Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers with The Strokes
By: Jennifer Wagner |
Monday October 02, 2006 |
| After that ion-laden obligatory thirty seconds of collective tension prior to the beginning of most live shows, Mr. Petty came out with all the expected regal welcome. |
Photos By Patrick Sinco My seat was about twelve rows back, house right on the center aisle, and I got into it (well, stood in front of it, to be specific) in time to catch the last half of The Strokes' set. As they sang "Try Your Luck," it occurred to me that the dude from Franz Ferdinand sounds kind of like Julian Casablancas; and that somehow, sometimes, being nasal and stuffed up comes off with lust appeal. It was Petty's crowd, The Strokes are too recent for most folks to know much, if any, of their stuff, so the throngs in the arena weren't at all connected. A few stragglers stood up and rocked when they moved into the surf-guitar stylings of "Juicebox," but still it was overall pretty pathetic. In fact the loudest cheers of the half of the set that I caught rained down when at one point Julian said, "I can't wait to get stoned and watch Tom Petty!" Grimace. Between sets I walked around and drank a beer and, following Casablancas' advice, sneaked a few hits off a joint I'd stashed on my person earlier. The bathrooms were in trailers, and the lines moved fast. I like the trailers. Rumor has it that they are a temporary fix, but I think they're sort of neat, a step above that slippery-cement floored putrid arena john, and the lines moved fast amidst cries of "Pee and go, ladies! Do your pants outside!" Petty fans are a hearty crew. It was tough getting back to my spot. There was a drunk guy in it. He wetly whispered to me that I could sneak into my very own seat, that there appeared to be no one there. When I informed him that I was magically already seated there, with a ticket and everything, he clumsily put his finger to his lips and winked, letting me know my secret was safe with him, and staggered off to find an even closer spot. Hilarious. Security was lax, to say the least. I took some time to look around me at the people in my vicinity, and it was sort of depressing. Too old to be that sloppily, goofily inebriated (on the other hand, I am a very composed drunk, I'll have you know. I don't just think I'm more charming while under the influence, I actually am. What.) Golf shirts, Dockers...what happens to style when you get older? I wondered silently. Is it influenced by certain life decisions like marriage or having kids or moving to the suburbs? See, on the whole other side of it, there was a very hep old dude in the Chinese restaurant I went to for lunch that day. At least sixty, he'd shaved his head completely bald and wore sepia-tinted Buddy Holly's. His attire was a black button-down with thin blue vertical stripes, loose-fitting black jeans with stitching that matched the shirt, some slick urban trekkers and a simple black shoulder bag. This guy was cool. Really, really cool, and I want to look that cool when I get older. Take that, Berwyn. After that ion-laden obligatory thirty seconds of collective tension prior to the beginning of most live shows, Mr. Petty came out with all the expected regal welcome. He began with "Listen to her Heart;" the music was bold, tight, and super strong, the stage was BIG in proportion to the 7,000 seat pavilion. Petty seemed happy, calm. There was a decent, but not awe-inspiring view of the city behind me and to my right, showing the metropolis spread from the Sears Tower to the Aon Building; but the view was probably better from the elevated seats in the back. Petty was clownishly clad in black velvet pants, a shirt and long colorful scarf, and sparkly polka-dot jacket. He slid into one of my very favorites, "Last Dance with Mary Jane," but it was sometimes hard to focus as at that point people were rudely pushing, etc. About midway through the song, security finally came around. A nice electric piano jam went on a while. He switched from Fender to acoustic for "Won't Back Down," and the guy in front of me just went NUTS, like that song was written just for him, a soundtrack to his pulling himself up by the bootstraps. It had gotten him through some rough patch at some point, surely. That's something I just love to see, that personal connection take hold of a fan with abandon! During "Free Falling," it occurred to me that Petty's starting to look just a little like Keith Richards. Crap. Maybe too much weed...I fucking hope not or I'll be resembling Mr. Richards myself in a couple of years. The first verse was very minimal, quiet, with just a spot on him. Then lights came up, displaying Campbell, Thurston, and the rest of the band to