I’m heading out tonight to the second of two Lindsey Buckingham shows at Park West. I am almost unreasonably pumped for it. Buckingham’s guilty of his share of heinous musical crimes, but the evolution of his hairstyle has consistantly reflected the quality of his music, so you can pretty easily tell what records to avoid based on how offensive his hair is on the cover. Dude’s such a master at writing songs that he can turn a basic G-D-C chord progression into something amazing enough for me to forgive every minute of my life that’s been ruined by having the chorus to “Holiday Road” stuck in my head, including this one right now.
“Not Too Late” — from his new album, Under the Skin — is one of his great songs. Most of it is just Buckingham singing in a hushed voice along with a fingerpicking pattern that is so fast and dead-on that it sounds like it was sequenced on a sampler. And the words are all about how no one understands him, not even his kids — which, if you choose not to interpret it as Boomer solipsism, is kind of a heavy idea. I kind of love him for being such a perpetual downer. It’s like age and success have nothing to offer but new experiences to disgust you and bum you out. I wake up feeling that at least once a week.