Fleetwood Mac’s Go Your Own Way, a deceptively middle-of-the-road radio staple, was in reality a public exorcism of heartbreak, a battle cry masked in melody, sung through clenched teeth and cracked devotion. Lindsey Buckingham flung his fury into the air, Stevie Nicks absorbed it in real time, and the rest of the world sang along to the sound of a relationship detonating in perfect harmony. Released in 1976, it was both a diary entry and a confession, an accidental anthem of separation. Its staying power lies in that paradox: a wound turned into chorus, a quarrel repurposed as ritual.
Nearly half a century later, Brooklyn’s NightNight, the project of Yasmeen Night, steps into that volatile space with her own reading of the song. Timed, perhaps mischievously, to Lindsey Buckingham’s birthday on October 3rd, the release feels like a synchronicity. Produced with Gareth Jones, the architect behind works by Depeche Mode and Wire, the track is reimagined as a late-night fever vision, one foot planted in Massive Attack’s brooding electronics, the other brushing against the spectral elegance of Bat For Lashes.
Here, the familiar refrain is reshaped, rebuilt with analogue synths and live instrumentation, engineered by Jeff Berner at Brooklyn’s Studio G. The song becomes less a jagged accusation and more an invocation, reframing the dialogue from the woman’s vantage point. If Buckingham’s original was the sound of a door slammed shut, NightNight’s version is the echo inside the empty room, questioning, reclaiming, rebalancing.
There’s a pulse beneath her arrangement that feels both intimate and immense, like the city’s hum at 3 a.m. The electronics bristle with tension, but never stray into excess; instead, they allow her voice to hold the center, to tilt the meaning back toward clarity. What was once directed at Nicks now finds itself rewritten, possessed by her spirit instead of haunted by her absence.
The track is alive with new urgency, one that understands history but wishes to alter its course. By singing from the other side of the heartbreak, she transforms a pop relic into a dialogue across time, a reminder that songs, like relationships, are never finished…they shift with who dares to sing them next.
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