Mellow Yellow

There is some elusive, compelling quality about Tom Petty and his Heartbreakers even after 30 years, even after the churning restlessness of Florida youth melds smoothly into the cool observations of an old California dude with a great collection of guitars and pals like Dylan and Harrison. Last night at the Garden, where I first saw Petty open for Springsteen at No Nukes in 1979 (organized, by the way, by John Hall who - God willing - will defeat the Bush toady Sue Kelly in New York's 19th District this fall), that cool, sweet music was drifting with the ganja smoke in the rafters, brushing up agains the jerseys of Brad Park and Rod Gilbert. Totally derivative, they said with derision about Tom Petty three decades ago - he copies the Beatles, the Byrds, the Yardbirds. He plays a 12-string Rickenbacker, for Crissakes. But Petty has endured, and his prolific career has produced a certain canon that commands airplay on the classic rock stations and in the iPod earbuds of rockers of a certain age: teens to 50s. Much of this respect is due to Larry Campbell, one of the great sidemen of American rock bands, a guy whose licks light up the simple G-C-D-Em progressions of so many Petty laments about girls, and cars, and wanting something more. Yeah, we had to endure Stevie Nicks on a few tunes (another of Petty's A-list rock pals). But the new songs had sparkle, and the old guy with the long, blonde-gray hair kept rolling out different guitars - and a whole bunch of songs that I dearly love to hear.

Tags: Tom Petty