record Club member's favorite of all time, and another one is a sequel to a favorite of all time, but I'll leave you to figure all that out by yourself.

Happy listening, fam! Have a great week!

A Year of Blind Spots: Master of Reality

I guess I talked about this a little bit during the very first edition of A Year in Blind Spots, with Motörhead and Ace of Spades, how there are certain genres that have evolved so rapidly in one direction that I can really only stomach the albums from its genesis, and not so much what the genre has become. So again, we have such an album in Master of Reality. Black Sabbath is a heavy metal album, and if someone asked me if I like heavy metal, I would say "no" pretty quickly, and yet Master of Reality was fucking awesome. Why is this? Well, I think we can explain it with this gif:

Which is more impressive? The gymnast from 2012, clearly. But when that guy on the right does his flips, I sincerely have no idea what he is doing—my eyes don't move that fast. The gymnast from 1912 is moving at my speed. And, though slower, it's still pretty impressive, hanging onto the bars like that!

So it goes with Black Sabbath and heavy metal, then. In fact, this is pretty interesting—after I had some unkind words to say about Slipknot a couple months ago, our fatter/older friend (who is on his own blogging-every-day vision quest currently, if you're interested) asked me "what is the hardest rock band that you like?" It took me aback because it's a nebulous subject matter to me. I.e. what the heck does "hard" even mean? And how does that even effect one's listening habits?

Gun to my head, is Black Sabbath "hard"? I would probably be inclined to say no. But that's because I wasn't around in 1971. I would've thought this was the hardest shit imaginable if I heard it then, just like I would've been in awe at the Olympic gold medalist in the 1912 gymnastics tournament. You build your tolerance, and eventually need harder and harder shit. I guess that's what the genre did over the last fifty years.

And I guess theoretically, if I wanted to, I could make my way through the years and the different metal hallmarks, and work my way up to the really distilled death metal shit from this current decade. But that's not really something I'm interested in currently. I'm finding that this doesn't really have anything to do with how far along the "hardness scale" a particular band or song lands; I'm finding instead that it has more to do with whether there's any discernible melody, or some type of musical hook that I can grab onto, regardless of hardness or lack thereof.

To my ears, most music in this vein—metal, hardcore, etc. (and again, I'm speaking about music from the past few years)—lacks melody. The singing doesn't matter to me—go as hard as you want, e.g. Damian Abraham or whoever—but just give me something else. Of course, this really just means I don't want to do the work; music like this does exist, but I lack the stamina to seek it out.

We're getting off-track. Bringing it back to Master of Reality, I can definitively state that Black Sabbath gives me something to hold onto. There's some fucking riffs on this bad boy. Besides one stoner-psychedelia stretch, and a couple drone-y interludes, this album is built on the back of Tony Iommi's incredible riffage, with Ozzy doing his semi-coherent singing over it.

This is some hard shit, man. Well, as hard as I'm willing to tolerate at this point, anyway.

Rumours, Maeve

This isn't the best album of all time. But goddamn it, it's certainly the album I've listened to the most in my life. And I'm not mad about that. It's great for anytime. Sunday morning? A walk? Putting on makeup? Background at a group hang? Maybe it's nostalgia, but I can't separate it. I can't think of a time where I wouldn't want to hear this album. 

5 Stars. Certified Fresh.

Rumours, Pam

I've listened to Rumours many times and have always known that a "love triangle" of sorts existed between the members of Fleetwood Mac at the time the album was being made. Not until today did I ever google anything about all of Fleetwood Mac's drama—and boy did it put Rumours into perspective. I should also add that although I've listened to Rumours many times, knowing about the drama surrounding the album made me realize that I'd never really listened... ya know, in italics, listened. As background music, Rumours is so upbeat and, on the surface, seems relatively happy. Truly taking a good listen and tying it all together with the group's history surrounding the album, I've realized that there's a lot of pain behind its mainly cheery sound. It's betrayal and drama, wrapped in a folkie witchy haze. I've also realized that I love this album even more now. And I furthermore understand that this is probably basic Music History 101 knowledge... I'm late to the party.

"Dreams" — this is a song that should only be listened to while slowly swaying back and forth or spinning around in circles wearing a shirt with bell sleeves and, like, a long floral skirt, most likely purchased in New Hope. Truly enchanting witchy goodness.

"Go  Your Own Way" — this is currently my favorite song on the album (beating out former favorites "Dreams" and "The Chain"). Lindsey Buckingham's songs have a real saltiness to them while still maintaining a coolness that is just so good in so many ways.

"The Chain" — I'm a sucker for a build-up that ascends into greatness, and "The Chain"'s bass hook that builds up the end of the song is fantastic. There's also some excellent saltiness on this song as well that high school Pam would have clutched onto so hard had I been into Fleetwood Mac back in the day. I could absolutely see either myself or friends of mine using "And if you don't love me now, you will never love me again" in place of some quote from The Swiss Army Romance in the quote section of our AOL profiles. Theater kids have a real flair for the dramatic. Although it would clearly have looked something like this: "AnD iF yOu DoN’t LoVe Me NoW, yOu WiLl NeVeR lOvE mE aGaIn."

"You Make Loving Fun" — Listening to this song, knowing of the drama but not knowing the details of it, I always just thought Christine McVie and her husband were like that one couple who weren't fighting when all the other couples were fighting. Little did I know that they were divorcing and not speaking to each other while Rumours was being recorded. And "You Make Loving Fun" was about ANOTHER DUDE, who also worked with the band. How completely weird must that have been for, just, everyone else in the room?!

And now, I'll leave you with quite possibly my favorite joke about any band. This gem, that I quote often, is from Flight of the Conchords:

Murray: When you're in a band, you don't get with your bandmate's girlfriend—past or present.

Jemaine: Yes, well thanks for that.

Murray: You get a love triangle—you know? Fleetwood Mac situation. Well there was four of them, so more of a love square. But you know, no one gets on.

Jemaine: Okay, I see.

Murray: Mind you, they did make some of their best music back then.

Bret: Rumours

Murray: No, that's all true.

Rumours, Bridget

I can't remember the first time I listened to Rumours but I have a very weird specific memory about it. I was young and naïve and of course a Glee fan. I loved all of the covers of the songs and from then on said yeah I'm a Fleetwood Mac fan; which is truly trash ass logic. That being said, I went on a trip without wifi, and this was one of two albums I had downloaded to my phone, and I never got tired of listening to it!

It's really hard to single out certain songs because I truly feel that each song off the album is an absolute bop! Standouts for me are "Second Hand News" because I love the guitar background that just gets you jazzed up. The harmonizing and echo is also just top notch. "Never Going Back Again" is just so melancholic and calm that it always hits. "You Make Loving Fun" is such a banger. It's such a great song that builds up to a nice crescendo.

Cliché as it is, I think "Go Your Own Way" is my favorite song off the album. It just always lights up the sound system and makes you want to sing at the top of your lungs.

This album is truly always a bright spot in my apple library. It reminds me of so many fun memories of a low tech trip, singing in the car with my parents, and of course an incredible Glee episode. Rumours is perfect to listen to from start to end then just start it again. This is the perfect background music for truly any occasion. I genuinely enjoyed having this album on repeat this week!

I'd like to give Rumours 5/5 💫

Truly a perfect album.

(Also a plug to read Daisy Jones and the Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid which is loosely based on Fleetwood Mac and this album!!!)

Rumours, Sunny

What's to say here? It's Rumours baby, so stick your finger waaaaaaaay down your throat because this is 5/5 Pukes.

I didn't key onto Rumours until kinda late, self-abashedly, but it says something to the staying power of the album that 30-plus years later it still hits like a bolt.

It also says something about staying power that most of these songs I'd heard before listening to the album? It's filled with mega-hits and semi-hits, so it's no surprise they litter movies, commercials, references, have covers. Or played on 93.3, 104.5, 101.1, 102.3, iheartradio, internet radio, college radio. Or overhead at ShopRite, Hobby Lobby, Piggly Wiggly. Or at rallies and festivals and fairs. Rumours suffused the culture. You might be a fan without ever listening to it at all.

So instead of gushing over this album (it's great), or spending too much time talking about how relationships falling apart can make amazing art (it's great), let's watch some pop culture. This isn't curated, just random stuff—like I said, it's suffused. It's also a big waste of time, so here's your off-ramp.

An aside: Apparently Dickens didn’t get paid per word! That’s anachronistic! He promised chapters or books and was paid by installment, usually. That means he just liked to pad out the word count, so that's what I'm doing today. For charity.

