Ian McNabb - Fleetwood McNabb (2024) Hi-Res

OK, skip the awful title and possibly, too, the cover, but as tributes go, Ian McNabb’s Fleetwood McNabb is pretty solid. McNabb is arguably better known, in America anyway, as the prime force behind the Icicle Works, still sometimes touring under the name, give or take the availability of various ex-members. Aside and away from that, he has an enduring solo career with dozens of releases. We’ve seen him here before, his covers set of 2018, Respectfully Yours, getting a Covers Classic polish. Always, it seems, a fan of the Mac, through their myriad shape-shifts, Fleetwood McNabb is a tad different from many tributes to the band, in that it starts in the ’60s British Blues Boom and travels all the way to almost the last extant incarnation. So South London to Malibu, and all points between. Including the bits few recall or even know about.

Fleetwood McNabb opens with “Big Love,” one of the last huge big songs of the Buckingham/Nicks era, a top ten single in 1987. Originally destined for a Lindsey Buckingham solo album, he then gave it to the band, but many of his typical flourishes unmistakably imprint his ownership of the song. McNabb starts it with a glorious skittering pattern of sequenced synths and a prolonged single note on guitar. He has a croonier voice than Buckingham’s, which effectively places his own stamp on it. But come that chorus, and the characteristic tumbling note patterns, it becomes fairly facsimile, the guitar motif much as the original. But it’s a good start, even if his voice dials in just a little too much egg towards the conclusion. Oh, and those godawful ooos and ahs do appear, if briefly, for a further debit point.

“The Green Manalishi (With the Two Pronged Crown),” always one of Peter Green’s more outré outings, gets a good guitar workout, sounding much like something the Icicle Works could have put out themselves. This is quite clever as, without essentially differing much from the original arrangement, by virtue of sleight of ear and no small amount of confidence, McNabb steals it effortlessly. His voice is rich and boomy and the wobbly trebly tone of the guitar is distractingly good, each denying any direct comparison with Green’s peerless playing and singing.

“Hypnotized” comes from the years when Bob Welch was Mac frontman. McNabb beefs and balls up the yacht rock original, adding some surprisingly “Greeny” type guitar, his voice a far richer brew than Welch’s. It’s good and enjoys its six-minute presence. The bar is also attained for a breezy “Say You Love Me,” where the ubiquity of the song is almost overcome. Near replicating the piano-led arrangement, McNabb’s voice and a few sex-swap lyrical tweaks are the only real changes. His vocals work, but the additional backing vocals are a bit respectfully anodyne. Again, he shows his guitar playing is no slouch, even compared to Buckingham’s. The bass line is untampered with, retaining that central pillar of the song.

McNabb then proceeds to render “Storms” into almost a new song entirely. This glorious Tusk weepy may be one of Stevie Nicks’ finest moments, but McNabb eclipses her rendition, his voice a faltering beacon over a majestic piano-led arrangement. This is probably the best junction to mention the other contributing musicians; Ciaron Bell plays that plangent piano part, with Tony McGuigan and Jim Sangster on drums and bass, respectively. Given that the Mac rhythm section of Mick Fleetwood and John McVie are so integral to the overall heft of any and all the various line-ups, McGuigan and Sangster certainly hold their own.

A further lesser-spotted gem pops up with “Peacekeeper,” a moment from the quartet years, after Christine McVie had left the band and before she rejoined. Very much another Buckingham construct, and McNabb lets the song do the talking. He removes the sheen of overproduction in the original, revealing it to be almost power-pop, with a hint of Merseybeat in the shared vocals. Let’s never forget McNabb is a Liverpool lad.

How will McNabb tackle “Man of the World,” one of the saddest songs anywhere, let alone in the Mac canon? Terrified he might tamper with the beauty of the song? Relax–it is an absolute belter. Bell’s piano ushers it in, and that aspect is glorious, with McNabb having such oodles of bittersweet at his vocal command as to near forget the world weary fatigue in Green’s own delivery. It slips ever so slightly for the double-tracked second verse, but picks up with just enough slightly different in the guitar solo to be perfect, with the faster central section nailing the transition to that part. Gorgeous.

“Gold Dust Woman” is probably the weakest song here, delivered as a basic meat-and-potatoes rock show. Mind you, the original was little more than an excuse for Nicks to waft about, but her delivery at least gave the song some spirit. Here it is more workmanlike plod, although, oddly, this time it is the harmonies that lift it. That it is followed by “You Make Loving Fun” accentuates the difference between the two songs. This makes for a slightly clunky moment, but that evaporates quickly, given the sheer exuberance of this pure pop iteration. Awash with electric paint and clavinet, it sounds like the Captain and Tennille are at the controls. And that’s good, I hasten to add.

Finally comes a final reminder of the blues band Fleetwood Mac once was, my secret suspicion that this may be McNabb’s favored part of the band’s checkered history. McNabb takes “Drifting,” a consummate 12-bar, at just a slightly slower lick. He howls his way through it, both convincingly and with conviction. I’ve never heard him handle a song so rawly, his vocals sanded down to an abrasive moan. Lovely guitar, once more.

Fleetwood McNabb is a good album. Not perfect, but little is. And now McNabb has shown his interpretative capabilities once more and so well, can we expect any more? It would be nice to hope.