pull out the swelling harmony at the end. I've seen Petty live like four or five times, and it seems to me that every time the set gets simpler and simpler. I like that. I saw him at an outdoor amphitheater in Cincinnati back in '95 or '96, and I remember this crazy elaborate set, including this big fake tree that he employed during a very busy rendition of "Don't Come Around Here No More," complete with G-men in suits chasing Mr. P. around all over the stage. As much fun as that was, I think I prefer the minimalist approach he's taking these days. Stuff from the new album was pretty sparsely represented, which is fine. I mean, considering the repertory. "Saving Grace," quite possibly my personal fave on the record, was over way too fast! It just sounded incredible, and the crowd agreed - somebody near me joyfully screamed, "Play that geeetar!" I was surprised by the choices he picked from Highway Companion, I had also hoped for "Jack" and "Big Weekend," but got "Square One" and "Down South" instead. Which were fine...I mean good. In fact on second thought I'm not surprised at all. "Down South" being the second single release. He sort of scolded us prior to "Square One," actually; he reminded us that if we were too noisy we wouldn't be able to hear him. Funny. So we settled down and he began, all alone and unassuming. I'd now like to cover some of the covers that Petty and his merry men uncovered that night. They seemed to take these on with more energy than most of their own stuff, actually. First was the rough and lusty Yardbirds/Bo Diddley track, "I'm a Man," during which Petty whipped out the tambourine. Next was raw guitar riffing on Fleetwood Mac's "Oh Well," while Campbell banged it out, Tom up and rocked the maracas on that one, and sort of scolded us with one at the end, pointing and wagging it. I don't know if this is exactly considered a cover, but they threw down the Traveling Wilbury's "You Got It," with some amazing harmonica played by Scott Thurston. Some of the best lyrical phrasing ever exists in this song, and it's simple: "Overexposed, commercial lies..." Van Morrison's "Mystic Eyes," came in shining during the encore, and appeared to be very interesting to the band as well. They really perked up and got into it. "Down the Road" had it's shot too, and sounded roughly smooth, mellow. During "Good to Be King" I took stock of the fact that the sky was hazy, the breeze cool, the weather just slightly, perfectly creepy. The set incorporated a cool deco light fixture thingie, a weird checkerboard light set. With long things hanging down. Colored lights reflected off it, pinks and greens and bright bright red. Petty never looked better than when a little breeze blew his hair back. At one point he asked "Where are we? Some baseball field or something?" "Meigs Field, baby!" came from at least four people. He did "Square One" with just himself in a spot with acoustic, and very minimal backup. This guy next to me screamed "Fucking Aaaaaaaaa!" between every song, which had me rolling. I love that phrase. Then we were power-hit bombarded by "Learning to Fly," fully acoustic, followed by "Don't Come Around Here No More." Some of his movements are so fluid, I think he's been taking Thai Chi. Audience reaction massive, big strobe, big grin on face during guitar breakdown. Next was "Refugee," and I happily reflected on the fact that he still has great hair. There were two huge screens on either side of the stage and a big long one in the middle, displaying Petty close up flanked by the rotating Heartbreakers. Patrick Sinco, photographer, and I'd placed a bet on the final encore. When they moved into "American Girl" before the end of the set, I'd officially lost. Fuck you, Sinco. The quick-scale riff is just right on that...lead guitar co-captain, and the crowd was insane for it. In the break before the encores, I observed that the sound booth/VIP area looked like a gun tower thrust like phallus in the middle of things. First encore was "Runnin' Down A Dream," rendering my bet with Sinco a push. Good. Before the second encore, Petty said "I gotta go somewhere I've never been before; will you go with me, people?" We all screamed that we would, and the band moved into "Mystic Eyes." He finished with "Wreck Me." At moments Petty and the boys really came alive, like with "Mystic Eyes," but a good hunk of the time it was mellow, in two ways - in one sense, as in "Square One," it was quiet concentration, sort of intensely mellow. Yes, I said "intensely mellow". The energy was really carried by Scott Thurston and Mike Campbell. The music was amazing and tight and solid, all the way through, though, so there's no way you could call this anything but a solid, satisfying show. |
