The women of rock have meant a lot to me since I was a girl: Janis Joplin, Grace Slick, the elegantly ironic Ann Wilson and her inspired sister, Nancy were early favorites. Joan Jett, Pat Benatar, and Courtney Love all endeared themselves to me soon after I first heard them perform.
My problem was with Stevie Nicks. Her voice bothered me. "Why isn't this woman singing country and western?" I asked anyone who would listen to me. The voice, which has been described as "raw," is nasal — not Linda Ronstadt soulfully nasal — but nasal in a way I have traditionally associated with country music. It just didn't fit a rock singer.
And then there were those clothes. Nicks' gypsy drag, with the flowing skirts, shawls, capes, and long earrings irritated me almost as much as her voice. I found the whole production an uncomfortable collision of hippie redux and period romance novel heroine. Then there was the twirling, which might not have bothered me in another performer, but considering the shawls and skirts, it was so over the top, I couldn't deal with it.
My dislike of Stevie Nicks was complicated by ambivalence. Like everyone else I knew in the mid-'70s, I heard "Rhiannon" in my head when I least expected to, and liked it. So haunting was the song in both melody and lyric, it became part of the psycho-cultural soundtrack of the decade. It didn't help that the radio deejays played it incessantly.
Then there was "Gypsy." The first few times I heard it, I didn't pay much attention because the instrumental riffs didn't appeal to me. Then I listened more closely to the melody line, and became captivated by it. Again, the word "haunting" best describes the song, though the melody is subtler than "Rhiannon." These songs were undeniably beautiful, and even I had to acknowledge that Nicks was a major creator of melodies.
But what was she singing about? Who was Rhiannon? "She is a cat in the dark, and then she is the darkness." I liked the lyric, but I was puzzled by it. And in "Gypsy," who was dancing away? I wasn't sure, and I didn't like being left to figure it out.
"Gold Dust Woman" was a little easier. The first two lines made it pretty obvious that Nicks was talking about cocaine, and about a woman who sacrifices love for power and drugs. But what in the world did she mean by "Better pick your path and I'll pray"? "Landslide" offered more mystery. Again, the melody was beautiful, and I immediately appreciated the poetry, but some of the images were lost on me.
If I thought I was confused then, it was because I didn't know what was coming. Nicks began her solo career, and along came "Edge of Seventeen," the mystery song of all mystery songs. There's a white-winged dove, a song that's hauntingly familiar, and someone who was no more than a baby. There was no one left standing, and she's going back tomorrow. Why, oh why, couldn't Stevie Nicks pick a subject and stick with it in some reasonable way? A song is brief, there isn't time to meander through disparate images and switch the focus in the middle of a phrase.
However, such is the melodic power of "Edge of Seventeen" that once I hear it, it stays in my head for days. As I write this, riding on a train, it is in my head, and the clacking of the wheels on the track sounds like the song's intense percussive riff. It will stay with me even after I have reached my destination.
No discussion of Stevie Nicks would be complete without including the anthem, "Stand Back." Driven by a club beat, with an infectious rhythm, alas, it contains lyrics that are hard to decipher. An interviewer once asked Nicks why she was talking about "standing in a line" in the middle of a song about the fickleness of men. If he was hoping for enlightenment, he was probably disappointed, since the singer's explanation was that it could be a grocery line or a welfare line. She was simply upset about women having to stand in lines, always waiting.
A few years ago, I was talking with a friend about music, one of our favorite topics. She told me how much she liked Stevie Nicks, and I told her I really didn't care for Nicks that much. Except for "Gold Dust Woman." And "Gypsy." And "Rhiannon." And "Landslide." And "Bella Donna." In case I was still clueless, she told me the news: "Diane, I think you're a Stevie Nicks fan."
And I realized I was. The power of the melodies and the strength of the imagery had won me over. But it was more than that. Stevie was still Stevie, but I had changed. I no longer needed to have everything written out for me; in fact, I kind of liked the mystery. And I no longer felt ignorant after I read a comment Christine McVie had made about Nicks' music. McVie said that half the time, she had no idea what Nicks was singing about, but it didn't really matter because the songs were so beautiful, and they sounded just right when Nicks sang them.
Over the years, Nicks has offered interpretations of some of her songs, and it turns out that the subjects were often deeply personal. Though it is safe to say that on an unconscious level, the gypsy "dancing away from you" is Nicks herself moving away from her relationship with Lindsey Buckingham, she was actually grieving the death of her best friend when she wrote the lyric. "Rhiannon" was inspired by a fantasy novel she read in an airport, and "Edge of Seventeen" covers a variety of topics, from the death of John Lennon to the death of the singer's uncle. Nicks wasn't writing for a particular market, nor was she trying to be mysterious. She was simply writing her life. Thousands of fans accepted this easily, but I was a little slow to get it.
Her voice, too, has grown on me over the years, as has her costuming. The capes and swirling skirts, it turns out, weren't a gimmick: They were clothes she liked to wear, and she wore them all until they became threadbare. She is still the witchy woman, but the image now seems to me a sign of her authenticity.
Last month, I traveled to Birmingham, Alabama to see my first Fleetwood Mac concert. It was a great show, and I was thrilled to see Stevie Nicks, the ultimate rock and roll survivor, step onto the stage. She had recently had surgery on her hip, so the signature platform boots were gone, and her dancing was much tamer than in the past. Just a few days past her 55th birthday, she sang "Landslide" with a humor and acceptance that wrapped the song in an extra layer of emotion. "Gold Dust Woman" was stunning, and for "Stand Back," Nicks let loose with the twirls I used to make fun of. This time, I applauded until my palms hurt.
There are so many of Nicks' creations that have come to have meaning for me because they speak so eloquently of women's experiences. It is my own greater understanding of these experiences that has enhanced the lyrics, and therefore made the songs personal. And it is my more highly developed appreciation for mystery that has led me to enjoy the songs even if I don't always fully understand them.
So when one of my friends told me I had found my "inner Stevie," I had to agree. Dreams unwind. Music's a state of mind.
THE END
© 2003, All Rights Reserved
Bio:
Diane E. Dees is a psychotherapist and writer in Covington, Louisiana. Her short stories, essays and creative nonfiction have appeared in many publications. Diane and her husband, Orvin Tobiason, are the webmasters of princesscafe.com, the world's only virtual rock and roll restaurant. Diane's blog can be read at dedspace.blogspot.com.
Diane can be reached at: dianedees@charter.net
|