Another aside: A weighted blanket lays upon my mind thinking Glee was a decade ago. Of course, they have an entire Rumours episode, which you can watch if you're so inclined, for the mix of horror and camp it provides. I just mention as it's probably the most popular thing with all the songs. I will abstain.

"Dreams"

If I had to guess the most well-known song world over, it'd be "Dreams." It's been said elsewhere, but the titling of the song is masterful and much better than any of the obvious choices from the lyrics. I've heard this song so many times on the radio. I think Delilah would use it heavily and good for her. It fit well with long, dark, lonely drives back home, especially pre cellphone. Delilah is great.

It's easy enough to buy a cheap cover of "Dreams" to drop into your rom-com movie at a critical heartbreak juncture and call it a day. But big bux HBO can bring you this scene where they play it different. I wondered then and now if it makes any sense that the children know the song.

This track was blowing up on social media few years back, enough to push it into the Billboard rock charts. Gotta love Twitter.

Wait, no, that’s not what I’m thinking of. This thing was blowing up on social media last year, 'cause TikTok, where some dude was doing something, and also Mick did that same something. I really feel old though, because I like this song, I like cruising, I like Ocean Spray™, but I don’t "get" this at all. I'm happy for the kids.

Like the tweet, THIS caused enough of a streaming bump to get "Dreams" on the UK charts. This is all funny; funny both for the song's forever-reincarnation, and also for how we now assemble charts.

"Don't Stop"

Surely "Don't Stop" is the yang to "Dreams"' yin. Instead of Delilah, you hear "Don’t Stop" on AM shock-jock. More 93.3 than 101.1.

I first got this song stuck in my head from The Simpsons. This is Season 11, so the show's getting bad rapidly, but this dumb scene hung with me. My extra-sensory definitely recognized the song, but not fully, so I guess I assumed it was a Bartman ditty?

But of course not... it was thick in the air during the '90s. I just wasn't keyed in as a youth. What I was too young to know/care about was good old Bill Clinton riding high to the White House using this during his campaign. What a cool dude. It was attached enough that, upon winning, he got them back together for the inauguration ball, after years split.   

Why not think about times to come

And not about the things that you've done

…lol. Retrospectively, what an amazing song choice for Slick Willy. He's flaunting! Sure, sure, the crime bill, and NAFTA, and sexual impropriety (check out Ryan Murphy's American Crime Story Season 3), and alleged murders, &c. But Clinton got Fleetwood Mac back together; it's a mixed bag.

"Go Your Own Way"

Young Ivan Bogdanovich is sitting at his desk, the corner office at a fancy ad firm. He is overpaid, he is underqualified. Everyone knows this, especially Ivan. Peter Principle, he says to himself, but it's more than that. Frankly all these management books haven't been helping either. "If only I could come up with ONE great idea!" he thinks. "That would do it; that would insulate me for five, ten years at least."

"But what? If only there was a way to convince people, all people, that they are each amazingly unique and on their own unique path, and that the best way to travel said path is to purchase a particular car/flight/mobile phone/donkey, and that said purchase expresses that unique individual's anima like no other. But this individual also needs to feel that their purchase is unique to them, i.e. no one else is purchasing said product, because they're not on the same path, even though, of course, they are all purchasing. I need them all to purchase."

"If only there was a song like that, individually affecting yet massively popular, then I could say it without saying it. Think Ivan, think!"

https://youtu.be/7UtzHXC66ro?t=29

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VXXi6AQeEmw

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zx0raCdepfw

(COPD? That last one doesn't even make sense.)

I've heard this song many times, noticed in that way you start to identify which "Own Waaay"s are followed by a riff or reverb, and which are not; these bits of texture are all good fun for relistening. You know what else is good fun? Scorsese turning it down but not all the way off. Diegetic no less. What a director, gimme four more hours. Or Zemeckis medleying his favorite on the road songs?

Both more fun than advertisements, but someone's gotta put food on the table and treat your black-lung. It's all inevitable.

"The Chain"

Not as mega as the mega hits, I love "The Chain," and it gives me a sappy/happy feeling being the one song all five members are writers on. I really like the bassline in the middle of the song. You know the one. This song is also really good as the opening track of The Dance, with all the caveats that come with live/hits albums.

I reminisce about my childhood home's CD rack. It had three discs in it: Kenny G's Greatest Hits, ABBA's Gold, and Rumours. Pretty basic, my guess being only acts of a certain caliber make waves overseas, at least pre-millennium, so the immigrant's western music tastes may be tight.

So I found it endearing when Fresh off the Boat had Jessica singing "The Chain" to try to get into America, or when "the Americans" from The Americans did a snatch-and-grab. It was also in Guardians of the Galaxy (the real immigrants), but only the second one.

An aside: Evanescence covering it for Gears 5 ruined several things at once.

"Silver Springs"

I know this is a B-side. I don’t care. I really like the song. The song's name came from Silver Spring, MD. Which I really dislike. It creeps me out. In that suburban under-the-skin horror type way. Lynch, Lyne, Levin, that kind of thing. That’s all an aside too (bside? Ha... haha.)

Song's still great, which comes full circle to Ryan Murphy and American Horror Story, where Stevie Nicks guest stars as herself. Man, I really don't get Murphy shows, but at least he likes Fleetwood Mac, and that scene's pretty cool.

That's all. Sorry to the other half dozen tracks, maybe just not quite mega-hitty enough, or not in my swimlane. This "review" is also already way too long even/especially with all the word count padding.

If you're still reading this (wow, g-d bless), I did ask Avni what she thought about Rumours. In an act of conversational Judo, she referred me to Hanif Abdurraqib's essay on it. It's actually a pretty good read. Better than whatever I just wrote. I probably should link this at the top instead? But I already wrote everything... so, whoops, oh well. Don't you look back, don't you look back.

Rumours, Nate

The best song off Ignition, which has the noble legacy of being "the Offspring album that came out before Smash," is probably "Dirty Magic." Southern California punk freaks would probably make a case for something like "Kick Him When He’s Down" or "Session," but "Dirty Magic" is the only song on the record with any gravity, with any sense of a universal lived experience. It's a melancholic song about incomplete love, about how one person needs more than they can get from another, and how that ache leaves both people touched. It's driven by an echoing, stabbing, persistent guitar lead that does as much of the sour longing as the lyrics do. It's heavy, but could be so much heavier, as if there is weight still to be discovered, as if this song, which is about feeling lonely, is the tip of the much lonelier, indescribable iceberg beneath the waters of the soul.

How did the Offspring, of all bands, do this? How did the guys who made their hay on songs like "Self Esteem," "The Kids Aren't Alright," and, god help us and have mercy on our works, "Pretty Fly for a White Guy," find this vein of maturity, longing, pain, and universal melancholy?

