Straight Into Darkness

On top of the unbearably tragic shit show in Vegas, hearing the news about Tom Petty dying, and then not dying, was just too much to bear. I wandered through the day hopeless and helpless. And now it’s official - he’s gone. 
We didn’t know it at the time, but just a week ago, my wife and I saw Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers’ final show. The last of three sold out nights at the Hollywood Bowl. It was as much celebration as it was concert. And it was not an aging act phoning in their old hits, it was a great rock and roll band at the top of their game. Karen and I stood in the cheap seats, held hands like teenagers, and sang along to every song. It was magical - and for this 51-year-old teenager, magic like that is a lot harder to come by than it used to be.
Like millions of others, I grew up on Tom Petty’s music. I can’t count the amount of times I reached cathartic car-stereo nirvana shouting along to “Here Comes My Girl” or “Even The Losers” or “Refugee” or “The Waiting” or “Straight Into Darkness.” The amount of times I have cried happy to “Learning To Fly” and “Wildflowers.” And I’m damn sure I’ve never made it past the bridge of “Southern Accents” without losing it.
Tom Petty songs used simple words to state complex and universal truths - the hardest kind of songs to write. They were anthems for 10,000 lighters held high and a whispered confession for your ear only, all at the same time.
During that concert, Karen turned to me and said: “he’s in my heart. Tom Petty is in my heart. I feel like I’ve known him all my life.” I felt the same. We lost an old friend today. Rock on TP, wherever you are, and thanks for the music. It will never die.

#tompetty

Hey Baby, It's The 4th of July

According to a good many people - some of them paid quite well to say so - I hate America.
I am, after all, a member in good standing of the latte-sipping costal elite. An avowed big city-dwelling cosmopolitan. I went to college. I have a subscription to the New Yorker. With some luck, talent, and hard work, I have have clawed my way to a comfortable status among the creative classes. And to those who don’t accept the very wide gap between mindless jingoist and ‘Merca hating commie, I am the enemy.

And the thing is - I love America, and I love being an American. It’s an essential part of my identity. I have been around the world and have made great friends in far-flung places and fallen in love with many a foreign land, but in the end - I can’t wait to come home. But I also think there’s nothing more un-American than the notion that you can’t criticize the place. Being able to criticize the place is the whole point. That’s how it improves.
In these days of uncivil discourse, the easy thing would be to retreat to my bastion of the like-minded, but it’s not that easy for me. After 25-plus years of touring the country - from the biggest cities to the very smallest towns, I have met pretty much every kind of American. Sure, racists and sexists and conspiracy-theorists and xenophobes and homophobes and faux christians and belligerent assholes are everywhere (including right here in L.A.), but they are not most people. They are often just the loudest. I have blocked far more of them than I have met. Most people are kind. So kind that sometimes you want to cry with gratitude. 
The internet allows us to dehumanize those who do not see the world as we do, and I admit I’ve indulged in this behavior myself. But in my travels around the country and around the world, I realized long ago that there are people who don’t see the world as I do because they don’t live in the world I live in. To be able to go where they are and meet them face to face changes everything. This is the best part of my job. It gives me hope.
So on this 4th of July, I wish a Happy Independence Day to my friends in the red states and the blue ones. Grill up some meat, get drunk and be someone, put on your flippy-flops, and go blow some shit up!

Red-Eye to West Virginia

Yesterday: 

So there I was: at home in LA, grilling tri-tip out on the balcony. Next thing I knew, there I was, on a 1am red-eye, West Virginia bound.

• Up for 30 hours? Check.
• Connecting flight nearly cancelled? Check.
• Luggage lost? Check.
• Unexpectedly becoming on-the-spot musical-director for a member of the Temptations. Check.
• With a band I'd never met. Check.
• Still wearing the same clothes I left the house in? Check.
• Making a friend and fan very happy at his surprise 60th birthday party with a set of his fave Malone tunes? Check.

In other words - totally worth the trip. 

Next stop: Spain! 

Passing It On

I just spent 3 amazing, sleepless days as the musical director for the Ultimate Vocal Music Summit here in Los Angeles. We mentored a group of stunningly talented young people, ranging in age from 4 to 20, and got to show them what their dreams of a life making music looked like up close. The growth I saw from them in just three days was astounding. I was on panels with songwriters, players, and producers who have all been responsible for countless hit records (I have been responsible for exactly zero hit records, but there I was anyway!), and I sang a few of my songs and told the stories behind them. But mostly, I was the musical director: I wrote band charts and arrangements for some 30 tunes. Transposed them a few times, and rewrote them, as the kids worked with their vocal coaches and got closer to their vision of how they would perform the songs. Then yesterday, I led an all-star band of amazing players - including my John Fogerty bandmate Kenny Aronoff - through a concert featuring all of the singers. And even though I was sleep-deprived nearly to the point of hallucination, and I had mostly forgotten to eat for most of the weekend, and I had stared at sheets of music until they had nearly lost all meaning, I was transported with joy as I sat behind the piano and saw the show through the eyes of these young singers who were having their musical dreams come true. Many thanks to Dawn Elder World Entertainment for inviting me on this journey - it was unforgettable.