More than any other
Fleetwood Mac album,
Tusk is born of a particular time and place -- it could only have been created in the aftermath of
Rumours, which shattered sales records, which in turn gave the group a blank check for its next album. But if they were falling apart during the making of
Rumours, they were officially broken and shattered during the making of
Tusk, and that disconnect between bandmembers resulted in a sprawling, incoherent, and utterly brilliant 20-track double album. At the time of its release, it was a flop, never reaching the top of the charts and never spawning a true hit single, despite two well-received Top Ten hits. Coming after the monumental
Rumours, this was a huge disappointment, but the truth of the matter is that
Fleetwood Mac couldn't top that success no matter how hard they tried, so it was better for them to indulge themselves and come up with something as unique as
Tusk.
Lindsey Buckingham directed both
Fleetwood Mac and
Rumours, but he dominates here, composing nearly half the album, and giving
Christine McVie's and
Stevie Nicks' songs an ethereal, floating quality that turns them into welcome respites from the seriously twisted immersions into
Buckingham's id. This is the ultimate cocaine album -- it's mellow for long stretches, and then bursts wide open in manic, frantic explosions, such as the mounting tension on "The Ledge" or the rampaging "That's Enough for Me," or the marching band-driven paranoia of the title track, all of which are relieved by smooth, reflective work from all three songwriters. While
McVie and
Nicks contribute some excellent songs,
Buckingham owns this record with his nervous energy and obsessive production, winding up with a fussily detailed yet wildly messy record unlike any other. This is mainstream madness, crazier than
Buckingham's idol
Brian Wilson and weirder than any number of cult classics. Of course, that's why it bombed upon its original release, but
Tusk is a bracing, weirdly affecting work that may not be as universal or immediate as
Rumours, but is every bit as classic. As a piece of pop art, it's peerless.