They did it by rewriting "The Chain."

~~~~~~~~

Look, I'm no copyright attorney. I'm not coming here to bury the Offspring, to suggest the Dexter Holland and Noodles and the other nameless offspring of the Offspring owe their "Keep 'Em Separated" bucks to Micky Fleet and the gang. There are only so many chords, so many tempos, so many configurations of traditional rock instrumentation. The things that work do so for a reason, and the good ones have been stealing from the greats since before the notion of "good ones" or "great ones" occurred to anyone. Hell, I'm basically stealing this writing style from Rob Harvilla, doing my shitty copy-of-a-copy impression of his better works, my "Dani California" to his "Last Dance with Mary Jane," just as the Offspring offered their version of one-way-but-entangled heartache via the stolen valor of "The Chain." It's fine, we're all friends here.

But humor me, all the same: In that link up there, back up in the first paragraph? Queue it up to the 2:24 mark and let it run. Have you done so? I'll take you at your word. Okay, now fire up this link—god, take a minute to look at those prancy, ren faire cocaine users, what an album cover—and roll it to the 2:50 mark or so. Let some of this cascade over you, a few urgent guitar plucks, a few "I need to tell you something right now" cymbal splashes. Wait for the isolated bass line—that's really the best part of the song for my money, the part where you know some shit is about to hit the fan, the part where those two prancy ren faire cocaine users are about to unleash a run of songwriting and performance that is as metal, if not more metal, than most of the also-rans inspired by the early works of Metallica—then just let that fucker cook until the song ends.

You can hear almost whatever you want in that 90 seconds: the past of rock and roll; the aspirational future of rock and roll; the high-water mark of a juggernaut eleven albums in; the violent disintegration of at least four different relationships; the resignation that there are no endings, not really, except for that last ending; the reason people keep doing drugs despite how much drugs take back from people; the possibilities; the reasons that people who lived in this moment can't give it up; the reason Rumours is listed among the best, most important music works of a genre, of a century. So, given all that, is it any surprise you're going to hear "Dirty Magic," too? Can you blame the Offspring for taking something back from the source?

I'll have more to say about "The Chain" further on down the page there if you care to read it, but I do want to take a moment to say that more metal band should be covering this song. Fleetwood Mac, for all their skills, are not a heavy band. They aren't Led Zeppelin. Hell, they aren't even Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young in terms of teeth, but this song here is about as heavy as anything Jimmy Page fever-dreamed after a night of salvia, bi-curiosity, and speed-reading The Lord of the Rings. The only heavy cover I could find is this one by Evanescence, which is fine as far as these things go (they kind of fuck-up the chorus and the breakdown, in my opinion, but I find it on the whole to be a more worthwhile effort than, say, this note-for-note recreation by the Highwomen), and also this one, but these guys are a bunch of cheesedicks.

But still: where are all the Mastodon covers of this song? And while we're here, where is my database of every cover of every song, shouldn't the chodes from Genius be on that? Maybe they could rank them? Where do you think this fictional site would rank the Chicks' cover of "Landslide"? Did I just give away the next great media company?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I digress, but only kind of. Rumours is that kind of record, the kind that anyone who has been listening to music, even passively, within the last, say, 45 years has some relationship to, even if they don't know. I'm not even talking about reimagining or recreations as much as I am sheer saturation. Do you have any idea how many times I heard "Go Your Own Way" on classic rock radio before I knew it was a breakout single from this album? Do you have any idea how popular those Guardian of the Galaxy movies are? Do you think that Doggface dude becomes a meme if not for the pitch-perfect alignment of his skateboarding elation and hauntingly chill "Dreams"?  This isn’t a soft-rock record anymore, it's woven into the very texture of American rock music, into the notion of "feelings, but also guitars."

I'm by no means a scholar on this band, but I know the accolades. One of the most successful records of the '70s, Rolling Stone's list of best-ever rock music, Pitchfork's lists for best-ever rock music. Of course, if any record was going to carry the weight of expectation, it's this one, which... look.

There's probably a way to talk about this album's text without considering its subtext, to talk about its output without factoring in its inspiration, but I think that would be a boring way to talk about it, and frankly I think Fleetwood Mac would agree with me. Let us, here and now, accept the premise that sex and drama has been a successful selling tactic since the dawn of both "sex" and "drama," that this idea was not invented in beer commercials in the '90s or boxing matches in the '80s, and that Fleetwood Mac, certainly wrecked and affected by their various interpersonal disintegrations, certainly understood what was to be gained by emphasizing those disintegrations in the run up to, release of, and continuing conversation around the songs on Rumours.

Let’s use a visual example, eh? Here, watch this video of the band performing "The Chain" (duh), specifically queue in on how Ms. Nicks is looking at Mr. Buckingham. Now, cards on the table, all caveats aside—I have no idea WHEN this video is from, but the eye test suggests it wasn't released in the '70s, so whatever feelings may have existed at the time might have changed or eroded. However, let's further assume that this is some time after the initial writing and release of Rumours. Do you buy this performance by Nicks? When she channels what appears to be a seething anger and disappointment in how she looks at Lindsey, do you see that as stagecraft or distillation of emotion? Candidly, I think it can be both, and I think that's the whole point. There is no disentangling the story from the songs, the heartbreak from the lyrics, the love lost from the guitars gained. This is melodrama of the highest order, pitched performances that land below camp and above repute.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Probably should talk about some other songs besides "The Chain" huh? Let’s go here: for all the hay and praise made on behalf of this record, it is really, to my ears, a story of two kinds of song "titanically massive singles that echo through time" and "some nice songs that I forget are there unless I am listening to them." From that former realm, you've got something like "Go Your Own Way," which lives on the other side of the coin of "The Chain," in that it is about melancholy first, then pain second, and is the kind of song I could hear every week for the rest of my life and not get sick of (I don't know how much this gets discussed, but this band excels at combining three-part harmonies with very simple, yet effective guitar soloing. Buckingham lives in that Neil Young class of guitar hero, as a guy who gets a lot of emotion out of what is otherwise comparatively rudimentary guitarwork).

There's "Dreams" which is less a song that it is a gas, in its ability to fill whatever vessel you pour it into. A song like this sounds equally welcome and appropriate for almost any context; you can fuck to it, cry to it, sleep to it, have a long chat with a friend to it, sip wine on a porch to it (can't really RAGE to it, but that's not really a gear this particular titan of soft rock can get to). People think it's pandering and cloying to be all things to all people in all situations, but to come by it honestly is to catch lightning in a bottle.

You also get "You Make Loving Fun," which in the context of the heartbreak parade feels more cynical than it does legitimate. And yet, here it be, the most obvious evidence of the rampant cocaine use that was, erm, all but confirmed by the band in the recording and writing of the record. While it eventually lands where all songs on Rumours land, it takes a farty, yacht-rock disco detour to get there. We're talking somewhere between Tom Petty and Donna Summer. The fact that there's as much soul present in this otherwise lily-white presentation of rock music for squares is a real testament to this band's prowess and its ability, at least here, to both stay within their lane and stretch their chops. Up to a point, at least. Everything is competent, if not incendiary. No one is pointing to these cats as the most accomplished musicians, but they get miles out of their limits, they find magic in their working man's rock

