S Poddar
Christine McVie of Fleetwood Mac, the great songwriter of hits such as Songbird, Little Lies, and Everywhere, lived a life many dream of—a life of fame, fortune, and success at the helm of music. Yet in the years that followed, Christine was diagnosed as feeling saddeningly melancholic, a sense of sadness that has stayed with her long past the peak of Fleetwood Mac in the 1970s. A new biography uncovers the deep emotional scars that fame could not heal.
There was always about Christine the hint of the tragic Miss Havisham from Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations. Like the pathetic character, Christine appeared to be garlanded with the remains of a life that once promised but now promised only abandonment. After her departure from Fleetwood Mac in 1990, she returned to the family manor house in Kent, England, where she passed her days ensconced in solitude, contemplating the peaks and troughs of this undulating roller coaster career. “How did she get through that?” she would sometimes ask herself. And, more deeply, “Had she actually survived?”. But behind all the glamour of the 1977 album by the band Rumours, known more romantically as the “divorce album,” lay chaos: turbulent relationships, betrayals, and a life in excess. Private jets, limousines, and a world full of drink, drugs, and complicated romantic entanglements. The band lived in a haze of excess, and the personal lives and music were blurring into just one big formless whirlwind.
But for Christine, the pain of her personal life could not be ignored. There had been the divorce from Fleetwood Mac’s bassist John McVie after three years of marriage, as well as the collapse of her engagement to Dennis Wilson of the Beach Boys with whom, unbeknownst to her, her best friend Stevie Nicks had slept during their relationship. Add to that the stress of touring nonstop and the not-so-glamorous reality of living on the road, and Christine’s formerly bright existence began to resemble a shadow of itself.
As Christine began entering her 40s, cracks in her life were beginning to emerge. Where the music was once comforting, it now emphasized what was lost. Songs such as You Make Loving Fun and Little Lies only seemed to torture her. Her fear of flying, an affliction which many rock stars suffer, further alienated her from the world she once thrived on. “She knew she must get off the cloud before she crashed and burned,” writes the biography, capturing her sense of urgency to escape before everything came crumbling down.
At 47, Christine left Los Angeles behind and returned to England, selling her home and most of her belongings. When she finally restored the grand manor to its former glory, it had been ten years and she was 55—a woman who had lived through more heartbreak than most could imagine. She had missed her chance at motherhood, her dreams of raising a family now dashed. She was left alone as a single woman, now in her 50s, living a very subdued life-this time very much unlike the hedonistic days of her youth. “She could live another 30 years,” she thought to herself, “What on earth was she supposed to do with all that time?
The story of rock stars is often a glamorous thing—fame, money, and adoration of millions. But Christine McVie is a reflection of how appearances do not necessarily tell the truth. For all her success, she remained sadly lonely; whereas once she had been so happy with the music that now it had become an instrument of sorrow. She had the wherewithal to live comfortably for the rest of her days, but she could never buy love or companionship.
It was through loss that her whole personal life had been colored over the years. She lost her mother, whom she described as a psychic and medium, at a very tender age. The absence left a void that Christine never tried to fill. Her father, a musician himself, had never really made it as such in his lifetime, so she was forced to chart her way through life’s challenges.
Christine’s own journey in music started young when she studied classical piano and then discovered the blues. She quickly found her own niche within the vibrant sound scene, playing with a variety of bands, including the music group Chicken Shack, where she was introduced to Fleetwood Mac guitarist Peter Green. Their friendship blossomed into romance, and in 1968 Christine married John McVie and joined Fleetwood Mac. Here she went through both success and heartbreak—the day in 1968 that her mother died, Christine married John McVie, yet it was also at this point that the unraveling of her personal life mirrored the band’s saga.
By the time Christine ended her run with Fleetwood Mac, she had led a life few would truly know. Her story is one of massive success tinged with sorrow and testimony to the price of fame and the sometimes painful isolation that goes with it. With all the adoration, music, and accolades, Christine McVie was, in many respects, the saddest rock star I ever met-one whose dreams of a different life never quite materialised, no matter how much fame or fortune she achieved. Of course, as the saying goes, “be careful what you wish for,” and Christine’s life is a very powerful testament to that cautionary tale.
