You can’t beat a Saturday night Fleetwood Mac concert in Paris. I mean, how often does the opportunity come up?
Mel and I arrived at Le Zenith after the legendary band had gone on (damn 5 line!) and promptly found floor space to start dancing and acting like the mature ladies that we are.
Stevie took a little while to warm up. J’ai eu peur at first—she couldn’t hold her notes and was flubbing words. When she destroyed Rhiannon, I was worried the show was going to be a bust.
But over the course of the night (and costume changes, which were all variations on the same bedazzled, flow-y, gypsy-ish dresses) she warmed up and finally sang brilliantly.
But the show definitely belonged to Lindsay, who rocked all night. He was wailing on his guitar and singing his heart out, which especially impressed Mel.
The whole band, in fact, really rocked. You could tell they were ecstatic to be playing, and having a ball, and we all threw the love right back at them up on stage.