.png)
.png)
Stevie Nicks: The Fleetwood Mac veteran brings magic to Hyde Park – with help from Harry Styles
It was genuinely special to witness Nicks duet with the young star at BST Hyde Park as a tribute to her late bandmate Christine McVie.
In my career as a music critic, I have heard the ear-shattering screech of teenage girls screaming many times. But I think this may have been the first time I have heard an audience of women of all ages give a kind of joyous approximation of the mass pop scream.
The object of their noisy enthusiasm was not, in fact, the star of the occasion, 76-year-old rock queen Stevie Nicks. The Fleetwood Mac veteran was certainly treated with respect, delight, enthusiasm and a touch of awe throughout an absolutely fantastic performance that put smiles on the faces of everyone on stage and in the crowd. But the screams were reserved for a guest who arrived for the last two songs, looking Hollywood handsome with chopped short hair and a baggy suit: boyband hero turned solo superstar Harry Styles.
When Styles was first charming the nation with One Direction, I don’t think this would have been anyone’s vision of his future: swinging a big orange guitar whilst standing in for Tom Petty on a rocking Stop Dragging My Heart Around and harmonising Christine McVie’s parts on a tender Landslide. As Britain’s premier contemporary pop star, Styles carries a lot of weight, but he showed the deep musical empathy to slip humbly into a supporting role with an all-time great, forging links from pop’s shining present to its glorious past. It was a genuinely special thing to witness, and Nicks was clearly moved as she drew him into a hug.
“The last time I was here in Hyde Park it was with Tom Petty, and that was the last time I saw Tom,” she had noted earlier of the great American rocker who died aged 66 in 2017. At the end, she spoke movingly about late Mac bandmate McVie. “This is Christine’s birthday,” she noted to cheers. (She would have been 81.) “It’s hard to sing a song about your best friend who died so suddenly,” she admitted. “My mom used to say when Stevie gets hurt, she runs to the stage, and that’s what I’ve been doing. And the only people who have helped me get through this are all of you.”
Fleetwood Mac may be no more, but the ladies – and, indeed, many gentlemen – of London came out for the band’s one true star on a cool summer evening in Hyde Park. There was a sense of cos-play about the occasion. Women of all ages bravely sported ballgowns, skimpy diaphanous cloaks and battered top hats in honour of the star’s distinctive look. Nicks dug into her own collection of cloaks, scarves and gowns as she twirled and sang, her voice lower and grittier than in her youth, but full of character and flair as she led us through the poetic narratives of her ethereal brand of magical blues rock. Her well-chosen solo songs sounded fantastic, with the great silver-haired guitarist Waddy Wachtel powering through Edge of Seventeen. The Mac material was transcendent. An extended psychedelic blues romp through Gold Dust Woman was better than I’d ever heard it, as free and wild as Nicks’ persona.
It was a very old-fashioned rock show. There wasn’t much in the way of stage production: some floaty screen imagery and coloured lights. It was all about a virtuoso band playing characterful songs with a charismatic star leading the way with free-flowing singing amidst welters of perfect harmonies. The woman’s got style. And, indeed, on this occasion, she had Harry Styles too.
