Lindsey Buckingham isn't a man you necessarily want to hear naked. He's about the only folk-influenced artist who's more soulful through a delay pedal and in five-part self-harmony than as an honest troubadour. His latest,
Under the Skin, has it both ways: It's mainly acoustic guitar and voice — minimalist compared with his work with Fleetwood Mac or previous solo albums — but gently tweaked into
Pet Sounds swoons, spectral Caribbeana and woozy pop, courtesy of the production alchemy that's always kept him out of the California rock ghetto. Not that his muscular finger-picking and reedy voice, sans trickery, will have you running for the exits.