And then you have "Don’t Stop," which... they're not all winners, alright? This is an enjoyable enough song that I'm certain most people would welcome to hear in their office cube or on the radio, but come on, this is too cute by half, even if you consider the heartbreak and darkness that vibrates on the tune's warm edges (such is the potency and ambiguity in a lyric like "yesterday's gone / yesterday's gone"). Of all the tunes on this thing, this is the only one of the titanic singles that seems to diminish in power over time, that shrinks as the rest of the album grows and grows (shout out to the One Bad Man).

I’ve probably discussed "The Chain" enough at this point, but goddamn. What a tune.

Singles alone do not make an album a classic, but the rest of the songs on this record, while they do not rise to the level of these other songs here, act as well-intentioned bridges to get us where we need to on the album, to move us through eleven tracks without needing to take the album off the playlist. Ultimately these also-rans; your "Never Going Back" (pastoral), your "Second Hand News" (Wes Anderson shit), your "Songbird" (the piano one), your "I Don’t Wanna Know" (a song that somehow sounds like a combination of every other song on the album, played all at once); these are what make the album a classic, the fact that they carry the water, that they maintain the vibe, that they keep you plugged into the world of Rumours, in which everyone loves everyone else, everyone is heartbroken, everyone is feeling everything all at once, and everyone is doing cocaine about it.

Chuck Klosterman has called this album—and I am paraphrasing here—one of the most cohesive collections of deeply pleasant songs ever constructed. That'll make you one of the ten most memorable albums in a genre's history, even if it won't make you the best. And so it goes with Rumours, the greatest collection of background music ever produced by the boomer generation. Hail hail, you flouncy weirdos.

Rumours, Melissa

I'm writing the 2,000th edit to a course syllabus, sipping my second tumbler of coffee, twitching as another email comes in from my boss, and then another from Joe, which reminds me it's Fleetwood Mac Week. I look up at all my open tabs, and quickly add another tab. 

"Dreams" from the Fleetwood Mac Rumours album plays like a deep breath.  

"Now here you go again / you say you want your freedom," warbles sweetly from Stevie Nicks' voice. And there it is. I do want my freedom, and somehow this simple and stupid beat calms me. And I needed this for the 2,000 edits I've made to a syllabus I'm worried some parent will read, analyze, and call me out on because it's 2021 and everyone feels mad about everything.

"Now here I go again," I think as I go beyond one of the greatest songs of this album and into "Never Going Back Again" and something, again, in this album is a balm for the soul. I know these songs somehow as if they're in my brain like the Pledge of Allegiance. Somehow. My parents weren't huge Fleetwood fans. I never owned this CD. I just know this music, and it comes at a time where things feel chaotic. I needed this little slice of comfort. 

I want to scrap my lesson for today and make my students listen to this album. Maybe that'll make them put their phones away for a second, or keep their masks over their noses, or just generally make them less apathetic. 

I skip "Don’t Stop" because I associate this too closely with Bill Clinton's win and inaugural ball in 1993. Not that I have any feelings against this Presidency, but I just don't want to think about politicians celebrating right now. I pledge allegiance to Fleetwood Mac. "Go Your Own Way" feels like the most popular song from this album, and it moves and sounds off at us like a rallying anthem from our favorite British-American band. Hand me a tambourine, I want to go my own way! "The Chain" also has that bop, rallying quality. Break the damn chain! They dare you. 

Now here I go again with "Songbird" being a song I knew in my spirit, and I remember it's from Love Actually. It's during a scene that is as beautiful and aching. This song feels like a prayer—a prayer I actually understand. "Silver Springs" is another painful love song where lyrically, and musically, it all hurts and helps at the same time. The lyrics "Time cast a spell on you / But you won't forget me" sounds like a curse, and I'd believe it if Stevie was a wonderful witch. A witch you want to hang out with and make sing to you—even if she's cursing you. "Second Hand News" is bright and I don't hate it. Again, why do I know it? "You Make Loving Fun" must also be in a movie or commercial or something. Fleetwood Mac and Rumours did such solid work that it is engrained in the fabric of American culture from the '90s on.  It would have to be because here I am knowing and unknowing all at once. 

Ok. Here it is, "Oh Daddy," I do not know it and it’s fine. I also don’t know, or really like, "Gold Dust Woman," but without looking it up I 100% assume Miley Cyrus has done a cover of this. In fact, I think Miley might just be doing her best Stevie Nicks impression 24/7 these days. I'd start that rumor, but we all know rumors make bad lovers and I don't have time for that. 

Time to get back to my syllabus, although I said I wanted my freedom. For a moment, Fleetwood Mac was my escape, and that's all that matters. 10 out of 10 wonderful witches.

Rumours, Joe

Even 44 years later, Rumours absolutely sizzles with tension. It wouldn't be original to say that it was this tension that propelled it to the top of the album sales chart, where it remains in the Top Ten for the highest-selling albums of all time to this day. No, what's surprising is that you can still feel it today, the inter-band turmoil rippling through the ages.

This is something we learn at the very beginning of our music listening journey, when we naturally turn to questions of, "So wait, why was Fleetwood Mac that popular again?" Apocryphal or not, tales of mountains of cocaine, all-night piano-tuning sessions, and not one, but two inter-band relationships falling apart while recording (plus Mick Fleetwood, who was also breaking up with his non-musical wife at the same time, due to dalliances with other band members, etc.), are all used as "evidence" as to why this pop album is better than most other pop albums. The pain that fuels the creation of many pop hits was especially visceral with this one, and was extremely close to home, and it's no wonder people love a good car crash, ya know?

I mean, it's one thing to have your celebrity marriage in the tabloids, or to maybe be quoted in saying your ex-husband's an asshole or your ex-wife is a bitch. But it's a whole different level of shade when you say that your ex sucks and then make that same ex sing backup on your song about it. That shit is delicious, and—for better or worse, depending on how close you are personally to the wreckage—it really makes these tunes stand out.

Take, for instance, the epic song "Dreams," which—

"You can do better."

That's my Creative Writing 101 professor, Stevie Nicks. I'm in her cluttered office again. It's during office hours, and we're following up on a first draft of an album review that I wrote last week. I was young and brash and thought I knew everything, so of course I got offended.

"That's my best work! It took me hours to write that."

She started to respond, but then hesitated. "Wait," said Stevie Nicks, "I'm a college professor now?"

"You feeling okay, professor? Yes, of course you are a college professor. We're in your office. I am back in college now, for real this time, so this bit makes at least 5% more sense than it did last time."

"But I'm Stevie Nicks. I was never a college professor in real life."

"I don't know what to tell you. We're here, now, discussing Fleetwood Mac's 1977 pop masterpiece, Rumours, and—"

Just then, the universe is ripped in half, and another Joe K. walks through the existential tear and right into the office, where a stunned Stevie Nicks sits. "Sorry about that," he says, nonchalantly. "There seems to be some sort of mix-up here in the Record Club multiverse. You weren't supposed to be in a rehash of this old Duke Deuce review, and you weren't supposed to be a college professor."

Stevie Nicks responds: "So who am I? And where am I supposed to be?"

"Let's find out."

Ladies and gentlemen, Stevie Nicks has come unstuck in time.

And now we are paying respects to Mitzy—there's me, my dad, Uncle Pat, and Stevie Nicks—in that twilight haze, a few Coors Banquets deep, each of us, the time capsule having already been ripped open, and its contents thoroughly examined by bemused kith and kin. The owner of the back-backyard (well, the owner of my old house, anyway, who knows who really owns this patch of land we're on) is looking out her back door now, wondering how long the four interlopers are planning on drinking back there. She probably won't like what's about to happen next.

Uncle Pat took a deep breath, and sighed, "Well, there's only one thing left to do."

"Yup," responded my dad, "we have to complete the pact."

"What? What's next?" I asked, half-dubiously.

"We have to dig up Mitzy's corpse."

