By Fleetwood Mac I have on various mp3 collections Mac; English Rose; Chicago Jam; In Chicago; Play On; Penguin; Fleetwood Mac; Tusk; Tango in the Night. As well as stand alones a pair of 2 cd sets: Black Magic Woman; Very best of. So you might say I’m bit of a fan but I started following them long before they became huge.
My first Fleetwood Mac was the lp Play On – it was the cover art that attracted me. The music was an odd mic or rock, blues & an odd strain of jazzy prog rock. Rattlesnake Shake rocked out. It was an lp I always enjoyed because of the range of styles it covered. Then at Radio Shack I found cassette of their early stuff which was more basic British blues & I really enjoyed it. It was a revelation to hear the original Black Magic Woman. A song Santana transformed.
They sort of vanished except for the instrumental Albatross then abruptly resurfaced with that new line up, that new sound & I was fan of their radio-friendly work. I had some of these as Lps at the time & was happy to replace them with mp3. Big Love was great video. The emotional soap of their relationships produced great music – so good it was more compelling, to me, than the emotional soap of their relationships.
Thanks to high speed (as opposed to dialup) I tracked down more of their early releases like English Rose & the legendary In Chicago where they jam with the likes of Willie Dixon. The stand alone’s are nice completions of the early Black Magic Woman era & then one of the resurgence with live takes of their hits. Also tucked on a shelf is Chicken Shack: a solid blues band that included Christine Perfect before she joined Mac.
John stood in the small chapel. A narrow window let some light fall on the cross half way up the wall. A rough pine bench with a cloth over it was the altar. All was silence
Fort Harwood was empty when they arrived. The surge of expectation and hope they had felt when they had first seen it quickly evaporated.
Silent and empty and cold. It was like a house waiting for someone to move in. A house in which no one had ever lived.
None of the small huts outside the walls of the fort or the barracks inside held any hint of occupancy.
‘Too clean picked for Injuns.’ Pete sucked air through his broken smile. ‘Can’t see a sign of anything. Not a scrap.’
There was wood for fire, water in the well, hay for the horses.
John made sure he’d looked in every room at least once. Opened cupboards, glanced under beds even pried up floor boards that had tramped hollow under foot. Nothing.
He’d kept the chapel for last. Frank had already been through he knew but he had to be here with himself before he’d believe.
He put his Bible on the altar and knelt. He opened the first page and read the names of his family. Mothers, fathers, children, going back several generations. He would call those spirits into this place. This was all he knew to do. Each name was a link in the rosary of his life that he knew would take him into the future so that he would hand this book down to his children to dot eh same.
‘Preacher Boy! Taking to yourself?’
‘No.’ John stood with his family around him. ‘Clyde you could do with a little of this yerself don’t you think.’
Clyde stepped back. ‘Watch you mean? I got no time for God and all that. He hide the people here? He look after them or what? There was a couple of hundred here last fall and where are they?’
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