My mother was a bad cook and I can barely make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Greetings from Snowbird, Utah where I endured a muscle cramp standing still and am still feeling the pain one day later. That’s right, I was minding my own business, luxuriating in the landscape, and I leaned back ever so slightly in my ski boots and I felt a sharp, jolting pain, only lasting an instant and I knew I was in trouble. It’s been that kind of year, falling on my ass, spraining my ankle, getting in a car wreck and now this. It seems whenever I’m on the verge of being healthy the unexpected arrives. And life is all about the unexpected…I had four pairs of ski socks for five days, was I gonna have to do laundry or wear a stinky-poo pair one more day? Now that no longer matters. If I can get back on the snow, and hopefully that will happen tomorrow, I’ll have enough.

And it’s so weird being back in Utah. On one hand it’s changed and on another it’s exactly the same. Vail is an ersatz village with wide open but easy skiing with a smidge of lifestyle injected into the sport. Snowbird is bare bones. You live amongst the people, i.e. Mormons, in the suburbs and you drive up the canyon where there’s only skiing, of the most difficult variety in the States, and only the hard core are in attendance, surprisingly oldsters, who remember when skiing was a hip sport, and very few women, just like it was in the seventies. And the conversation revolves around skiing. As if world peace relied on it, or it was the most important thing in the world and once upon a time it was to me and on some level it still is and looking at the landscape I see myself if I’d stayed. It’s hard to veer from the course. There are two kinds of people in this world, those who can’t make change and those who constantly jump the rails, go from one gutter to another. But to experiment, risk, leave your comfort zone for the unknown and then stay long enough to make it work…that’s hard. When I moved to Utah I wanted to leave, when I left I wanted to come back. Which is all a prelude to the fact I spent the morning reading the new Anne Tyler book “A Spool of Blue Thread” wherein a family stays in Baltimore, and it’s very good so far and I keep hearing that Carole King song in my brain…”so far away, doesn’t anybody stay in one place anymore.” And I know that kind of contradicts my prior thesis but Carole is singing more about reliability…can we count on people, to be there for us, is there community. That’s one of the weird things about the social web, we know where everybody is but we’re no closer in real life. I reached out to an old college friend for the very first time Monday, figured he’d be glad to hear from me, I saw an article he wrote online and hit him back…but he doesn’t want to know me now. That’s the truth underlying Facebook, there’s a reason we lost touch.

So I’m staying at the house of someone who doesn’t want to be named, so I won’t. And I’m one of four, like the Tom Petty song, I’m the outsider. And I behave differently from the outside than I used to. I used to get all nervous and talk and alienate, now, after decades of psychotherapy I assess the landscape and wait for holes. The only problem is sometimes time runs out before holes appear. But this trip is long enough for me to find my place.

And Jackson’s place is to cook.

No, not Jackson Browne, although he used to snowboard, not sure if he still does. This Jackson has a pedigree, from Andover to Yale, but skiing owns his life, and somewhere along the way he learned how to cook.

Cooking?

I eat.

My father was a gourmand. There was almost nothing as important to him as a good meal. He treated everybody and was always up for a new experience. Which may be why I was raised on a steady diet of going out to dinner. Sunday night Chinese or pizza. But there were finds, like El Faro in NYC for paella. And I must remind you, Bridgeport, CT had phenomenal pizza. You know, thin crust with an oil slick on top, what did they call it, scamotz? My Italian is not good, as a matter of fact, it’s nonexistent. Jackson speaks French but he did not learn his culinary skills in school, or from his parents, he cracked cooking books, he experimented, and what he’s plating is positively mind-blowing, I’d rather stay in than go out.

He cooks breakfast, but I’ve only recently learned how to eat breakfast. And I don’t eat eggs, so I haven’t partaken of Jackson’s concoctions, one with a yolk in an sea of whites. But on the first day back from skiing, on our lunch break, Jackson cooked up some croque monsieurs.

