When the pantheon of modern American songwriters is discussed, you frequently hear the same few names: Springsteen, Young, Dylan. That Tom Petty is often omitted is a testament not to his irrelevance but rather to his continually unassuming nature. Nowhere in the Petty lexicon is found a Nebraska or a Tonight’s the Night; where the aforementioned artists have, throughout their careers, ebbed and flowed with the creative tides to mixed — and oft times controversial — results, Petty’s output has remained remarkably stable.
Also, unlike proven eccentrics such as Bob Dylan, Petty’s public demeanor has rarely amounted to more than the nice, humble rock star. One need only watch the lengthy but engaging Runnin’ Down a Dream, Peter Bogdanovich’s 2007 Petty documentary, or a single episode of King of the Hill, where Petty voiced the well-meaning scamp Lucky for several seasons (see video below), to get a sense of his demeanor. It’s easy to understand why he’s not as contentious a subject as other contemporaries, and thus has managed to avoid the pitfalls of rock ‘n’ roll stardom. To put it another way: he don’t make for great TV. Thankfully, he has made for some pretty damn good tunes over the years.
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In as consistent a career as Petty’s, there are loads of highlights, not least of which is 1994’s Rick Rubin-produced effort, Wildflowers. One of three “solo” albums Petty has released — that is, sans Heartbreakers (although several members turn up here) — it is also one of his most quietly classic. The album birthed several radio singles, namely the ubiquitous “You Don’t Know How it Feels,” but it’s notable mostly for its lack of pomp and circumstance. Rubin has always had a knack for raw, bare-bones production, but on Wildflowers the sound is the first thing you notice. On headphones, it is an incredibly immediate record with nothing obscured in the mix; there’s a slightly coarse edge, but Petty’s everyman songcraft renders its mass appeal obvious.
In fact, Petty’s songwriting shines given the Rubin treatment, as does his voice. Of the pantheon, his tone is perhaps the most startlingly affecting. (Only Neil Young has been known to convey more with a lone sung syllable.) On Wildflowers, his voice dips and rises with a husky world-weariness not immediately obvious on some of his better-known rock hits. Paired with deceptively simplistic lyrics, the results are often extraordinary. And that’s another thing about Petty: as his music sometimes seems to straddle the line between the audacious and the MOR, so too do his lyrics. You might hear Mellencamp singing about getting to the point or rolling another joint, but you probably wouldn’t get “Woke up somewhere in between/ A memory and a dream.” Petty’s brilliance lies in his ability to consistently appeal to the largest of audiences while delivering some of the pithiest one-liners around.
While much of the album’s charm lies in the quiet tenderness of songs like the terrific title track, Petty also proves that he can rock without the Heartbreakers. “You Wreck Me,” about a troubled love, is one of the fieriest tunes in Petty’s discography, and also one of the best. Garage-y and fun, it also harbors some of the record’s best lyrics. “Now and again/ I get the feeling/ If I don’t win/ I’m gonna break even,” sings a confident-sounding Petty over a simple three-chord romp. “A Higher Place” channels the Kinks, all jangly and open. “I was up all night making up my mind/ But now I’ve got my doubts,” Petty intones, less confident but still unabashedly vibrant. The most subtle standout on Wildflowers is the de-tuned acoustic “Don’t Fade on Me.” Its sparse instrumentation calls to mind John Fahey or Six Organs of Admittance (seriously!) and is paired with the album’s most hauntingly expressive vocal performance. It’s a tough, terse song, and endlessly listenable.
Of course, Wildflowers isn’t without its share of blunders. For starters, the length makes it difficult to listen in one sitting, and it’s easy to spot tracks that should have stayed on the cutting-room floor. A couple songs are straight cookie-cutter — namely “Cabin Down Below” and “Honey Bee,” the latter filled with inexcusable lyrics about givin’ Petty some sugar and buzzin’ ‘round his tree. Elsewhere, “Hard on Me” is a failed exercise in slow-burning rock done much better on the earlier “It’s Good to Be King.” The jaunty “To Find a Friend,” on which Ringo Starr makes a guest appearance, isn’t a bad song, but it’s a near carbon copy of the album’s title track.
The last three tracks on Wildflowers, however, combine to form a trifecta of pure awesome that almost makes up for the album’s saggy midsection. Petty does blues-rock right on “House in the Woods,” all swagger and drunken harmony. “What can I do but love you,” he sings, a man resigned to his fate but not the worse for it. In the achingly bittersweet “Crawling Back to You,” it’s ”I’m so tired of being tired/ Sure as night will follow day/ Most things I worry about/ Never happen anyway.” And “Wake Up Time” is as good a closer as any; it’s five minutes of the perfect kind of piano pop, cautious but uplifting. “It’s wake up time/ Time to open up your eyes/ And rise and shine,” Petty suddenly intones in that low, speak-sing way — sounds cheesy, right? But boy is it good. Some hardened critics might cringe at all the earnestness on a record like Wildflowers, but they’re fooling themselves: this is what we really love about the guy. This is Tom Petty, American songwriter.