Rock 'n' Roll never forgets, Pt. 14 -- Tom Petty

I received a lot of strange mail over the years during my time served in the newspaper business.

Some very strange mail.

The first bizarre letter I received was when I was the rock critic for the L.A. Herald-Examiner.

I got this little envelope with no return address. Inside, was a typed note that simply said: "You're gonna get it!"

Now, there are a lot of people out there who write a lot of crazy letters to people in the media. But, I remember wondering what I could have possibly written to provoke somebody to write a threatening letter.

I mean rock 'n' roll journalism, really, is pretty lightweight stuff when compared with the rest of the paper. We're not talking politics, religion or any of those other meaty subjects, it's rock music, right?

Later that day, my phone rang. A publicist from Shelter Records was on the other end of the line.

"Well, your favorite artist has a new album coming out. I'll get a copy to you in a couple days when we get it in," she said.

Shelter Records was a small, progressive record label created by Leon Russell and Denny Cordell in 1969 to develop new artists with a bit of a different twist, who might not be huge commercially, but played good solid music. It was, at the time, under the distribution of ABC Records, which had been around for some time and had, in itself, signed some interesting musicians, from Bobby "Blue" Bland and Sonny Terry to The Mamas and The Papas, Louis Armstrong, Jimmy Buffett, Ray Charles, Three Dog Night and a ton of others.

But, the guy the publicist was talking about was a gentle, soft-spoken newcomer from Gainesville, Florida named Tom Petty.

His first album had been released twice, the first time to very little acclaim and airplay. He toured behind Nils Lofgren, reached some minimal support in Great Britain and returned home, broke. "Breakdown" and "American Girl" were on that album. They would go on to become monster hits for him, a staple of FM rock radio.

When I first heard "American Girl," I thought one of my all-time favorites, Jim McGuinn -- founder of The Byrds -- had a new record out. I loved the song. I loved the jangly Rickenbacker guitar sound, the sort-of flat vocals, the "bounce," if you will. "Breakdown" was one of those songs I immediately took to because of the way it had that lazy chunk-and-flow rhythm to it. Kind of bluesy, kind of boozy, it was just a great song.

Now, every rock critic develops their pets, artists they get behind and really support because of the way they sound, the way they write, their musical skill and whatever else it is that pushes those buttons in our ears. Petty did that for me.

His debut album had been out more than a year. It had done poorly and I didn't understand why. I thought Petty was on to something and wanted to do an interview.

So, I called the record company to set up an interview.

"You want to talk to who?" the publicist asked.

"Tom Petty," I said. "I really like that album."

"But, it's been out there a long time. It's doing nothing."

"I'd still like to talk to him. I think he has a lot of talent," I said.

"Well, just so you know, they're thinking of dropping him," she said. "But, I'll set it up. Shouldn't be difficult."

Petty's schedule was fairly open. He was writing the songs for "You're Gonna Get It" and that's about it, no gigs, no nothing. His schedule was open and we finally got together in the conference room at ABC Records.

In the middle of the room was this dark, mahogany table, the kind big-time execs draw their minions around to preach the corporate gospel. There was a chalkboard on the wall where they would scribble their pearls of wisdom and, well, it was all so pretentious, especially for a company founded by a couple of hippies.

I got there just as Petty finished writing his name, with big flourishes, across the tabletop with a piece of chalk. Amazing how chalk can carve the finish of a big old table like that. Somewhere, there's a piece of wood with the largest Tom Petty autograph in the world etched into it.

Tom was very fragile-looking. His sin was ghostly pale, he was very thin, his long, blond hair hung straight and, his eyes, when he took off his aviator sunglasses, were heavy. Times were tough for this fledgling rock star. His wife was in Florida and he was crashing on the couch of a friend in nearby Redondo Beach. His bandmates kind of bounced around with friends wherever they could snag a night or two of sleep.

Now, a week before, I had gone out on a limb...or so I thought...with a column I did about the direction of rock 'n' roll. Disco was already starting to mar the horizon with its sterile electronic drum beats and heavy bass guitar lines. There were no guitars in the music, lots of synthesizers and the beats were timed out so one disco record could flow evenly into the next in a succession of drawn-out repetition that may have been good for the dance floor, but was excruciatingly painful to listen to. And the lyrics? No storytelling involved at all. Worst of all, it could not be replicated well in a live setting.

So, I did a piece on the future of rock 'n' roll and pointed out -- this was 1978 -- that I thought the best the genre had to offer at that time was Bob Seger, Bruce Springsteen and Petty. I offered that Seger's star would probably not shine as long as the other two because of age and the type of thing he did; that Springsteen was a street poet whose longevity would be decided by how long he wanted to strap on a six-string; and that Petty just made damn good music, told interesting stories and, as the youngest, would probably have the most legs to his career. Of course, nobody thought these guys would be doing music into their 60s.

As we were introduced, Petty reached out to shake hands and said: "Thanks for the story. That was very kind and I'm glad somebody likes what I do."