Do you know what this is? Basically a ham and cheese sandwich, but so much more. You start off with white bread, Jackson asked if there was a Pullman loaf. And he saw some ham in the fridge, along with some cheese, so he was inspired and… He dipped the bread in some egg, put mayonnaise on one piece, mustard on the other, ham and cheese in the middle, plopped the result in a frying pan and what came out was…

Utterly delicious! As good as any I’ve ever had in a restaurant. I wanted to testify. And right now I am.

Today it was a three course lunch. The pasta… Jackson didn’t have a name for it. But he threw in a little butter, and then some ham and some cheese and what came out was not only al dente but minimal, not overdone, no wasted elements…the opposite of mainstream dining. That’s right, go to the Olive Garden and you get too much, they try to impress you with tonnage. Go to the upscale place and it’s small and simple and exquisite, like Jackson’s.

Then there was chicken soup and something with noodles and meat and carrots all thickened with sour cream that was unnameable, but delectable. I asked Jackson what inspired him. The wine added flavor, the sour cream…thickened.

I’m learning.

But my life is so fast, I can’t slow down. I can’t watch television, I’ve got no time. The incoming is persistent. They’re always making more news. And we’re constantly reminded we’re inadequate and behind the times. Not only do we need the latest technology, we’ve got to know how to use it, to find out the media is manipulated by the marketers and there’s absolutely no center.

So what’s a poor boy to do?

Not play in a rock and roll band. That’s so very sixties, maybe seventies. When the elite triumphed, when talent was paramount, when artists pursued their dreams independent of constraints, when they dictated to the label as opposed to vice versa, when they didn’t have to tell us how rich they were because we could tell, and we wanted to be them.

I don’t want to be Justin Bieber, I don’t want to be any of them. There’s something phony there. It’s kind of like a hula-hoop, some fad that preys on the innocent and uneducated that’s ultimately forgotten. But the difference is life is so hard that everybody is dunning you with their wares and complaining when they’re unsuccessful. We’ve turned into a nation of complainers, both left and right. Both believe someone is holding them down, whether it be the government or the corporations. And I’ve got a dog in this fight, but recently he’s been tired and wondering if it’s worth the struggle.

I’m burned out on politics.

I’m burned out on so much.

At the end of the day, I’m just an animal, here for a short while. I forgot to procreate, so now it’s just about eating, crapping, screwing and having a good time. There ain’t much more to it than that. As for achievement… The money will buy you a better lifestyle, assuming you have time to live it, the fame will buy you nothing. Fame doesn’t keep you warm at night, it’s not even a decent friend. Get old enough and you realize we all really are equal, with our own predilections and desires, and if you’re looking for someone to validate you you’re in trouble.

Oh yeah, Jackson also made these sandwiches, yesterday… Pulled pork and spaghetti sauce on Ciabatta bread. How’d he come up with this?

How’d we all come up with this?

We’ve all got our own stories.

My mother was a bad cook because it just wasn’t important enough to her. She lived for culture. She can barely walk but she’ll never miss a transmission from the NYC Opera. She sees every movie. She can actually cook a decent meal when she wants to, but normally she doesn’t care.

I’m trying to discover what I care about. For years I ran on sheer will and determination, striving for an unknowable prize. But realizing I’m in control I now wonder, where should I go next? How should I tweak the thrusters? Do I just proceed blindly, will I then be pissed if I miss the target, or do I risk going somewhere where everybody else is not, that might leave me happy but possibly alienated and broke.

I don’t know. But I do know when I eat a good meal I smile and life makes sense.

And I’ve smiled a lot this week.

You’ve got to believe in yourself.

I’m gonna tell you one of my favorite Irving Azoff stories.

So I’m in the bowels of the Hollywood Bowl, talking to John Baruck, Irving’s old fraternity brother from Illinois. And I’m getting history, I love history, for the story alone, never mind what you learn.

So Irving goes to the west coast with Fogelberg, gets a gig with Jerry Heller and eventually moves over to Geffen Roberts, where he starts booking the Roxy.

