Podcast Episode 2: Ryan Adams & Tom Petty

This will be our first throwback episode and will include discourse on one of my favorite albums from the early 2000s, and of all time. Then we’ll talk Tom Petty. By we, I mean me and Jeff Anderson, colloquially known as my dad. 

The first album is Ryan Adams’s Gold, released in 2001. First, some context on Ryan Adams. First of all, he’s not known as being a particularly nice person. He was born in North Carolina in 1974. He dropped out of high school in 1980 at age 16. In 1994, he formed a band called Whiskeytown, which only produced two albums before they split in ‘99. Rolling Stone praised the band, saying "If there's to be a Nirvana among the bands that are imprecisely dubbed alternative country, look to Whiskeytown.” High praise. Adams’ producer, Lost Highway Records, produced Whiskeytown’s third album when they picked Adams up as a soloist. 

Adams hit the ground running after leaving Whiskeytown. He released three albums in three years, starting in 2000. My beloved Gold was his middle child, released in 2001. Adams beefed with his record label about how the album would be structured. I pored over interviews regarding the subject but his explanations are confusing and wrought with profanities so I’m not confident I understand the minutia of the disagreement. All I know is that it pissed Adams off considerably.

His third album, Rock N Roll, was released in place of the album he had planned, Love Is Hell. His label rejected it, but eventually caved and put it out as two EPs, and then as a full album in 2004. 

After his third solo album, he formed a hardcore punk band called The Finger with Jessie Malin, under the pseudonyms Warren Peace and Irving Plaza. They released one album in 2003. 

In 2004, he founded and fronted yet another band, The Cardinals, which he stuck with until 2009. They continued to record after his departure. He announced a permanent end to music in 2009 due to his Ménière’s disease but returned to performing in 2010 and released his 13th studio album.

Some other things to note about his life and career: He produced Fall Out Boy’s EP, PAX AM Days, in 2015. He’s collaborated with a large handful of notable names in the music industry, including Weezer. He was married to Mandy Moore for six years and wrote his 2017 album, Prisoner about her. He allegedly wrote over 80 songs for the album. After their divorce, Moore publicly shared how Adams had psychologically abused her during their marriage. Adams replaced Moore’s musical manager, and Moore said he used this leadership role to control her. Hey, Ryan? You suck. I’ve gone back and forth about if I want to highlight his music, let alone praise it. But the fact is that I really love this album and I don’t want to let a man ruin it for me. I guess Ryan shows us that you can be kind of a terrible person and still make some cool art. 

There are some artists that I can’t stand to listen to because I know what they’re like in real life. Kanye, for example. No music is worth tolerating antisemitism. His actions are disgusting and I would never do anything that might bring him more money or fame. But to be fair, I never particularly liked his music in the first place, so it doesn’t feel at all like a sacrifice. 

But I’ve decided to talk about Gold for a couple of reasons. One, because I don’t think I’m going to help Ryan make any money. Even if everyone who listened to my podcast streamed his entire album twice, Ryan would make $1.92. If they streamed it on Spotify, that is. This is the only time I’m glad Spotify lowballs artists. Secondly, maybe people are listening to the podcast who have already heard Ryan’s music but didn’t know about his personal life. Now they know and the jig is up. Third, I think this is an important album from a musical perspective. Important enough to talk about, even knowing Ryan’s background. Another day, another attempt to separate the art from the artist, am I right?

Now for a deep dive into Gold. It’s an hour, ten minutes, and twenty-six seconds of near perfection. My only complaint is that it doesn’t include my favorite song of his, and possibly my favorite song of all time: Come Pick Me Up. 

The opening track, New York, New York carries some heavy, unintentional symbolism. Gold came out on September 25th, 2001. Its music video was filmed in New York near the twin towers four days before the September 11th terrorist attack. This is arguably a big reason why it got so much attention. Entertainment Weekly published a review of the album that irks me on multiple levels. Journalist David Browne describes himself walking the streets of New York in the aftermath of the terrorist attack, listening to Gold. “I was listening to a copy of Ryan Adams’ Gold. After all, there was work to do.” Those sentences make me cringe. Browne, thirteen days after the attack, is combining false modesty with a perverted kind of patriotism to drum up a buzz about a music review he’s writing. I picture him walking down a rubble-ridden sidewalk, assuming he really was waltzing the streets, Walkman in hand, and brainstorming how to make his article pop using allusions to a national disaster. I can see the lightbulb flashing above his head, and it grosses me out. The article gets worse. 