Petty was not as animated as some rock stars I had interviewed, wasn't brazen and bold, just a really nice guy who was dead-on focused on his career.

We talked about influences -- I brought up the obvious impact The Byrds and The Beatles had on him -- and some of the old stuff we both enjoyed in younger days. He told me he liked to do a cover or two each show of his favorite songs, which not many people were doing then.

We talked about the music business, which he was not terribly enamored with at the time -- from arguments about creative control in the studio to ow some of his longtime favorite musicians had, as he said, disappointed him with their lack of power and passion. He wouldn't name names, but was clearly upset that some of his idols had fallen into some fairly lazy habits in the studio.

We talked about guitars. He has started what, to this day, is one of themost enviable guitar collections in all of rock music. He played an old Fender Stratocaster, a classic Vox Teardrop six-string, a Gibson Flying Vee and cool Rickenbacker during his shows. He would go on to collect other exotic instruments and he had a hand in designing a new Rickenbacker signature model, which is a very cool little piece of work. Wish I had one of those TP Ricks.

It was six or seven months later and he was doing a tour behind "You're Gonna Get It." The album was climbing up the charts and word was out that his show was very good. So, I went to the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium to catch his act. Kim Fowley, the legendary producer/manager (remember The Runaways?), Harvey Kubernik, a veteran of the music business, and I stood there, watching Petty tear it up.

"You were right," Fowley told me. "He's going to be big forever."

"Yeah...great songs," I replied.

"Not only that, but he has the best-looking women in his audience of anybody right now. That's the key, you know," Fowley said.

Knowing his penchant for attractive young ladies, I just laughed.

I loved the new album, raved about the show in my review. Net thing I know, the publicist is telling me how Tom had a new friend he was hanging out with -- George Harrison, the ex-Beatle. They had started hanging out, jamming now and then, had become friends.

Now, I had known George for a couple years by then (another story for another time) and new he read my stuff. We had a sort of history and I knew he and I shared similar musical tastes. I don't know if he became aware of Petty through my stuff or not, I never asked. All I knew was they liked to get together,play music and hang out.

Not long after "You're Gonna Get It" was released, I got another call from the publicist who told me Petty was eager to get back into the studio, that he had a lot of new material he wanted to record soon, and how everybody was anxious to build on the momentum of the last record. Only problem was he didn't want Cordell producing it.

"If you were going to suggest somebody, who would it be?" she asked.

"Jimmy Iovine," I said, without hesitation.

Iovine has done splendid work as an engineer on the early Springsteen albums and, I had heard, wanted to try his hand at producing. He had a good ear, knew his stuff at the control board, and was an artist's producer -- a guy who would hold a loose leash during the recording process.

"This is an important album," the publicist said. "Jimmy's never produced before."

"Go listen to Springsteen. you'll get it," I said.

Petty took Iovine into the studio and emerged with an album that reached No. 2 in the Billboard charts, received rave reviews, and is now included in Rolling Stone magazine's list of the 500 Greatest Rock Albums of All Time. It missed the No. 1 slot because Pink Floyd had released "The Wall."

I was pleased when, nine years later, it was announced that Petty was joining Harrison, Roy Orbison, Jeff Lynne and Bob Dylan in an outfit called The Traveling Wilbury's. As the story goes, Harrison had left a guitar at Petty's house, went to pick it up on his way to a dinner with Dylan, Orbison, and Lynne and brought Petty along. He became a member of the band that night.

It would be ludicrous to claim any part of Petty's success. His talent would have come through no matter what input I had or who I may have made aware of his music. Besides, I am sure that the publicist never mentioned where the Iovine idea came from because that's the nature of the business. If it works, it was your idea, if it fails, put the blame on somebody else. I'm just glad it worked out.

I always respected his musical integrity, his freshness and, quite frankly, his solo album "Wildflowers" is my favorite album of all time.

I gained a lot of respect for Petty when, after Shelter records was sold to MCA, the new label wanted to jump prices from $8.98 to $9.98 for, what it called, "superstar pricing." He refused and there was a lengthy battle with the label. He refused to deliver the album to the label and even considered calling it "$8.98." MCA eventually gave in.

After the Wilburys, Petty got in touch with his old bandmates from Florida -- a group that was the precursor to The Heartbreakers called Mudcrutch. That band included Petty and Heartbreaker members Mike Campbell and Benmont Tench, plus Tom Leadon -- brother of ex-Eagle and Flying Burrito Brothers member Bernie Leadon -- and Randall Marsh.

They went into the studio, recorded an album, and did a mini-tour. It was great stuff with "Orphan of The Storm," "House of Stone," "Crystal River," "Six Days on the Road," and a bunch of others.

I thought that was such a thoughtful, generous idea to bring back the guys he started out with and reunite so they could get a taste of stardom.

He's a class act and one of the few rock 'n' roll stars I ever met who I'd love to talk to again.