Baruck stays home with REO Speedwagon.

Two years later, Irving calls Baruck, tells him in that voice that only Irving has, conspiratorial, sotto voce, with a hint of humor… “Pack your bags…WE CAN TAKE THIS TOWN!”

And there you have it. That’s why Irving can form his own performing rights organization and put the threat of the devil into Pandora, because he believes in himself.

I’m not talking about false bravado. I hear that every day. You recite who you know, where you went to school, accomplishments made out of cardboard, but then when you get on the diving board…

You back out.

The winners have confidence. They know they won’t always win.  They realize risk is part of the equation. But they realize we’re all human and all equal and someone has to take the lead and it might as well be them.

That’s another thing, if you want to set the world on fire you’re best off doing it yourself, if you want to move up in the organization you’re going about it the wrong way, that’s already someone else’s gig.

That’s one of the reasons the major labels are in trouble, none of them were founders. That’s right, the CEOs always worked for the man, how do you expect them to be nimble, how do you expect them to take great leaps forward? Whereas at least lifers, promoters who had their own money at risk, are still running the concert business. They know the bottom line. Sounds like a good idea, but WILL IT PAY OFF?

Confidence cannot be instilled by others. No one else can prop you up. It’s internal.

That’s right, so many of those fluffing up the external are weak internally, incredibly insecure. If someone is boasting, they’re usually losing.

Ever hang with the rich and famous, the powerful? The amazing thing is almost all of them play it down. They don’t talk business, they don’t talk their accomplishments.

Furthermore, they know it’s about relationships. Which is why if you ever meet someone further up the totem pole become friends first, talk family, movies, anything but business. Because they hear about business all day long from people a lot more powerful than you.

And if you think you know it all, believe me you don’t.

There’s a reason people are successful.

And it’s not only because they believe in themselves, but because they work the relationships and they’re a fun hang.

Don’t try to tell me how great you are, TELL YOURSELF HOW GREAT YOU ARE!

Karma’s a bitch.

They’re out to get him, but it’s Bill’s response that has me flummoxed.

Why does everybody in power double-down, why do they try and blow their attacker’s house down? It makes men look foolish, that they can’t admit that they are wrong, believing he with the biggest megaphone wins when it really just makes them look like a blowhard.

I don’t care whether Bill O’Reilly reported from a war zone or not.

But the truth is this guy is such a bully that people are afraid to contradict him. It’s kind of like Kanye. What do we hear when Kanye begins his shenanigans? Crickets. And when Bill O’Reilly twists the truth and trumpets insignificant, made-up canards like the War on Christmas? Not much.

Actually, we heard some blowback on the War on Christmas, but that’s just a sideshow to the big stuff, we tire of responding to him and then he gets away with so much.

But this is what the world has devolved into. One of gotcha and denial.

And this is not like the Obama birth certificate fracas. You don’t respond to trolls. And Bill O’Reilly could have ignored “Mother Jones.” But he chose not to. He chose to get on his high horse and contradict the truth, the footage and the other newsmen in attendance in Argentina.

I don’t want Bill O’Reilly to lose his job. I don’t think his offense is equal to Brian Williams’s. Then again, this is not the first time O’Reilly has bent the truth/lied. But I do want to point out that just because you’re famous and powerful you do not get a pass. Just because you can marshal flacks and TV power, you’re not entitled to have things go your way.

And what kind of bizarre world do we live in where celebrities get more leeway than politicians? The Governor of Oregon had to go, Kanye’s left unscathed.

Everybody’s afraid. It’s like the world has turned into high school. And the nerds did not inherit the earth. We’re all using their devices, but they’ve got no power over the organization, how things run. No nerd is Frank Underwood.

So, if you get in trouble, if you do something wrong, APOLOGIZE!

It won’t hurt your credibility, it will only increase it.

And if you think your attackers are only out to get you, to tear you down, because they’re jealous and want your job, IGNORE THEM! Defending yourself in this case doesn’t work, the trolls will just change focus.

