The Waiting

Wow, an actual video the UniversalNoMusicGroupForYou hasn't prevented from being embedded. Guess I'll have to buy the albums now like I have been and plan to. Assholes. Anyway...



-- was indeed the hardest part. But on Sunday evening, Tom Petty, a real rock god -- I've got to stop linking each post to the previous one lest this blogging thing become actual work -- and his band of merry pranksters rocked and/or rolled Northeast Ohio and yours truly, along with my not-always-better-but-always-better-looking-half, was there in addition to other yokels (including a non-blogger! They do exist!) from these parts.

The Good: Opener Steve Winwood was in fine form, belting out classics from his long career, mixed in with tracks off of his new album, Nine Lives. Unsurprisingly, Higher Love and set closer Gimme Some Lovin' received the loudest plaudits from the crowd, but the unquestioned highlight for me was an absolutely molten version of Dear Mr. Fantasy that dripped with bluesy chords and raw guitar power.

The men of the hour charged out with a rollicking You Wreck Me, followed by one masterclass in songwriting after another: the wonderful pop of I Won't Back Down and The Waiting, the turbocharged blues romp of Honey Bee, the jangly Traveling Wilburys' gem End of the Line, the psychedelic Don't Come Around Here No More, whose whimsical menace benefits from a more organic live setting, the anthemic Refugee which, though a classic on record, becomes an unbreakable monster in the flesh. Petty and his band were in top form, shaded by a Zeppelin-esque tight-but-loose vibe that filtered through the Campbell/Petty/Tench (an underrated musician if ever there was one) duels that finished tracks such as Mary Jane's Last Dance, Runnin' Down a Dream and Saving Grace, which morphed from a propulsive, three-minute driving song into a thunderous, six-minute highway jam. This band can flat out fucking rock with the best of them.

One final note on the professionalism of the gig: the show started at 7h30, Winwood played an hour, his gear was cleared out without hassle, and Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers came out shortly after 9h. Given my personal experience at Blossom Music Center of molasses-in-the-dead-of-winter logistics, this was a nice change of pace.

The Bad: Speaking of changes of pace, 30 or 45 minutes tops is what it has taken in the past to exit that directionless, grassy parking lot. Last night, it took around 90 minutes, a good 80% of that consisting of cars not moving in every conceivable direction. Next time, I'll just bring some lawn chairs and grill some burgers after the show. Fucking jokers. And make sure the lawn chairs don't extend past a certain size as the helpful rent-a-cop made sure to let the concertgoers know.

The Ugly: Morons buying a ten dollar can of beer. People, purchase an easily-hid flask -- they only check your bags -- and fill it with some of the good stuff. Ugliest of all -- well that one chick was certainly easy on the eyes -- the obviously ecstasy-laden row of clowns in front of us. I've seen dancing at rock shows before, both joyful and sultry, but I've never seen club-worthy grinding and partner-swapping going on virtually the entire show with the actual music a mere soundtrack afterthought. A beautifully sad yet wistful Learning To Fly gets you all hot and bothered? Or the dark Americana of Mary Jane's Last Dance? Honey Bee, I could understand. It was fucking bizarre, believe me. And short little dude worthy of a spot on Hot Chicks With Douchebags, what was with your histrionic, air traffic controller hand signals at every. single. line. sung by Petty? Oh, well, it wasn't my money.

Overtime: I remember reading on some sports blog back in January a number of complaints about the NFL having chosen Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers for the Super Bowl halftime show, most variations on the theme of 'they're too old.' Hey, young people, they are pushing 60, but they'll still rock your millennial punk ass. I witnessed two hours of undeniable proof last night.