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I think Lindsey Buckingham has arrived at a comfortable spot in his life, as attested to in the latest batch of Fleetwood Mac-less songs entitled Under the Skin. As genuine as that feeling may be for the guitarist who made a fortune airing his dirty laundry back in 1977, the presentation of it felt a little tepid last week at The Palace of Fine Arts Theatre in San Francisco. I can�t say there weren�t moments of loss, meaning loss of self and inhibition leading to abandon, because there were and there was nothing blatantly disingenuous about any of the performances but likewise, there was nothing blatantly blistering. Perhaps the blisters truly are under the skin. Buckingham thanked the audience for not attending the Rolling Stones concert just across the bay and no doubt, his fans were loyal in passing. And, granted, this was an acoustic show, designed to be scaled-down and mellower in nature. Still, I couldn�t get past the basic heat it failed to generate. Acoustic or no, something has to be felt above the skin and Buckingham, a self-proclaimed visionary, has to be aware of this. What was missing? Maybe it�s a little like switching to Sanka while sitting in a Starbucks. You keep waiting for that fix, that stimulation, that shot of adrenalin and instead, find yourself yearning to be content with merely a slightly warmed-up feeling, while still jonesing for the rush from the double shot latte just beyond your grasp. The worst part is you know it�s there. Yep, it�s there, just under the skin.

Buckingham talked of his conscience struggle in the division of time between family and work which led to the writing of �Castaway Dreams,� a sweet �I�m sorry� soother. He spoke of his children looking away and not knowing what to say in �Not Too Late,� no doubt again referring to the transformation from mad studio scientist to laid-back PTA father. He touched on the personality and lifestyle struggles once more in references to difficulties in �getting to the other side where one needs to be� in �Under the Skin.� So, his latest album is indeed very much a concept album in its most intrinsic structure. The issues dealt with are tender and their deliveries stayed true to that. Yet, even one of the biting Mac tunes, �Tusk� was tenderized and served up simmering. �Why don�t you ask him who�s the latest on his throne?� No, this is not a sweet song. Please enter mad studio scientist now. Thank goodness for �Go Insane� where Buckingham, try as he might, couldn�t hide himself anymore, where the coat was shed to allow the deeper, hidden (yes, under the skin) emotions out, where loss and abandon took over and where inhibition, expectation and guard were all lowered to reveal why we passed on the Stones show. And, it�s about more than perfect guitar riffs because, let�s face it, Keith Richards can kick those out just fine. This is where Buckingham redeems himself, I have a feeling each and every time, and for all the quasi-negative comments I�ve shared, I�ll say positively that finally, the chill had left the building. Buckingham forgot where he was for a few moments and felt what he was putting out there. It was the classic Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde syndrome. When Hyde (or Jekyll, depending on how you look at it) was in charge, there were moments of stimulation and adrenalin. And, Buckingham knew he�d earned it. And then, just as quickly, he retreated again. So, to say this show was unsatisfying would be unfair. It was inconsistent. It seethed. It never caught fire. From Robert Louis Stevenson, �All things therefore seemed to point to this: that I was slowly losing hold of my original and better self, and becoming slowly incorporated with my second and worse.� Acoustical presentation does not imply lack of passion. But, there were moments. So, you know it�s there, you know where�

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