So, Bill O’Reilly, you’re losing here. Fox is never going to fire you, you’re their cash cow. You could have said you stretched the truth, you could have said it was in the past, you could have ignored it.

But no, you had to be superior, you had to be invulnerable, and now you’re looking like a pussy who’s just waiting for the principal to step in. You’re like a football player or frat brother who vows to get even, scaring the pipsqueaks into sleeping with one eye open.

And one of the great things about leaving school is you leave the schoolyard behind. There’s real justice. You can’t punch someone in the face, you can’t do something illegal, we’re all safe, all protected by the rule of law.

But O’Reilly is an adolescent.

Why do we pay attention to him?

Because we’re tribal. We need an enemy to point out everything keeping us back. That’s right, if you just dismantled the government everything would be cool. And it’s Bill who’s standing up for the little guy.

WAKE UP!

Bill is only standing up for himself, he only cares about himself, he needs your adulation to survive. And if it’s threatened, if there’s a chink in the armor, his whole enterprise caves.

Once again, this is different from Brian Williams. Williams was an empty suit. Williams was a newsreader. Whereas Bill O’Reilly keeps telling us he’s standing up for the truth.

Ain’t that a laugh.

THE WILD ONE, FOREVER

Probably my favorite Petty cut.

Well the moon sank as the wind blew
And the street lights slowly died

This is the essence of music, setting the scene with just a few words, between the lyrics and the music, you get it.

Yeah they call you the wild one
Stay away from her
Said she couldn’t love no one if she tried

We know this type. With a certain charisma, an inner flame, that we want to get closer to, even if we’re gonna get burned.

And he goes on to say that he’s gonna have to make her his and he gets her but it’s the sound and the attitude and the coda that close you.

LUNA

From the first album too.

I’ve heard “The Wild One, Forever” on XM, but never this. This wasn’t made for the radio, this was made for the writer and players, for the listener, for late at night when there are no answers but plenty of questions. Back from when Tom was channeling his vision more than worrying about creating something the deejay would play.

And I hate that Tom has gotten crotchety. That he’s lost some perspective, never mind lacks a sense of humor. Can you come back after your peak? Interesting question. But Tom was torn in new directions by the Wilburys and Jeff Lynne, he’s surprised us before, maybe if he went and hung with the Nashville cats it would inspire him, bring back the greatness, haunt not only me but every one of us.

RESTLESS

It’s the staccato guitar.

He really sounds restless.

“You’re Gonna Get It” was the album that was supposed to break Tom Petty through.

It didn’t.

Here’s the story, the band was on Shelter Records distributed by ABC back when what label you were on mattered, when if you were on Polydor you might as well not put your record out, never mind RCA.

And there’s been all this talk about the label imploring him to change the word “cocaine” in “Listen To Her Heart” but the truth is Petty was always an outsider.

That’s right. He may have been wearing a leather jacket on the cover of his debut, but he and his band were not punks when that sound was all the rage.

Ironically, he was embraced in the U.K. And nearly a year after the first album came out he triumphed in America. No, that’s overstating it. Not with “American Girl,” that was not the track, it was “Breakdown,” a live iteration, with all the soul you can only get from something truly live.

And you could get up close and personal. I went to see the band at the Whisky. This was before you could play arenas on one hit.

And there was no show. Just music. Played well, with attitude. Memorably. To the point where everybody who was exposed believed Tom was ready.

But it turns out he was not.

He did not fit into the system. Which now wanted new wave. Back when it had to sound au courant when Petty was basic.

BABY’S A ROCK ‘N’ ROLLER

I was unsure whether to include this or “Hurt.”

The funny thing about the second album is it isn’t as good as the first, but it’s even more solid. The peaks might not be as high, but the lows are not as low.

This is reminiscent of the British Invasion, that sound, you could tell that Petty listened to the Beatles, as well as the buried treasure from overseas that he plays on his satellite show.

It’s innocent in a sixties way, but the band playing it was not. Twentysomething girls wanted to be that baby.