"Huh?!" There's no way he's serious.

"This is seriously fucked up," said Stevie Nicks. "Is this the kind of freaky-deaky bullshit that you guys get into in Northeast Philadelphia? Digging up dead dog corpses?"

Dad and Uncle Pat ignored the musical legend and got to work. It didn't take long before the shovel was clinking against something made of a similar steel. A small lockbox was lifted out of the shallow hole. I cracked open another beer, bracing myself for the unsmooth aroma of putrefied canine. Except—

"Oh Christ" exclaimed Nicks. It wasn't a dead dog at all. It was a copy of Fleetwood Mac's 1977 LP, Rumours. "I can't believe you guys buried this, in what I assumed was a tiny metal dog coffin."

Dad responded, "Yeah, this was one of our favorites back in the day."

"It was really the only music that we all liked," said Uncle Pat. "I was into the classics, down the occasional outlaw country rabbit hole, and my little brother here got heavy into the prog rock scene after a while, but all us K***s would gather around the old vinyl player and listen to the Mac."

"Do you remember all the times we listened to this up the Poconos, Joey?"

"Of course. We had that black CD boom box that I later commandeered for my own bedroom. I assume you guys bought your CD copy of Rumours from one of those CD clubs where you pay like one dollar and get fourteen CDs for free?"

"Wait," interrupted Stevie Nicks, "what is this now? I've never heard of such a club."

I smirked. "They basically stole Rumours from you."

"You're one to talk, Joe!" protested Dad. "That's all you do these days is steal music! Using your Napster or whatever it is."

"Okay Boomer. First of all, it's not Napster—no, you know what, let's not even go there. Secondly, I legitimately purchased this particular CD from Amazon. I actually remember listening to the little 30-second clips that they had on the purchase page, and being amazed at how many of the songs I recognized."

"Hold up." Now it was Uncle Pat's turn to interrupt. "I thought you said that your family already had a copy of Rumours?"

"Okay, yeah, now I'm remembering. You're right. They basically used that CD club to buy a bunch of John Denver, plus the new TLC album."

Stevie Nicks: "Oh gosh, I love 'Waterfalls.'"

"You're correct," said my dad. "I wasn't going to say anything, but that was your Uncle Rick who would bring Rumours to the Poconos so all the kids could dance around to it. That an Jock Jams. Weird combo! But personally, I didn't think it made sense to buy something on CD that we already had on vinyl."

"But I never saw you play any vinyl."

"I had a life before you came along, son."

"Burn!" yelled Uncle Pat.

"Alright, alright," I said. "I'll ignore that. I'll even ignore the absurdity of burying a pop record in a grave with your childhood dog. Can we at least talk about how ubiquitous this album is? That I could love it as a young child, come back to it on my own as a teen, hear a song from it every time I turn on classic rock radio for the entirety of my life, and then somehow find joy in it when you guy dig it up in some half-fictional back-backyard for an already exhausting Record Club review? How many albums could I possibly still feel this strongly about after this long? How many words have already been spilled about this masterpiece, and how many additional words will be spilled by our valiant Record Club members?"

"If I'm being honest," interjected Stevie Nicks, "it seems to me that so many people (read: Boomers) have already written so much about this album of ours that maybe it didn't make sense to listen to it in the Record Club context?"

"You're right," responded the other Joe—let's call him Joe-Prime—"so it might be time to leave. We've overstayed our welcome in this INXS review. There's still many places to visit."

[mezzanine, bar]

"I MEAN, I DON'T WANT TO SAY THAT IT'S CLEAR THAT FLEETWOOD MAC WAS AT THEIR HEIGHT WITH ALL FIVE ORIGINAL MEMBERS, BUT I FEEL LIKE I SHOULD SAY IT, SINCE WE'RE HERE AT THIS FLEETWOOD MAC CONCERT IN 2021, AND LINDSEY BUCKINGHAM ISN'T HERE, BECAUSE OF SOME DRAMA THAT STILL HASN'T RESOLVED ITSELF OVER THE 44 YEARS SINCE RUMOURS WAS MADE. YOU CAN'T KNOCK BUCKINGHAM'S CONTRIBUTIONS TO THAT CLASSIC ALBUM. MIGHT BE CLICHÉ TO SAY AT THIS POINT, BUT RUMOURS IS A DEFINITIVE MEMBER OF THE CLASSIC ROCK CANON. CAN'T SAY IT'S MY FAVORITE ALBUM OF ALL TIME, BUT IT'S UP THERE. IT'S IN MY TOP 25. NO, LET'S SAY TOP 50 JUST TO BE SAFE. I'M JOE, BY THE WAY. WHAT DID YOU SAY YOUR NAME WAS AGAIN?"

 

"Stevie Nicks."

 

"NICE TO MEET YOU. STEVEN IS A PRETTY NAME FOR A GIRL. YOU SEEM REALLY COOL. I MEAN I KNOW YOU'RE AT A FLEETWOOD MAC CONCERT—CAN'T BELIEVE THIS BAND IS PLAYING AT FRANKLIN MUSIC HALL, BY THE WAY, SEEMS LIKE THIS COULD ONLY HAPPEN IN A DIFFERENT UNIVERSE—SO YEAH YOU PROBABLY LIKE THEIR MUSIC, BUT DO YOU REALLY KNOW THEIR MUSIC? I FEEL LIKE THERE'S ALWAYS SOMETHING NEW TO LEARN. JUST THIS MORNING I WAS READING ABOUT CHRISTIE MCVIE WAS THE ONLY CLASSICALLY TRAINED MUSICIAN IN THE GROUP, AND HOW SHE AND LINDSEY BUCKINGHAM WOULD HASH OUT A LOT OF THE SONGS BEFORE BRINGING EVERYONE ELSE INTO THE ROOM. I ALSO TRIED TO SEE IF BUCKINGHAM AND MCVIE HAD A "THING," WHICH WOULD NOT HAVE MADE SENSE IN ANY OTHER CONTEXT OTHER THAN THE RUMOURS SESSIONS, SEEING AS CHRISTIE'S HUSBAND JOHN IS AND WAS LITERALLY THE BASSIST OF FLEETWOOD MAC, BUT NAH, IT SEEMS LIKE CHRISTIE WAS CHEATING ON JOHN WITH A BUNCH OF THE PERSONNEL, SOUND GUYS AND ELECTRICIANS AND WHATNOT, NOT THAT JOHN WASN'T HAVING HIS OWN AFFAIRS, SEEING AS THIS WAS FLEETWOOD MAC, AND OF COURSE COCAINE HAD A LOT TO DO WITH ALL OF THIS. I'VE NEVER DONE COCAINE IN MY LIFE. I'M JUST REALLY HIGH ENERGY. I LOVE RED BULL AND VODKA TOGETHER, KEEPS LIFE INTERESTING. BUT LOOK AT ME TALKING SO MUCH. SORRY, WHY DON'T YOU TELL ME HOW MUCH YOU KNOW ABOUT FLEETWOOD MAC. HOW MUCH OF A FAN ARE YOU?"

"I'm literally Stevie Nicks."

"IT'S REALLY COOL THAT YOU DECIDED TO COME TO THIS CONCERT BECAUSE I LOVE TALKING TO CUTE GIRLS ABOUT MUSIC. I JUST FEEL LIKE THERE'S SO MUCH TO TALK ABOUT WITH FLEETWOOD MAC. LIKE HOW ALL THE MEMBERS CONTRIBUTED IN DIFFERENT WAYS, HOW BUCKINGHAM ONCE SAID THAT THE 'WHOLE WAS BETTER THAN ITS PARTS,' WHICH I DON'T EVEN KNOW IF I THINK IS TRUE. I LOVE BREAKING THE ALBUM DOWN, AND I THINK MOST OF THE PARTS ARE TOP NOTCH."

"That theory is probably better applied to Tusk."

"NEVER HEARD OF IT. IS THAT FLEETWOOD MAC? ANYWAY, RUMOURS. YOU CAN BREAK IT DOWN. AND YOU CAN START TO COMPARE THE DIFFERENT CONTRIBUTIONS. YOU CAN START TO THINK ABOUT HOW IS THE STAR OF FLEETWOOD MAC, IF YOU WANT TO."

"[looks for her existential guide to get her out of this awful review]"

"THE MORE I THINK ABOUT IT, THE MORE I BELIEVE THAT 'I DON'T WANT TO KNOW' IS THE BEST SONG ON THIS ALBUM. I KNOW, COMPARED TO THE REST OF THE ALBUM, IT'S KIND OF A DEEP CUT, BUT THAT'S JUST HOW I ROLL. I REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME I REALLY LISTENED TO THIS SONG, I WAS LAYING IN BED, HEADPHONES IN, AND I GUESS I WAS A LITTLE SLEEPY FROM STAYING UP TILL 3 AM EVERY SCHOOL NIGHT, AND I REMEMBER VIVIDLY THINK ABOUT... PENGUINS. LIKE A LONG LINE OF PENGUINS MARCHING IN A ROW TO THE SOUNDS OF 'I DON'T WANT TO KNOW' BY FLEETWOOD MAC, AND NOW EVERY TIME I HEAR THIS SONG, THAT'S WHAT I THINK OF, HOW WEIRD THAT WAS. BUT SO ANYWAY, THAT'S ONE POINT FOR STEVIE NICKS, WHO WROTE THAT SONG. IF WE'RE GIVING OUT POINTS. ADD ANOTHER POINT FOR 'DREAMS' SINCE, WELL, A DEEP CUT IT IS DECIDEDLY NOT, BUT NEVERTHELESS DESERVES ALL THE CRED COMING TOWARD IT. MAYBE TAKE A HALF A POINT OFF FOR 'GOLD DUST WOMAN,' WHICH ONLY WORKS AS A CLOSING SONG, LIKE MAYBE CLOSING SONGS ARE ALLOWED TO BE A LITTLE HALF-BAKED, AND ALSO I CAN'T HELP OF THINK ABOUT THE WWF WRESTLER GOLDUST, REMEMBER HIM? HE WAS SO CREEPY. AGREE OR DISAGREE ABOUT STEVIE NICKS' OUTPUT HERE?"

"..."

"AND THEN YOU HAVE LINDSEY BUCKINGHAM, WHO WROTE 'SECOND HAND NEWS,' WHICH IS A BLISTERING START TO THE ALBUM AS A WHOLE, AND THEN ALSO 'GO YOUR OWN WAY,' WHICH, I MEAN, IS THERE ANYTHING LEFT TO SAY ABOUT THAT SONG AT THIS POINT? [Editor's note: just you wait!!!!!!!!!!!!!] AND THEN FINALLY, 'NEVER GOING BACK AGAIN,' WHICH TO ME IS THE MOST INTERESTING SONG ON THE ALBUM, SINCE IT REALLY DOES SEEM LIKE A SOLO EFFORT, DESPITE MINOR CONTRIBUTIONS FROM OTHERS. I'M JUST SAYING THAT IT DOESN'T REALLY FIT WITH THE WHOLE 'WE DID THIS ALL TOGETHER DESPITE THE FACT THAT WE ALL HATED EACH OTHER' AESTHETIC BECAUSE HE DIDN'T NEED ANYONE ELSE TO DO 'NEVER GOING BACK AGAIN.' I CAN'T REALLY DECIDE IF THAT IS TO THIS SONG'S BENEFIT OR DETRIMENT. I THINK THE FACT THAT IT'S NOT REALLY A GOOD LOOK OVERALL, BEING A COUPLE SONGS OVER FROM 'GO YOUR OWN WAY,' IN WHICH HE EXPLICITLY SLUT SHAMES STEVIE NICKS, WHICH WAS A TOTALLY UNTRUE ACCUSATION ACCORDING TO NICKS, AND THEN HE'S GONNA TURN AROUND AND JUST DO A SONG ON HIS OWN. IT MIGHT BE THE CATCHIEST SONG ON THE ALBUM, 'NEVER GOING BACK AGAIN,' BUT IT IS ALSO THE SOUND OF A PETULANT CHILD. LOOK, I CONSIDER MYSELF A FEMINIST. I'M GOING TO DEFEND WOMEN. AND I CAN ALSO TREAT WOMEN REALLY WELL. I WILL TOTALLY BUY YOU A PBR AT THE BAR IF YOU WANT, SINCE WE'VE BEEN STANDING IN LINE FOR SO LONG. DO YOU KNOW WHAT PBR STANDS FOR?"

