We’re getting older, too…
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[6.12]
Thomas Inskeep: Whether or not you like the new Stevie Nicks single will depend upon how much you like prime-era Nicks: “The Dealer” was apparently written and originally demoed in ’79 during the Tusk sessions, and her longtime sideman Waddy Wachtel co-produced this (with Dave Stewart). To my ears it’s got a much more classic sheen than Nicks’s recent work; add a little Jimmy Iovine polish to this and I can easily imagine it on The Wild Heart. Her voice is in fine form, Waddy’s lead guitar is in fine form, and flatteringly produced. Meaning, it soars like a white-winged dove.
[9]
Dorian Sinclair: It wasn’t until doing research into the history behind this song that I realized how old it actually is — the first demo apparently dates back to the late 70s, circa Tusk. Despite its age, it feels remarkably timely for the Stevie Nicks today, someone with more than four decades of public life behind her. The song is deftly written from a lyrical standpoint (I’m a huge fan of its use of tenses — “I see the sun now” being the only present tense line makes it hit all the harder), and is sung with feeling, but I do find the arrangement a little static — which prevents it from getting a higher score here.
[7]
Alfred Soto: This widely circulated bootleg given an aural sprucing sounds like a Bella Donna outtake — check out the intro organ and chord progression. The worn poker metaphors aside, Nicks still knows how to lean into a syllable, how to time her pirouettes to those precise bursts of guitar. But time has sanded that voice.
[6]
Anthony Easton: What convinced me of Stevie Nicks’ vocal genius was a live TV performance with Chris Isaak. It was mostly technical skill, but it did more for me than, say, “Landslide.” It might also say something that I like “Red River Valley” as a song than any of the SoCal ennui of Fleetwood Mac. This reminds me of “Red River Valley,” and how she sounds so fucked up and ragged. I await, with mild curiosity, her Tuskegee.
[4]
Micha Cavaseno: The band itself borders on lounge music, and the lyrics don’t necessarily gel. It’s a scattershot affair, and we can’t say if it always works to our favor. In Stevie’s case, time has stretched her voice to hit sour, tart notes. Were it anyone else, this could make listening to the legendary singer something like watching metal start to take an ugly yellow tint. But in her bluesy sweeps, Nicks gains something more. Enough times you listen to her sell the gambling mystique and you wonder if it’s more of an idea she chased than an idea she bore. At least she has that voice, that has emerged from the streams of time. Recognizable, but promising something new with each passing year.
[6]
Patrick St. Michel: Feels like Stevie Nicks trying out card-based metaphors for seven minutes. But somehow it finishes under five.
[3]
Brad Shoup: This isn’t a critical response, but: Prince would be a fantastic other voice on here. He and Nicks are both a little pinched, but he’s always been able to take the long view on seeing it all. Those two-note cappers after the chorus are soothing, a nice settling of the soul after these reminders of Nicks’ constant restlessness. This does remind me of a soundcheck, but that’s a place I’d like to be.
[7]
Rebecca A. Gowns: This is a nice idea to muse about: realizing the agency that you had, and wondering what you could have done with it if you had fully owned it. Stevie claims very little agency for the present, almost as if she has opened up her vault of Free Will and found only a few meager coins left on the floor. Oh, if she had known then what she knew now, she could have done anything; as she is now, with all of the knowledge and little of the power, she’s content to be “the dancer,” to let him “almost stay here” so she can “almost hold” him. It’s a curious mix of feelings: soft wistfulness and craving for action; being content and also feeling a restlessness in your soul. The tune itself starts out a bit generic, the sort of thing you might hear in a bar on a Wednesday night, but it really unfolds when she hits that (very Stevie Nicks) sentiment in the chorus — “I was the mistress of my fate!” — and the harmonies billow around her. At that moment, the paltry stage lights flicker on, and the beer bottles shimmer in the scattered front row. It’s a brief illumination, but as long as it lasts, it’s lovely.
[7]