“Up until that point, Adams’ album, one of the most buzzed-about releases of the year, had left me mildly indifferent,” he writes. “Heard in the aftermath of the collapse of the World Trade Center, ”New York, New York” now feels cathartic and healing in ways it never did before. The same is true of the rest of ”Gold.” In light of this recent horror, the album’s sprawling tour through American music, from coast to beer-stained coast, is like a diner full of comfort food.” That was a direct quote. I’m sorry, David, do you not have enough opinions of your own? Is your writing so bland that you have to argue that a good album is only good because of an act of terrorism? I wasn’t alive when 9/11 happened, so perhaps I’m missing a nuance that only those who were there can comprehend. But my gut tells me that this article misses the mark by a mile. It offends me as a journalist, as a music lover, and as a human being with critical thinking skills. Do better. 

Moving on to the actual content of the album. New York, New York, though unintentionally linked to tragedy, is upbeat and plucky. The lyrics of the verses blend together as Adams intentionally slurs his words and infuses them with an endearing twang. 

Firecracker boasts some of his signature harmonica playing. It’s short and sweet with a fun chorus that gets me swaying from side to side, endangering myself in my rolling desk chair. “I just want to be your firecracker/And maybe be your baby tonight” Adams sings. Keep playing that harmonica and I’ll consider it, Ryan. 

Answering Bell is slower and lilting. If you’re looking for a song for your upcoming A24 romance about kids born in the wrong generation, this one’s for you. If you’re short on time, you can probably skip it, though it pains me to say that out loud.

La Cienega just smiled is a non-negotiable non-skip. La Cienega refers to La Cienega Boulevard, a street in West Hollywood. It means “the swamp” in Spanish because it used to be marshland. The song is a casually devastating ballad about a heartbreak so acute that nothing can quell it; not alcohol and certainly not the unresponsive Los Angeles streets. That’s a bummer and a half. 

Track five, Rescue Blues is about the public turning a blind eye to a celebrity’s pain unless it’s convenient for them. His voice crack in the first verse is peak sad boy energy. Adams’s vocals become more unhinged as the song goes on and the choir comes in. 

Somehow, Someday name drops more streets, though they’re in New York this time. Adams sings about the intersection of Irving and 14th Street which, spoiler alert, does not exist. Much like the failed relationship he sings about. Deep stuff.

Track seven is one of the most well-known songs on the album. When the Stars Go Blue has been covered by many other musicians since its release, including Bono and Tim McGraw. It’s lyrically simple but has a melodic je ne sais quoi that defies logic. It’s raw and melancholic and just whiny enough. I’d like to bottle and drink it. Or nail it to my bedroom ceiling. I’d wear it as perfume if I could. 

The next track, Nobody Girl, punches you in the gut before you can catch your breath. It’s another unexplainable hit. Ryan says “I’m nobody” and I believe him. 

Sylvia Plath is a little unhinged. It opens with “I wish I had a Sylvia Plath.” Ok Ryan, a little odd, but continue. “Maybe she'd take me to France/Or maybe to Spain, and she'd ask me to dance.” That’s a reasonable dream. She and I would sleep on a boat/And swim in the sea without clothes.” Sounds chilly but to each his own. “And slip me a pill/Then she'd get me pretty loaded on gin/And maybe, she'd give me a bath.” Ok, that’s where you lost me, Ryan. Please use substances responsibly. Moving on.

Track ten, Enemy Fire, kicks things up a notch. Who knew Ryan had written an enemies-to-lovers anthem before the craze hit booktok? “But looks can be pleasing, yet so deceiving/Sweet words from a serpent's tongue/It's like playing with a loaded gun.” Straight bars. Add it to your reading playlist.

“Gonna Make You Love Me” is the most country song on the album. It’s a list of all the things that are, quote, “only gonna make you love me more.” I enjoyed its flirty playfulness quite a bit more before my research led me to uncover some sexual misconduct allegations. They were never substantiated but I remain skeptical. 

Wild Flowers features an allusion to “poor Matilda” that may prove Harry Styles isn’t quite as original as we give him credit for. It’s a slow build with some nice tinny acoustic guitar.

“Harder Now That It’s Over” The line “Honey, it’s harder now that it’s over. Now that the cuffs are off, you’re free with the history,” laments the emptiness that comes at the end of a relationship, even a bad one. Are you ever really free from the memories? Maybe not. 