["Let's just skip ahead at this point," says Joe-Prime, "because he's going to go on a long rant about the Professional Bull Riders that isn't really relevant to the review."]

"AND THEN WE HAVE THE ACE IN THE HOLE, CHRISTIE MCVIE, WHO TURNS IN SOME REALLY UNDERRATED WORK ON THIS ALBUM. 'DON'T STOP' IS DEFINITELY THE MOST WELL-KNOWN HIT ON HERE, AND ONE OF THE HARDEST ROCKING, WHICH YOU WOULDN'T EXPECT, BECAUSE MCVIE HAS TWO OTHER SHOWCASES ON THE ALBUM, AND THEY ARE BOTH THE TWO SLOWEST SONGS ON THE ALBUM OUTSIDE 'GOLD DUST WOMAN.' 'SONGBIRD' IS THE BETTER OF THE TWO, JUST SO GODDAMN PRETTY. 'OH DADDY' MIGHT BE THE WEAKEST TRACK ON HERE, BUT IT'S ALL RELATIVE. AND OF COURSE, 'YOU MAKE LOVING FUN,' WHICH, ONE, IS THE EPITOME OF THE ''70S FOLK POP' GENRE THAT IS OFTEN AFFIXED TO THIS ALBUM, BUT, TWO, IS SNEAKILY HARD-HITTING, BECAUSE JUST IMAGINE HEARING YOUR WIFE ABSOLUTELY SLAY IT AT A SONG ABOUT HER HAVING SEX WITH THE GODDAMN SOUND ENGINEER?! TOP MARKS TO THE MCVIES FOR SINCERELY MAKING LISTENING TO LOVING FUN."

"I really have to go."

"THAT'S COOL, AND HEY MAYBE WE CAN STAND TOGETHER IN THE PIT DURING THE NEXT SONG?"

"Sorry, I'm due somewhere else."

[Curtains. Stevie Nicks finds a disheveled 30-something male on the floor of some abandoned flophouse. She looks at her watch, and sees it's around 5 AM. The male wipes soot from his eyes and brushes his hand through his hair. You can tell he's been here before. He looks around, slumps his shoulders as if resigned to his fate, and starts to once again climb these rickety stairs. He arrives at a small door, opens it, enters a bathroom filled with cobwebs, and closes the door behind him.]

You're still here, Miley.

[Stevie Nicks whispers in his ear.]

JOE: I mean, you're still here, Mick. Yes, that's right. We had a poster of Mick Fleetwood, drummer of Fleetwood Mac, on the back of the bathroom door at our old senior year college house...?

[Stevie Nicks makes a cutting motion across her neck.]

JOE: Okay, alright fine. Hi Mick.

MICK: ...

JOE: This is fortuitous timing, being back here with you. I've been listening to Rumours a lot this week.

MICK: ...

JOE: Yeah, we're still just talking about this album, even though it was Fleetwood Mac's eleventh studio album out of seventeen. How's that for Boomer revisionist history?

MICK: ...

JOE: You got me. We're not here to talk about that. We're here to talk about your drumming, man. So goddamn good.

MICK: ...

JOE: See, that's why I like you. The humility is important.

MICK: ...

JOE: Well yeah, that's important too. This isn't new. I already briefly mentioned your fills in "Go Your Own Way" as some of my favorite of all time. But what I like about it actually happens in "Dreams" as well. The best way I can explain it is that your fills go on a exactly one beat "too long," so that the down-beat cymbal crash actually comes in on the second beat of the next measure. I put "too long" in air quotes because it's not actually true. The fills are perfect. It's unique, and it's intriguing, and the fact that you don't really hear that from any other drummer means that you were great at your job.

MICK: ...

JOE: Well, yeah, these are definitely the kinds of things I would recognize because of that. Especially because I was one when I first got heavily into Rumours.

MICK: ...

JOE: Not anymore, no.

MICK: ...

JOE: Because I don't have time? Listen, man, it was just a hobby. I can find my outlet for this kind of shit somewhere else now. Like, say, going down the rabbit hole of drumming minutiae in Fleetwood Mac's 1977 opus Rumours and then choosing an old Miley Cyrus disaster to frame those otherwise boring opinions?

MICK: ...

JOE: Don't ask. But wait, actually there was another thing I wanted to ask you about, while I have you. And this is going to sound obsessive, but then again, I am standing in an abandoned house at five in the morning, half-naked, talking to a poster hung in a bathroom. What is up with... this?!

[Joe pulls a printout of a Wikipedia page out of his pocket and holds it up to Mick Fleetwood.]

MICK: ...

JOE: What the fuck is CHARLIE WATTS doing on this credit sheet? Is someone fucking with me? Seriously!

MICK: ...

JOE: No, not as far as I could tell from extensive googling. Not one single website—not one!—mentions anything about Charlie Watts having anything to do with the production of Rumours.

MICK: ...

JOE: Yes, I am obsessed. Obviously.

MICK: ...

JOE: No, that was basically all I could come up with when I was googling it. Is it interesting that you were told to base your "Go Your Own Way" drumming on Watts' beat from "Street Fighting Man," were a self-described "failure" at doing so due to your dyslexia, but then also laid down a finer drum track than Charlie Dickwad Watts could ever even dream of? Of course! I love it! But you also have to understand how far my eyes bulged out of my fucking skull when I saw "Charlie Watts" on the credits list.

MICK: ...

JOE: We're seriously going to chalk this up to an error on the part of the Wikipedia editors?

MICK: ...

JOE: No, I tried searching that, but the computer language was too technical for me to understand it. I don't know who added Watts to the page.

MICK: ...

JOE: Ha! Dude, no, it could not have been him. The man barely knew how to play the drums, let alone know how to edit a Wikipedia page. And plus, he had no sense of humor, and at the end of the day, it was very funny seeing his name.

MICK: ...

JOE: I know, I know, drummers have to stick together and all that. I understand you were peers. I'm just saying that you are incredibly underrated, and he was incredibly overrated. Just thought that was worth mentioning, the bizarre error on Wikipedia. Who knows, maybe by the time people are reading the transcript of this conversation between me and you, Charlie Watts will be scrubbed from the Rumours page. Good riddance, I say!

MICK: ...

JOE: Yup, you're right. It's just about time. What do you say, ghost of Stevie Nicks?

STEVIE NICKS: I'm not saying anything right now, since I'm scheduled to be in the next scene.

[Curtains drop, curtains rise. Joe and Stevie Nicks are lying in bed, ostensibly married in this alternate universe.]

STEVIE NICKS: Joe, we need to talk.

JOE: About Rumours? Because I have a lot to say that I haven't said already, despite the fact that apparently we are married and that it's kind of weird that we haven't talked about this yet—

STEVIE NICKS: No! Jesus fucking christ. Um, I'm talking about the fact that you didn't come home last night?! And I get a call from the police that they found my feral husband laying supine in the middle of Woodstock Street in North Philly?

JOE: ...

STEVIE NICKS: This is a problem.

JOE: I know.

STEVIE NICKS: Explain yourself, please.

JOE: Well, you see... I was hanging out with Mick Fleetwood.

STEVIE NICKS: The drummer of my band?

JOE: Yes.

STEVIE NICKS: In the bathroom of the house that you lived in your senior year of college?

JOE: Yes.

STEVIE NICKS: That doesn't make sense.

JOE: Why? Did the Woodstock House burn down?

STEVIE NICKS: No. It's fine. I'm sure other La Salle kids are living there now, ones that keep the house in better shape than you did. It's just that Mick Fleetwood doesn't hang out at college houses with alcoholic 30-somethings who are terrible at writing album reviews?

JOE: Whoops, I forgot to tell you. I was talking to a poster of Mick Fleetwood.

STEVIE NICKS: I'm still calling the crisis hotline.

JOE: Why?! I talk to posters all the time.

STEVIE NICKS: Because I searched the internet, and I couldn't find a single poster that featured just Mick Fleetwood, drummer of Fleetwood Mac.

JOE: Well there should be posters like that. Mick Fleetwood is a fucking legend.

STEVIE NICKS: You should've married Mick Fleetwood.

JOE: No, you should've married him. Isn't that who you were FUCKING during the Rumours sessions?!

STEVIE NICKS: How dare you!

[The argument continues as the curtain drops again.]

[Mick Fleetwood walks in front of the closed curtain and sits on a three-legged stool, facing the audience.]

MICK: Thanks for joining us in for this very special reprise of Joe's Worst Record Club Review, running every week from today until March of 2038. I am Mick Fleetwood, drummer of Fleetwood Mac. I'm not sure how much you've learned from this section of the review, besides the fact that I am a fantastic drummer and that Charlie Watts was a fucking louse with zero involvement in the creation of Rumours, my band's seminal 1977 LP. Otherwise, pretty much everything you've just witnessed was a fabrication. The weird bathroom conversation, the even weirder bedroom scene in which Joe imagines he is married to my own ex-lover despite the forty-year age gap, even this monologue that I am currently giving to you. None of it is real. All of it was constructed in the mind of a sad, sad man with clearly too much time on his hands and not enough humility to realize that no one wants to read this convoluted bullshit. Sorry to report that you and everything you have ever experienced is fake. Once I snap my fingers, a grade will appear at below, and then we will all disappear forever.

