Under the Skin

Though Lindsey Buckingham is best known for the straight-forward mainstream pop of ‘70s Fleetwood Mac, his solo work has embellished those natural, flowing hooks with obsessive, experimental studio activities that here, on his first solo album in nearly 15 years, come forth in playful weirdness. How to explain the manic cell-division madness of his cover of Donovan’s “To Try for the Sun”? Or his modern day psychedelic shake-up of the Rolling Stones’ “I Am Waiting”? Lock Buckingham in his room long enough and he goes simply bonkers. He jumpcuts his rhythms with a hasty hand, whispers his vocals in unison until they sound like a hushed army marching and fingerpicks his guitar as if he were racing the devil to the finish line. Unlike Fleetwood Mac, this isn’t for everyone. (Think fans of Tusk, not Rumours.) Those willing to depart from familiar ground are rewarded with the otherwordly cadences of “Cast Away Dreams,” the hushed ramble of “Shut Us Down,” where putting the cart before the horse, Buckingham seems to be approximating the late Elliot Smith (!). High weirdness, with an emphasis on both words.