Track fourteen, “Touch, Feel & Lose” takes things in a jazzy direction and features a choir in the chorus. It’s soulful and has that fun sad lyrics with upbeat vibe combo that I dig. 

The second to last track, “Tina Toledo’s Street Walkin’ Blues,” is a rather dark ode to a Boston-born prostitute. The bridge strips back the electric guitar for a moment of melancholy and then Ryan goes right back to his screechy vocals.

Lastly, we have our final street name drop with “Goodnight, Hollywood Blvd.” It feels like a pretty obvious end to an album. Too obvious? That’s for you to listen to and determine. See what I did there? 

Now we’ll move on to Tom Petty. Petty lived from 1950 to 2017, when he died of an accidental drug overdose two weeks after he finished the Heartbreakers' 40th Anniversary Tour. He’s written and performed tons of hit songs, many of which you would recognize even if you somehow know nothing about Tom Petty. He started playing music in 1976, and was in the bands the Epics and Mudcrutch before creating the famous Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. They released three albums in three years, and their third album, Damn the Torpedos, sold over 2 million copies. Their fourth album had their first duet, which was with Stevie Nicks on the track Insider. Nicks’s song, Edge of Seventeen is based on a conversation with Petty. Petty said he met his wife at the “age of seventeen” but Nicks supposedly misheard him. I find it a bit hard to believe that she wrote and released an entire song without thinking to check with Petty, but it’s still a fun story. 

The Heartbreakers toured with Bob Dylan and the Grateful Dead in the ‘80s. Petty went on to form the band, the Traveling Wilburys, with Dylan, George Harrison, Roy Orbison and Jeff Lane. Petty released a solo album and another album with some of the former Heartbreakers before officially going solo. 

There’s a YouTube documentary called Tom Petty: Somewhere You Feel Free - The Making of Wildflowers, about his solo album Wildflowers. In it, he says, “I’d been in a band my whole life, it felt like, and I really wanted to be free of the democratic process.” 

He’s one of the best-selling artists of all time. But I should say what some people are surely thinking. When you write so gosh darn many songs, aren’t some of them bound to be hits? Sure, I’ll heed that argument. But a hit does not a good song make. 

Petty is known as a champion of artists’ rights to their music. When ABC Records was sold to MCA Records in ‘79, he refused to be transferred to a new label without his consent. In response, he filed for bankruptcy and signed with a subsidiary of MCA Records, Backstreet Records. In ‘81, the Heartbreakers album, Hard Promises, was planned to be the first MCA Records release that would cost $9.98 instead of $8.98. Petty objected to the price hike for the sake of his fans, and considered refusing to release the album, or changing its name to 8.98. In the end, the label lowered the price again. He sued a tired company for using a knockoff of one of his songs in ‘87, and he refused to allow George W. Bush to use his song, I Won’t Back Down, in his presidential campaign. After his death, his family disallowed Donald Trump from using the same song, saying “Tom Petty would never want a song of his used for a campaign of hate.” Way to go, guys. Both the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Chuck Berry put out songs with strong musical similarities to Tom Petty songs. Petty didn’t sue in either case, because he believed neither group had “malicious intent.”

A little-known fact in this vein is that Petty and co-writer Jeff Lynne each receive 12.5% of the royalties from Sam Smith’s Stay With Me because of musical similarities to I Won’t Back Down. This agreement apparently came without disagreement or hostility. 

He lived a fascinating life that was sadly cut short by drug use. He suffered from heroin addiction for three years in the ‘90s after his divorce from Jane Benyo. But, he fully recovered after attending rehab. His death was the result of an accidental misuse of the opioids which he took for severe knee pain. 

When it comes to his music, I don’t want to isolate it to a single album. Instead, I made a playlist of my twelve favorite songs from his career. I don’t think my top twelve contain any surprises. In fact, I’d bet that any average Joe would know at least 80% of them. But I think that proves that he’s popular for a reason. I was listening to Runnin’ Down a Dream in the car with my mom a couple of weeks ago, and she said, “if you think his music is overrated, you’re not paying attention.” 

For some additional context and the variation in opinion this episode is begging for, let’s bring on one of the foremost experts in the musical field: my dad. Responsible for more of my musical education than I’d care to admit, here he is, the great Jeff Anderson. Jeff, what do you have to say for yourself?

If you listen to only one song off of the playlist, listen to Runnin’ Down a Dream. The drums scratch my brain right where it itches. To close us out, I’ll play my favorite part.