Good deed for an aging rocker

By Cindy Adams
New York Post
Friday, May 30, 2003

I PERFORMED social work this week. I did a service for mankind. Possibly maybe I even saved a human life al though that’s not definite.

I went forth into foreign terrain. Fleetwood Mac’s first together-again concert in the New York area in seven years. I went into even foreigner terrain — New Jersey. I went with the band’s producer/architect/hotshot guitarist Lindsey Buckingham, who was at the Ritz under an alias. The now four-person bunch — Stevie Nicks, Mick Fleetwood, John McVie, Lindsey — all stay at different hotels.

Lindsey’s transport was a limo so stretched that it reached the Lincoln Tunnel while still parked at the Ritz. And what’s their tour bus like? “We don’t do buses. We have our own 727.” Right. OK.

I was told to wear flats. Lindsey’s stunner blonde wife, Kirsten, featured 4-inch stiletto boots. I was told to go casual. She was in jeans and scoopneck sweater with a diamond necklace — considered casual, since she didn’t have matching earrings.

We left at 4:30 p.m. for the 8:15 concert. Sound check is early because, whatever the voodoo that she do, Stevie, who brings her two Yorkies, “needs three hours to get ready.” Why? “She gets a massage.” But if you have to get “up” for a performance, isn’t massage relaxing, not stimulating? Lindsey, who “personally could arrive 15 minutes before and walk right onstage,” doesn’t know. He only knows she needs three hours to get ready.

At rehearsal Mick Fleetwood sported a neon turquoise jacket. Stevie, with rollers in her hair, said: “Today’s my birthday. I’m 55. Not my favorite, because it means I’m getting close to 60.”

Holding son, Will, 41/2, and daughter LeeLee, 21/2, Lindsey said: “I used to start my day at 7 p.m. and finish with the sun. The road was three times crazier. A critical mess. An exercise in denial. We were wild animals who couldn’t start working even in a studio at 11 a.m. In R ‘n’ R, they say you’re burned out in your 40s. I’m 53. And now I’m living a simple life.”

“Simple” is their new Bel Air home — 8,000 square feet, plus cabanas, pool, grounds, 1,200-square-foot studio — all of which an architect built as an authentic hacienda after “we got books, then explored to death every Spanish house we could find in Montecito and Santa Barbara” and after “pretty ballsy” Kristen personally sketched what she wanted.

Lindsey, soft-spoken, easy, pleasant, in plain black pants, T-shirt and jacket, cuddling his children like any dad, anywhere: “And I’m working on having friends. Those old days I was not happy, so I was more guarded. I had girlfriends not friend friends. Now I live a 9-to-5 life and don’t extend myself to things like parties.”

This particular performance was the dawn of a new day. “Not as big individually as we were together,” they’re now a unit again and pushing their new album “Say You Will,” which started as a solo but morphed into Fleetwood Mac.

“We have to rebuild. To be Fleetwood Mac 2. The whole mantra now is trust. Much as I want this to go on a dozen more years, I’m sort of waiting for the other shoe to drop. We’re always stressed out. It’s 75/25 we make it. Us reuniting is a minor miracle. My family at this stage of my life is a major miracle.”

Being the first his kids had seen Papa Rock Star on stage, Kristen stuffed earplugs in them. As 18,000 fans began screaming, she said: “They saw him on the ‘Today’ show and asked, ‘All those people clapping for daddy?’ ”

Added Kristen: “I love New York. It’s the only place I can get dressed up, although we couldn’t get into Le Cirque because Lindsey had no shirt or tie.”

Speaking of getting dressed, what’s with the diamond necklace? “I just got it,” she said. “My Mother’s Day gift. We bought it at Judith Ripka.”

But no matching earrings? That’s a shame for the neighbors, I said.

“No matching earrings,” she sighed.

She needs matching earrings, I said.

“Matching earrings?” he repeated.

“Cindy says it’s embarrassing I don’t have matching earrings,” she explained.

“But we’re leaving tomorrow. No time to go back to Judith Ripka.”

Always one to help the less fortunate, I rang Judith and got the matching earrings to them.

I truly believe I did some form of social work. A service for (wo)mankind. Possibly maybe even saved a human life although, like I say, that’s not definite.

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