Stevie Nicks: Wait! We're not done yet!

Joe-Prime: She's right. Let's go.

[The curtain drops, then melts.]

Stevie Nicks: Where are we now?

Joe-Prime: The supermarket.

Stevie Nicks: Okay, I see that now. We're at IGA. I see you hiding in the bakery aisle, and there's another version of me by the produce. So this is your Fiona Apple review, right? I'm playing the part of Fiona Apple in this one?

Joe-Prime: Looks like it.

Stevie Nicks: But wait, what... what the fuck are you doing? The in-review Joe? What he is fucking doing over there by the bakery section?!!

Joe-Prime: Oh no.

Stevie Nicks: Are you... masturbating?! Good god, man!

Joe-Prime: You weren't supposed to see that! Quick, let's get out of here. Something isn't right.

[They step through the portal.]

Stevie Nicks: Okay, now what the fuck is this?

Joe-Prime: That's you riding a songbird.

Stevie Nicks: Meaning that we are now visiting your 340ml review.

Joe-Prime: You're good at this!

Stevie Nicks: It's helpful that my dialogue is being written by you. But this is a terrible drawing. Did Pittsburgh Kailyn really draw this?

Joe-Prime: Well... no.

Stevie Nicks: She didn't want to get involved with Puke on Your Birthday again?

Joe-Prime: Not that. It just wasn't in the budget.

Stevie Nicks: The budget?!

Joe-Prime: Yeah. I gave my Pittsburgh friend $20 to draw me riding a cat last time.

Stevie Nicks: And you couldn't afford $20 this week?!

Joe-Prime: Well, I'm going to be donating a decent amount of money to charity, plus I just had to get my bike tire fixed, and shit starts to add up!

Stevie Nicks: But then why even include this in the review?

Joe-Prime: I was trying to get to every single gimmick.

Stevie Nicks: Not possible. Besides the fact that only like 20% of your reviews have gimmicks, and besides the fact that those quote-unquote "gimmicks" add nothing to the value of your criticisms, and even besides the fact that it's pretty clear at this point that you came up with the idea of a penny-per-word charity gimmick first and are now retroactively trying to justify that by filling up this review with as much fluff as you possibly can... can we at least talk about the fact that "Songbird" is fucking Christie McVie song?!?!

Joe-Prime: On to the next alternate universe!!!!

[SCENE: Philadelphia Criminal Court, Courtroom 5C, September 24, 2021, 7:00 AM]

Court Crier: All please rise for the Honorable Judge John Smith. Your honor, we're here for the case of Joseph K--- vs. The State of Reasonable Music Listeners

Stevie Nicks: Oh no...

 

[Judge enters]

Judge: Be seated. Prosecuting lawyer, please call your first witness.

Prosecuting Lawyer Stevie Nicks: We'd like to call the defendant, Joseph K. Please state your name for the record.

Joe: Joseph K. Not Joe-Prime, who is a separate character in this scene. Sorry, this is confusing.

Judge: Sustained.

PLSN: And Joseph, can you state why you are being held in contempt today?

Joe: I literally have no idea. I wasn't read my rights. And as far as I can tell, this review has been overwhelmingly positive so far, give or take a lukewarm opinion about "Oh Daddy."

PLSN: I see. Well, maybe you can take a look at this evidence, and see if it can jog your memory.

[a large cardboard cutout is displayed as Exhibit A, and it features a magnified copy of a Joe K. tweet from like 2018, claiming that "The Chain" is overrated]

Joe: What! Where did you get that?

PLSN: Your Twitter account may be private, Mr. K., but Twitter willingly hands over tweet data when subpoenaed.

Joe: I knew that drunkenly tweeting semi-consistently for thirteen years was going to eventually bite me in the ass.

PLSN: So, can you explain this evidence?

Joe: I meant what I said.

PLSN: That "The Chain," possibly the most popular song on Fleetwood Mac's 1977 coup de grâce Rumours, currently, is, as you say... overrated?!

Joe: Sure. Look, I like the song. I'm talking relatively here.

Judge: Please be more specific for the jury, Mr. K.

Joe: Okay, how about the fact that everyone makes a big deal about the fact that it is the only song on Rumours to feature writing credits for all five members of the band? As if that's supposed to say something about Fleetwood Mac coming together, at least once, despite the odds, to collaborate and create something in unison.

PLSN: That's not something to applaud?

Joe: Not when the "odds" are infidelity and mountains of cocaine!

PLSN: Objection! I didn't do that much coke!

Judge: Overruled on two counts. One, that you are supposed to be the prosecuting lawyer in this scenario, not the actual Stevie Nicks. Two, that you were still sleeping with Mick Fleetwood when he had a wife.

Joe: Look, I don't want to go too far down that road, because it's not even what I care about. Stevie Nicks, whether a singer in a pop band or a fictional lawyer, can have sex with anyone she wants, and it's gross if you have opinions otherwise. What I mean is that these musicians are grown fucking adults. They may not have been speaking to each other in between takes, but they still hung together enough that they created one of the most enduring pop albums in music history. And they were getting paid millions and millions of dollars to do it! So, like, the fact that they were all high enough on cocaine for one single solitary day and that they were able to actually be in the same room for more than fifteen minutes at a time and create "The Chain" during that time, it's not really that big of a deal, right? Plus, you know Mick Fleetwood and John McVie only received credits because they are the only two people during that excellent bridge in the middle of the song.

PLSN: But are you aware that Record Club alum the Highwomen have covered "The Chain"? Doesn't that make you like it a little more?

Joe: Objection, it would be weird to explain what "Record Club" is to this fictional jury at this point in the review, right?

Judge: Sustained, please, god.

PLSN: But have you heard that version?

Joe: I have, and it's fine. I'm on record (ha) saying that I feel like the potential of the Highwomen is never quite fulfilled. They do a good job with "The Chain." Almost too good. But isn't the hole point of "The Chain" that it was performed by people who fucking despise each other, but are somehow kept together by forces that even they don't even really understand? So what are the Highwomen doing with it? Are we to assume that Natalie Hemby and Maren Morris refuse to speak to one another, or that Amanda Shires is cheating on Jason Isbell with Brandi Carlisle? I doubt it.

PLSN: You're doing a lot of talking, but I think you're missing the point.

Joe: Objection, I feel like I'm hitting literally too many points in this review.

Judge: No, continue, I want to hear what she has to say.

PLSN: I just want to point out how much you seem to be concentrating on the inter-band dynamics of my—whoops, sorry—the band Fleetwood Mac, and what that means to Rumours and all those listening. It shouldn't mean shit to you, man. You have your own life. You have nothing to do with whatever was going on in the studio in 1976 and 1977. So why do you seem to care so much about who everyone was fucking? And why should that matter to how you or anyone else views a song like "The Chain"? Can't it apply to your own life? Can't it be a good song because there is someone in your own life whom you love unconditionally, or that there's someone or something that you can't wrap your mind around, or that love itself is mysterious and that we should maybe just accept it? Or maybe even you could apply the theory to the album itself? How no matter how many times you listen to it, and no matter how many limp dick gimmicks you can pull out of your ass, your love for it remains, and will, forever? At least until Lindsey Buckingham decides to go solo?

Joe: Damn. Maybe I should've let Lizzo have a say in my trial about her.

PLSN: I'm glad you didn't do her that disservice, honestly. Because that wouldn't have been Lizzo speaking, just like this isn't really Stevie Nicks speaking. Your putting words in a very famous woman's mouth, and that's kind of fucked up, man.

Joe: But I wouldn't presume anyone to actually think that I am speaking for them? It's clear to everyone, hopefully, that this is just me writing my review. I'm telling you what I think about Rumours in a way that I deem fit. As obtuse as it seems, there is a point to this.

Joe-Prime: Is there???

Stevie Nicks-Prime: I can't see it yet.

Joe-Prime: Well then how about this:

And all of a sudden, Joe and Stevie Nicks are flashing through dozens, hundreds, millions of previous reviews in the blink of an eye. It's like in The Wizard of Oz when Dorothy is stuck in her bedroom during the twister and is watching all the characters pass by her window. There's almost no time to process it. There's Stevie Nicks and Martha traveling down a dusty road together, there's Stevie Nicks getting the cops called on her at McGillin's, there's Stevie Nicks at the doctor's office, and the doctor is writing her a prescription to see Fleetwood Mac that night, and Stevie Nicks / Pagliacci says something like, "But doc... I already have herpes from Lindsey Buckingham," and there's Stevie Nicks playing the tuba in what is truly the world's worst version of "The Chain," and then there's Stevie Nicks whipping Joe over and over and over and then there's also Stevie Nicks starring in a Bud Light commercial probably, there's Stevie Nicks getting peppersprayed by the pigs on I-676, there's Stevie Nicks crushing hardcore on the female lead of the production of Babes in Arms, there she is shivving Jimmy Fallon in the gut, there she is dancing at a wedding, there she is sitting in a Wildwood living room

during Irish Weekend, and her dad is yelling at her that Rumours is inappropriate for children, which doesn't make any sense whatsoever, especially here in 2021, when Rumours is about as innocuous as you can get in terms of rock music, but Stevie Nicks' dad is not also Joe's dad, right? Or is he? Because now all the reviews are starting to get mixed up, and now it's Rachel's bullies walking Allison's dog, and now it's Sam's friend's older sister yelling at Science Club for being lame, and now it's one of Dwyer's anonymous friends playing Crazy Taxi at Woodstock '99, and now it's Brit's ex-boyfriend taking care of me when I have a high fever and am bedridden and on the way from DC to Philly, and now it's Horse Girl at New Jersey Governor's School and she's beating up Malcolm Gladwell because he doesn't like Dave Matthews Band, and now it's Cory Booker complaining that he got cancelled because he didn't invite the dog to the birthday party, and now it's Stevie Nicks puking from eating too many sugar cookies and Take 5s and drinking too many vodka seltzers and beers at lunch, where she works, maybe at a startup, or maybe as a stay-at-home mom, or maybe

maybe we need to calm down. Come back to earth. Remember that we're here to talk about Rumours. Or maybe we're here to listen to Rumours. Rumours, an album that we've all heard a million fucking times, to the point where I didn't really even have to listen to it all that many times this week to squeeze this many words out of it. An album that everyone likes, an album that you'd have to literally be insane to dislike, even more insane that any fictional or non-fictional version of any character in this awful review.

It's an album that almost feels like an ending, of sorts. Like there won't be an album as important as this one reviewed in Record Club ever again, and that means we mark the end of an era. Tomorrow, we pick through the rubble, and begin the first week of the final 862 weeks of Record Club. But let's be real, all day tomorrow and the next day and the next, I will be thinking about Rumours, singing along to Rumours, loving Rumours.

GRADE: 4.5 pukes out of 5 (I still think "The Chain" is a little overrated)

CREDITS: Thanks to everyone who made this review possible, including my new job for assigning me a project that only took two and a half hours of my time on a Thursday, my school for giving me a light load of homework, my wife for letting me format and proofread while we watched 30 Rock on Thursday night—

 

MID-CREDITS SEQUENCE:

 

John McVie CRASHES through a tear in the fabric of the universe, and lands in the middle of a barren wasteland. 

 

JOHN MCVIE: "Where the fuck am I?" 

 

He turns around and finds himself face to face with Joe-Prime. 

 

JOE: "You're in a Record Club review, John."

JOHN MCVIE: "What? What the hell is Record Club? Who are you? Why have I been brought here?!"

JOE: "Well, John, you see... I've brought you here to talk about—"

JOHN MCVIE: "About Rumours, I suppose? That's right, Stevie was telling me about this! You're that guy! That guy who dragged her across the universe to, I dunno, make a few minor points about your love of our most famous album? Is that what you're doing to me now?"

JOE: "Oh no. We're done the Rumours review. We ended up raising a lot of money for charity. No, this is the week after. It's a new week of Record Club, John. I need your help. I have writer's block. You need to tell me how to write an album review, now that I've given up on these dumb gimmicks, which were always dumb and everyone can agree. Tell me, John... what do you know about Sufjan Stevens?"

JOHN MCVIE:  *gasps*

COMING OCTOBER 1, 2021: RECORD CLUB'S REVIEWS FOR SUFJAN STEVENS' NEW ALBUM!!!!!!!

 

CREDITS, CONTINUED:—and, of course, all the readers and contributors and listeners of Record Club, without whom I would not be here, revisiting Rumours for the 10,000th time in my life. You guys make my music life worth it. Thanks, friends.

POST-CREDITS SEQUENCE:

As I was about to hit "publish" on my completed review, I woke up. Found myself in bed next to a sleeping Pam.

"Pam, wake up honey."

"What?"

"I had the dream again."

"The one where you are a huge pain in the ass about writing Record Club reviews?"

"Yeah, except this time I had an excuse. We were seeing how long we could make our reviews, because I'd donate a penny for every word that everyone collectively wrote."

"Babe, it's been 138 weeks. Everyone knows that you just get off on this annoying shit. You didn't really need to try to use the charity thing as an excuse, because no one is buying it. Plus, I'm sure you just wrote a bunch of shit that wasn't true and didn't really have anything to do with Rumours, or your thoughts about Rumours."

"I guess that's true. I have never had sex with Stevie Nicks, or, for that matter, been married to Stevie Nicks."

"That's what you were dreaming about?! You fucking pig. I thought you were gonna say you, like, attempted the poorest man's version of science fiction and brought Stevie Nicks through different timelines, or some such utter bullshit like that. But you were just wet dreaming about Stevie Nicks this whole time?"

"There was more to it. It was a whole thing. Mick Fleetwood was the narrator for that part."

"The guy that Stevie Nicks was fucking during the Rumours sessions?! That's even weirder, Joe!"

"Will you relax with the sexual stuff. That wasn't the point!"

"No, I know what your point was, Joe. Your point was definitely masturbation, but figuratively. You just write whatever is in your head, don't you? You just fucking write for the sake of writing. None of this really, truly matters, does it?"

"..."

"Does it?!?!"

"No. I guess it doesn't."

"And that 12/15 you got in your first graded writing assignment in grad school should've told you the story even before you had this fucked up dream. Lowest grade in the class, mind you. This isn't writing, what you do on your blog. It's masturbation. This shit doesn't translate to the real world."

 

"But that's why I'm trying to create my own world. This insular world where none of this is graded."

 

"No, but people are still going to have to read this. Theoretically. It'll be published. Will anyone make it to the end? Probably not! Because it's not even a fucking review anymore! Jesus, dude, what the fuck are you even doing at this point?"

 

"Okay, fair enough. Let me see if I can bring it back around to Rumours."

 

"Oh, this'll be rich."

 

"Okay, how about... how about... okay, so Lindsey Buckingham."

"Alright....."

"Yeah, okay, so Buckingham seems like an asshole, right?"

"I guess?"

"But how long was he in Fleetwood Mac?"

"Wikipedia says he was kicked out in 2018."

"Right! So that's how many fucking decades of coexisting with the other members of Fleetwood Mac? Multiple! Rumours is infamous for the inter-band turmoil, and yet they existed for literally DECADES after everything went down."

"What's your point?"

"My point is that this is... I mean, it's kind of like how you feel about my place in Record Club, right? Call me an asshole all you want, say that my writing is bad, say that the annoying part is that I'm constantly calling myself 'annoying' as if that's any less annoying... but regardless, we're keeping it all together, aren't we? 138 weeks of Record Club! Not a single week when it was just me writing! Plans to continue for years! Ultimately, it doesn't matter how much of an asshole I am, or how truly fucking embarrassing my reviews are, because people are sticking around! This is the story of Fleetwood Mac too!"

"...Seems like a stretch to me."

"Alright, jeez, fine. Let's just go to bed. We've already talked about Rumours enough this week anyway. Wait... what's that?"

And as the clock clicked over from 5:59 to 6:00, I saw Pam silently fold up a small picture of Lindsey Buckingham into quarters, place it in a bedside drawer, and by 6:01, small rhythmic exhalations from her side of the bed told me she had fallen asleep again.

I turned to the blue glow of my laptop and, in the early morning breath of sunrise, I wrote this review on Blogspot. I was sure to note the irony of the fact that the core of my review's argument was that Rumours was a truly unforgettable album, but yet there I was, lying awake at 6:30 in the morning, staring at the ceiling, itching to listen to literally anything besides Rumours for the 2,000th time this week, and wondering what it all meant.