Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers:Â âRefugeeâ
With Tom Pettyâs death, Iâm feeling the same shock and grief I felt when David Bowie and Prince passed. I was born in 1981, so five or six years later, when I was old enough to start comprehending these things, Bowie, Petty and Prince were larger-than-life figures whoâd transcended the music world and pop culture into just straight-up culture. They were played multiple times daily on the radio and MTV, were on the news and magazines. At home, in the car, at the grocery store, they were there. Every day. They were so deeply ingrained and ubiquitous in the world that they werenât so much entities of it but elements of the fabric, like trees or wind or water. Even though Iâm now more than old enough to understand death, and watched Bowie, Petty and Prince age like the rest of us, being born into a world of them as icons has created this lingering indestructibility to them. So now that theyâve actually died, not only is there the normal grief, but thereâs also the belief that a cosmic error has been made, an injustice, like all the leaves are gone or something. Itâs the musicâs immortality extending to the artist. If the artist is mortal then so is the music, so it seems today like Pettyâs music has died, too. But, thankfully, thatâs not true. His music is still all around me, on the radio, on social media, and, in seconds, my headphones. I can hear it and know itâs still there and gonna be there. Maybe even forever.
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Favorites fluctuate. Depending on when you ask me, I might say my favorite Tom Petty song was âAmerican Girl,â with its beatific build, driving rhythm, bright chords, and rich, tragic lyrics making it a Perfect Pop Song. Or Iâd say it was the hit released in my formative years, âMary Janeâs Last Dance,â a dark number with a growling, resonant riff and banshee howl of harmonica. Or it could be âDonât Come Around Here No More,â a song that was once one of my least favorite hits by him, coming across as silly and dated, with its Sousa fanfare synth (or, better, Mr. Showâs âPhilouzaâ), gated drum loop, and sitar melody conjuring the pseudo-mysticism of the 60s, which I now love for the same reasons I once didnât, it no longer pinned to a time but out-of-time. Most often, though, Iâd say âRefugee.â It combines elements I love from the other favoritesâthe darkness of âMary Janeâs Last Dance,â the (lyrical) acidity of âDonât Come Around Here No More,â and the power-pop of âAmerican Girlââinto my Ideal Petty.
My favorite part of âRefugeeâ is at the 1:50 mark, during the bridge. The Heartbreakers are revving up with Tom as he spits âRight now this seems real to you / But itâs one of those things you gotta feel to be true.â The drums roll then pause while Tomâs voice, the guitars, bass and organ reverberate. A vacuum is created. With no drums, the rest of the song seems to both be moving and motionless, hanging in the air. Then Stan Lynch and Benmont Tench hit with a cymbal splash and organ wail and the song lands and plows ahead. Itâs a moment, itâs an eternity.
