Silver Springs, Fleetwood Mac, 1976
I've been obsessed with this song for as long as I can remember. Get this right, y'all -- Silver Springs is the greatest breakup song of all time. You heard me. It's the original scorned lover's diss track. No other song will ever match its intensity and honesty and pain and anger and sorrow. It's just not possible. Silver Springs is so personal yet oh so very universal -- did you say that she loves you? I don't want to know.
Don't misunderstand me -- Silver Springs isn't my favorite Stevie or Fleetwood Mac tune. It isn't even a mainstay on the playlist of my life. It's way too heavy for daily consumption. I can't handle Silver Springs on the daily and trust me, neither can you. Silver Springs shows itself when needed. Silver Springs is a prayer. It's a spell. It's a curse. It's a powerful slow burn that should only be summoned in emergencies.
I'm battling birthday melancholia and got crazy lost down the Silver Springs Stevie and Lindsey rabbit hole this week. Edgar Wright is mostly to blame. I love Scott Pilgrim -- I watched it for the 100 millionth time on Memorial Day and those seven evil exes launched me headfirst into the silver spring. Look it up -- seeing Stevie sing Silver Springs to Lindsey on stage is pretty scary. Is Stevie the OG evil ex?
Here's a truth for you to absorb -- If anyone who grew up in the late 1970s and/or 1980s denies being in love with Stevie Nicks, they are a liar. Red flag, friends. Run. If Stevie's voice doesn't haunt you, then you have no soul. Period.
Sure, none of us will ever escape the sound of the woman who loves us and I wouldn't want it any other way.
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