By John Davidson
Collegian Reporter

Over the decades, Tom Petty’s albums have consistently been exemplars of classic American rock and roll. Backed by veteran guitarist Mike Campbell and the other Heartbreakers, he has time and again produced songs that somehow capture the essence of driving down the highway out of a small town once and for all with nothing but a girl and a dream and the great wide open American sky stretching out toward the horizon.
That said, his latest album, The Last DJ, released in October from Warner Bros. Records, fails to live up to this standard.

Before I explain why this recent effort is ultimately a disappointment, let credit be given where credit is due. The album is brilliantly produced by Petty and Campbell with masterful orchestration by Jon Brion; each of the twelve tracks bears testimony to the work of seasoned professionals who have honed and perfected their art. The careful layering and alternating of piano and six-string guitar provides a solid foundation upon which the songs are meticulously constructed. Above all, and perhaps most important (certainly most relieving), is the obvious fact that Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers still rock.

The reason the album disappoints is not because it is a musical departure from Petty’s tried and true sound, but because it is a thematic departure with respect to his lyrical images and chosen themes. This is a kind of loose and obvious concept album about the commercialization of music by wealthy, manipulative record labels and radio stations.
Petty is pissed off about the rampant greed of the music industry which, as we can all attest to, has served to undermine artistic integrity, saturate the airwaves and music stores with predictable, boring facsimiles of music, and further debase the public taste.

Fair enough. Most lovers of music and authentic rock n’ roll are equally frustrated by this trend and regard the puppet bands of major record labels with contempt, holding them up as objects of scorn and ridicule, considering those who indulge such bands as ignorant children who don’t know any better.

But singing about it doesn’t make for good rock and roll. Prior to this album, Tom Petty had never been explicitly political or “activist” in his music, and for that I am thankful. Generally speaking, rock music—and for that matter, blues, R&B, bluegrass, country, gospel—comes out best when not burdened with agendas. This is particularly the case with Petty’s music, which has always been suggestive and full of familiar images and themes: small towns, big cities, American girls, Indiana nights and runnin’ down a dream.

I want to hear Tom Petty sing about taking his little honey bee to the cabin down below, having drinks in a room at the top of the world, learning to fly, rolling another joint, not living like a refugee, not wanting to end up in a six gun town.
I want to hear about him changing the locks on his front door, standing in the dark of the sun, smoking cigarettes and staring at the moon, hitchhiking into LA at dawn with his drunk companion only to get in a barroom brawl and have an Indian shoot out the lights. That’s Tom Petty, that’s what I want to hear.

His last album, Echo, was full of classic Petty lyrics like, “I got someone who loves me now / I got over a thousand dollars in the bank and I’m alright,” and, “I want you to drive my El Dorado / I want you to fly my aeroplane.” Contrasted with the flatness and obviousness of, “As we celebrate mediocrity / all the boys upstairs want to see / how much you’ll pay for / what you used to get for free,” and ,”My name’s Joe / I’m the CEO,” the difference is clear: it’s the difference between evoking a sentiment and trying too hard to get your point across.

Despite these “thematic” songs which dominate the track list, there are some solid, classic Petty numbers on the album. “You and me” evokes the traditional foot-tapping, going-down-the-road-ahead sentiment, while the Beatlesesque “The man who loves women,” and the sweeping, anthem-like “Have love will travel” are both solid and free from obvious and annoying messages.
Additionally, the slower, slightly melancholy “Like a diamond” is as good a love song about the elusive “she” as Petty has done.

But these are the happy exceptions to an album otherwise burdened by a very clear agenda. We all know the music industry is corrupt and manipulative; a lot of things are and it’s a damn shame, too. But I don’t want to hear about that when I put a Tom Petty CD in my car stereo and head down the highway, I want to hear that even the losers get lucky sometimes; I want to hear that if I never slow down, I’ll never grow old; I want to hear that if I don’t win, then maybe I’ll at least break even “if I stay too long in trouble town.”