Fittingly for two self-possessed opposites, Ann and Nancy Wilson have settled about as far away from each other as is possible within the United States land mass: Ann on a fingertip of the eastern seaboard, Nancy nearly 3,000 miles to the west as the crow flies. This week in early spring, both are at their respective homes. Ann in Florida, Nancy in the verdant wine country of northern California.
Ann, reading glasses perched on her nose, throaty laugh, dressed in black. Nancy, pink streaks in her hair, her black-andwhite collie dog skittering about the kitchen, is more of a chatterbox than her elder sibling, just as quick to laugh. Both are good, easy-going interviewees.
They’re preparing to once more ramp up , the band they’ve piloted for 50 years. And what a journey it’s been. Heady heights, plunging lows.
So many indelible songs, such personal drama. Altogether, a rock’n’roll saga of epic proportions. Days from now they’ll be standing on the roof of a downtown Manhattan edifice, the Rockefeller Center, for going out on the night of an actual eclipse.
Then there’s the small matter of a world tour planned to stretch for 18 months. It could be their valedictory lap, given that Ann will be 74 this June and Nancy turned 70 in March. Ann was born in San Diego, Nancy in San Francisco.
Their father, John Wilson, was a major in the US marines corps, mother Lois ran the household. The couple had a third daughter, Lynne, four years Ann’s senior. The family moved aroun.