Page 31 - the NOISE April 2014

have led his band next.
In March 1970, Green and Kirwan attend
an LSD party in Munich. When they returned, something was definitely amiss. Whatever drugs were taken and whatever scene went down had shaken Peter Green to the core (Kirwan’s later mental problems were traced back to this incident as well).
The weight was finally too much, critical mass was reached, and the man’s psyche crumbled.
Peter Green announced his departure from Fleetwood Mac in April 1970. He played his last show with them in May, the same month “The Green Manalishi” was issued as a single. It was one hell of a goodbye.
The remaining four had known this day was coming, but it didn’t make the reality any easier. They had all held on to the hope that Peter would pull it together, snap out of it, and the old Greeny would return, but he was gone. For real.
They canceled their scheduled British live shows, took a short vacation, and regrouped at their country house to decide what was next. Disbanding Fleetwood Mac was con- sidered, then vetoed. Next up was the posi- tion of bandleader, who would make deci- sions both musical and financial (and what- ever their manager wasn’t taking care of ).
Jeremy Spencer could have led any band he chose, except this one. If Green had left after Mr. Wonderful, they could have carried on performing Jeremy’s blues and rock & roll parodies, but at the moment, mid-1970, it would be a huge step backward. They had scaled too many mountains: “Albatross,”
“Man Of The World,” “Then Play On,” “Oh Well,” “Manalishi” (most of which Spencer had little to no involvement in) ... if they were to keep calling themselves Fleetwood Mac, they
would have to keep growing, not stagnate. Peter had long ago realized that Jeremy was content to stay within the walls of the music library located in his head, and that his
originals, however skillfully done, were deriv- ative. His solo LP had proven he was a talent- ed chameleon, but now the band would be relying on him for material. He would have to find his own voice and he wasn’t sure what that was. Regardless, it was good Jeremy was still around. Their live show wouldn’t be the same without him.
Danny Kirwan was all of 20 years old. His guitar playing had always been stellar, and he was becoming a more distinctive singer and songwriter. But Peter had been his men- tor, his 6-string mate, his loving big brother, and Danny missed him terribly. He was the most shaken by Green’s absence. He never realized how much Peter’s bottomless well of self-confidence had fueled them all, made them feel invincible. Kirwan had no inten- tion of leading this band, but the pressure was on to keep the level of his songwriting high. He had some pretty good new ones, but there wasn’t any “Green Manalishi” up his sleeve, no “Oh Well,” and it made him nau- seous that his songs were going to be rated against those of the masters and his would always come up short.
John McVie wasn’t a showman like Jeremy, a handsome young guitar hero like Danny, or a long-legged looner like Mick; he just wanted to play the bass. And he was incred- ible at it, subtle and melodic. When he and Mick locked together they were the best rhythm section in all of Britain. They KNEW it, it wasn’t ego (well, maybe a little). But John had never written a song or sung onstage or made a band decision in his life.
He preferred to be the cool guy just stand- ing there playing his ass off, like his name- sake John Entwistle. McVie had recently wed the lovely Christine Perfect and things were a bit rocky there already. Christine had quit her band and solo career, envisioning a nor- mal domestic life, and John was still a heavy drinker and partier. She wanted him at home, not out with the boys. Taking on more re- sponsibilities was not exactly what he had in mind right now.
That left Mick Fleetwood. A drummer call- ing the shots? Well why the hell not, it was his family name up there on the bloody mar- quees and album covers and magazines. No one else wanted to do it. Look at this spotty bunch: Jeremy, crazy. Danny, scared. John, drunk. And Mick...crazy, scared AND drunk. But still good ol’ Mick. It made sense.
The others were relieved. Awright then Mick, you’re our man, jolly good.
Ummm ... what do we do now?
>> TO BE CONTINUED NEXT EDITION
— Tony BallZ
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