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Fleetwood takes some questions from the crowd and tells a story about a recurring dream: Charlie Watts is sick and Fleetwood is asked to sit in with the Stones. It is half cheesy, half excellent, but the sunburned set at Fleetwood’s on Front Street loves it, so much so that one couple boogies their way onto the stage. The band rips through originals and classics in an ersatz Arabic style, with two belly dancers providing eye candy. There are maybe a hundred people here, but Mick’s antics are supersize, like he’s playing to the dude in the last row at Madison Square Garden. Fleetwood plays a small cocktail kit in his normal bug-eyed animal style behind his longtime guitarist friend Rick Vito, who is billed as “King Paris,” a vaguely Persian Lothario. Bless her.”Ī little later, Chandu takes the stage. “We lived in Egypt and Norway for real, but this is the story that she’s got stuck in her head. He moved Mum out seven years ago, from England to Maui, where he spends most of his downtime. “That isn’t true,” says Fleetwood with a chuckle.
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He takes in the end of Mum’s tale and shakes his head. “Chandu the Genie Giant” – the local stage name for Mick Fleetwood – pops over to check on his drums. “I came here when I was 19, snuck over on a steamer ship and worked in the kitchen for a rich family.” She nods firmly.
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“Mick thinks he was the first to come to Hawaii, but he wasn’t,” says Bridget Fleetwood, her rheumy eyes reflecting the blue Pacific, just a few yards away. She keeps time with the warm-up band’s music and squints at the setting Maui sun. At a prime table, a 97-year-old groupie known as Mum sits in a wheelchair, wearing a red cardie despite the 80-degree heat. The great Chandu – a familiar-looking, once-bankrupt, 6-foot-5 drummer – slips backstage and dons a fez and a cape. The Hawaiian chants a blessing and then the Scottish bagpiper welcomes everyone with a jig and a reel.