HURT

What the hell.

It is not made for radio, there’s not a full-fledged beginning, it’s more like a play with building entrances before everybody settles into the riff.

Thank God for California
Thank God I’m going home

This is the way it used to be, before plane tickets were cheap and long distance phone calls were free. California was a different state of mind, it was where you could be free.

It’s reminiscent of the Byrds, of the sixties L.A. scene, without being derivative, if someone cut something this good today it would be exalted as genius, trumpeted in every publication known to man, but this track from ’78 was almost completely unknown then, and still is today.

HERE COMES MY GIRL

From “Damn The Torpedoes.”

I know, I know, it’s hard to say anything on the third, breakthrough LP is an album cut. It’s kind of like “Led Zeppelin II,” a constant everybody knows from beginning to end.

But even though “Here Comes My Girl” was the record’s third single, it only went to number 59, which is nowhere.

And there are so many magic moments, but what seals the deal is when the track drops at 2:12 and Petty utters “watch her walk”…whew!

A WOMAN IN LOVE (IT’S NOT ME)

The beginning of the initial decline, before the spontaneous renaissance with “Don’t Come Around Here No More” off “Southern Accents” in ’85.

That’s right, it’s hard to follow up gargantuan success. And Petty did it with an album of some genius and some tracks with less than that and no hits.

Well, “The Waiting” got FM airplay, but it wasn’t ubiquitous in the way “Refugee” was, and from there…

But this is pure genius. The track I played after calling my old girlfriend to reconnect and found her in bed with someone else.

SOMETHING BIG

Sounds like a short story.

With a groove that has you nodding your head almost instantly.

And changes absent from so many of today’s hits.

And we all know losers working on something big, we see them on “Shark Tank,” I’ve often wondered if I’m one of them.

STOP DRAGGIN’ MY HEART AROUND

Wherein Tom Petty gives away his best track to the biggest female star of the day, the same way his east coast compatriot Bruce Springsteen gave Patti Smith “Because The Night.” They both went on to have further gargantuan successes, but at this point both could have utilized the triumph.

And at this point Tom’s version with the Heartbreakers has seen the light of day, it would have been a hit by itself.

But at least Tom’s duetting with Stevie Nicks on her track.

And Stevie pushes it over the top, she’s the consummate rock chick, she sheds the sensitive witch persona and wails with nuance, it’s so endearing.

But who is this guy who’s sneering his words? Who is this guy who’s so genuine.

That’s Tom Petty!

Maybe this was a good thing, this exposed a whole new audience to the man and his band, which played on the track.

Then again, most people knew who they were anyway.

We all get our heart dragged around, it happens to everybody, if you play.

And then you sit at home and spin this track, the antithesis of cry in your beer sentimentality, and you know you feel bad now but you’re gonna RECOVER!

STRAIGHT INTO DARKNESS

There was a little girl I used to know her
I still think about her time to time

Ain’t that the truth, we never forget ’em, they haunt us forever, we wonder if we reconnected…would we reconnect?

The truth is no. They’ve changed. We’re different. It was a moment in time.

And at this point it looked like Tom Petty’s success was a moment in time. That if not a footnote, he and his band of merrymakers were far from legends, Tom was not a rock and roll icon.

And then came “Southern Accents,” the Wilburys and “Free Fallin.” Wow!

But “Long After Dark” was a step in the wrong direction. It sounded like Petty, but it didn’t have the peaks, the tracks just needed an extra 2%, the amount that makes the difference, that puts the cuts over the top.

And stunningly, Tom had further success when he switched up the formula. “Don’t Come Around Here No More” sounded nothing like what came before, nor did all those great cuts that followed “Free Fallin,” on Tom’s solo debut.

And the funny thing is Tom cemented his success when he was a full-blooded Californian, singing about someone else, kids in the Valley.

That’s right, the landscape changes you.

And change is good.

Here’s hoping Tom Petty mesmerizes ALL of us once again.

Rhinofy-Tom Petty-Early Album Cuts