ambivalentman:

Why Tom Petty Mattered (To Me)

Last night, I watched Runnin Down a Dream, Peter Bogdanovich’s 4-hour documentary about Tom Petty. Today, as I drove to physical therapy, I put on Petty’s 1989 masterwork, Full Moon Fever. Both experiences took me back to days long gone, when Tom Petty’s music served as a soundtrack for my life. It was in this reflection that I realized why Tom Petty mattered — at least to me.

Tom Petty never came across as a great artist. Dylan, Springsteen, Young, Patti Smith … they held that title. Listening to them was like going into a museum to appreciate exhibitions of greatness. Petty, on the other hand, was that cool poster on your wall that you didn’t want to take down, even as you had to tape the worn edges. Other artists were the gourmet dinner out that you bragged to your friends about. Tom, though, he was that comfort dish mom whipped up in an instant because she always had the ingredients on hand and love in her heart. Listening to the greats was a trip to a Broadway show; Tom was putting on your favorite DVD for the hundredth time because it helped you sleep, or concentrate, or just feel right.

Tom Petty never came across as a great artist. That was his genius. He came from humble Southern roots, made his career out of hustle and passion, and never grew tired of Rock N Roll. He worked with legends — Jeff Lynne, Stevie Nicks, Roy Orbison, Johnny Cash, Dylan, George Harrison, Ringo — and they were honored to work with him. The Heartbreakers had one of the great guitarists in Mike Campbell and keyboardists in Benmont Tench, and Petty never left them behind when the lights grew bright and the adulation grew loud. Tom Petty was humble, and simply excelled doing what he loved.

But Tom Petty never came across as a great artist. Even as his lyrics told indelible stories that connected across generations, ethnicities, and genders, he was seldom exalted as a great Rock N Roll poet. Yet, his words stay on the tongue, leaving a delicious after taste.

“Even the losers get lucky sometimes.”

“Well she was an American girl, raised on promises.”

“Somewhere, somehow, somebody must’ve kicked you around some.”

“She’s a good girl, loves her momma, loves Jesus and America, too.”

“Excuse me if I have some place in my mind where I go time to time.”

These examples barely scratch the surface. I have a top 10 playlist on Spotify for Tom Petty songs that has 30 songs in it because I don’t know which ones to cut.

Tom Petty never came across as a great artist. He came across as one of us. He was a normal guy getting by who knew how to put our views in song. There were no mountaintops where God was giving him inspiration, no drug-fueled, Dionysian revelries to draw from. Tom Petty was a worker, like us, picking up his axe and going into the studio or on to the stage to do the job. The result was a decades spanning career with a songbook that rivals those of the Greats, and a legacy of consistent brilliance.

Of all the great musicians we’ve lost these last two years — Bowie, Prince, Chris Cornell — Petty meant the most to me. He was the guy I turned to when I needed comfort, even as other artists dominated my thoughts and praises. I never bragged about Petty like I did Nirvana, or Pearl Jam, or the White Stripes., but I probably listened to Full Moon Fever and Wildflowers more than any of their albums. It wasn’t cool to love Tom Petty, but Tom Petty was always cool. He always made me feel cool.

So, if you aren’t listening to Tom Petty this week, do yourself a favor and drop a needle on any of his albums. He’s not around to be taken for granted anymore, which means now he can finally take his place among the Greats.

Photo courtesy of Brian Donnelly.