It must be a bitch being Fleetwood Mac svengali Lindsey Buckingham. Like his idol and fellow pop perfectionist Brian Wilson, he must live up to his musical legacy. In Buckingham’s case, he domineeringly directed the Mighty Mac to towering commercial and creative success. At the same time, Buckingham must live down his personal legend — the obsessive coke-blown genius and abusive demon lover to Stevie Nick’s gossamer faerie queen. The evidence suggests the two cannot be separated. After all, Buckingham’s fidgety, Peruvian-powdered fingerprints are all over Mac’s diffuse and difficult masterpiece Tusk. The guitarist seems to have accepted this. He’s on board for Mac’s 2013 tour, while solo he’s mellowed and matured, reflecting a man at peace with his place in the pop firmament. True, his simple, emotionally resonant lyrics have grown more opaque and self-consciously poetic, but his inventively arranged pop ‘n’ roll and baroque folk still engage while getting under the skin. It’s the mark of a master that he makes it all look easy.