Pssst. There's a rumour Fleetwood Mac's playing Basingstoke...

An old friend of my husband's (who shall remain nameless, for reasons soon to become evident) got in touch a few months ago.  "Fleetwood Mac is playing at your local theatre in March.  Shall I arrange tickets?"

Sure, we replied.

I couldn't figure out why a band that big ... even one 20 years past its prime ... would be playing in the 1,400-seat Anvil auditorium.  My husband and his friend figured it was a warm up for their much publicised reunion tour later this year.  I didn't think much about it.  If someone else was organising, and it was only happening 15 minutes from my house, I was happy to go along.  I wasn't a huge Fleetwood Mac fan but, like most teens in the late '70s, I owned a copy of Rumours and liked the songs.  Why not see it live?

Two nights before the gig, my feminine need for organisation emerged.  The boys had done nothing, and I at least wanted to sort details and pick a spot for pre-gig dining.  So I checked the website.  To see that we were attending Rumours of Fleetwood Mac, a tribute band.  I was highly amused.  The prime organiser slightly embarrassed.

In hindsight, I have to say that I probably enjoyed the tribute band more than I would have the real thing, had we procured tickets for the sold-out run at the 02 and trekked up to London and back.  The nature of a tribute band is to only play the most popular stuff.  Ergo, as only a casual fan, I didn't have to sit through anything I didn't know.  It was more of a theatrical experience than a rock concert, with everyone sitting down and actually paying attention to the show.  More my speed these days, as my experience at last summer's Blur concert proved.  They were fine musicians and, though several voices were clearly different from the originals, they were close enough overall to be impressive.

I walked away with three conclusions.

One:  Tribute bands are nothing to sneer at.  These people are serious musicians, bringing life to fine music.  In many cases they're probably in better voice than those they're honouring.  Who are not only ageing but, let's face it, have often destroyed themselves with the over-indulgence of their primes.

Two:  Fleetwood Mac was an amazing band.  The 13-year-old Ellen, a pop-saturated lightweight who would have been been playing her Shaun Cassidy debut album a lot more than Rumours in its debut year, never gave Fleetwood Mac the attention they deserved.  I clearly need to raid my husband's collection and get the top tunes onto my iPod.

Three:  Will there be 20th century bands that stand the test of time, attracting crowds to concert halls in two or three hundred years to give serious attention to their works the way we go to symphony or opera today?  The spectacle of 1,400 people taking Fleetwood Mac seriously, listening with the attention usually given to classical music rather than with the whooping, clapping and dance-along vibe of a pop concert had me thinking "yes".  And, I suspect, Rumours and a few other Fleetwood Mac hits may stand that test of time.

I might not have had the most sophisticated taste in 1977, but I like to think I'm getting better.