"Heartbreakers Beach Party"
What better reason could there be to ride the bus alone for an hour and sit by yourself in the dark surrounded by strangers than Tom Petty?
I went to the movies last Sunday. In a sense the fact that this is even worthy of being in consideration to being shared with the world at large speaks volumes to the deterioration of the quality of my life because I used to go to the movies very regularly. From my current outpost a trip to the cinema is not readily accessible which is a drag. When getting there was easier I would sometimes look at the film listings and schedule my own, “Buy one, get one free,” screenings when I would be the last audience member out of theatre “A,” make a restroom visit, perhaps grab another round of popcorn and make my way as an early arrival at theatre “B.”
Instant double feature!
But, enough of my childhood memories of that bucolic time of film and rolling “rummies” during the Prohibition era, this is about doing what it takes to go see a seemingly obscure documentary about one of the most movingly authentic and seemingly universally adored rock musicians of my or any other modern music fan’s lifetimes and that would be Mr. Thomas Earl Petty and his trusty backing “bandito’s,” the Heartbreakers.
I was, and am, an enormous fan of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. I probably saw that band at least twenty times and I remember wearing a “Let Me Up (I’ve Had Enough)” tee shirt when I first met my college girlfriend, that being the impetus for her saying hello at an off campus keg party one afternoon long ago (that was an intentional reference for those “on the bus,” otherwise “believe it if you need it or leave it if you dare”). There’s a lot to say about Petty but that would take a long time and I don’t have that at the moment, so let’s stick to the film.
Before I go there, though, I will say this. At the end of his career I had gotten tired of seeing Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers play live. It had become a predicable “Greatest Hits” set that drew the country club version of the frat boy set, which is ironic given that Petty himself states in “Beach Party” that he can’t understand artists who are so removed from the audience that delivered their fame and fortune. Of course, at that point “Beach Party” takes place his audience was still largely “insiders” (another intentional reference) and this film is beautiful for catching him at that moment.
Of course, I didn’t give up on the great man. I still listened to everything he put out and he largely never let me down. I embraced the soundtrack to, “She’s The One,” and went nuts for the bootlegs I found from his residencies in Chicago, New York and, as terrifically captured on the “Live at the Fillmore” record from San Francisco. I craved the idea he might one day bring those shows where he played deep cuts and covers to Boston but alas that never happened. However, when he passed I took great solace in the fact that the last time I saw him play it wasn’t with his beloved Heartbreakers, it was a club gig. Mudcrutch at the House of Blues on Landsdowne Street. If only all great loves ended so perfectly.
So many great memories as I settled into my seat.
I had faint memories of “Heartbreakers Beach Party.” Of being a drunk teenager in the basement at a high school house party in Cumberland, RI when it aired on MTV and chasing some girl upstairs thinking that like everything on the infant network it would be in constant rotation. Wrong. That was the one and only time it was ever shown. In that sense, it became the stuff of legend.
It was the directorial debut of Cameron Crowe, another hero that might one day merit his own edition of the “Konsideration.” Petty’s distinct humor is highlighted throughout as when he looks deadpan at the camera during an interview segment and says, “Welcome back to ‘Yammerin’ with Cameron.’” Hardcore Petty fans are well acquainted with his wry wit and it is on full display. During the shooting of the desert apocalypse themed, “You Got Lucky” video, guitarist Mike Campbell asks is they’re done, to which Petty retorts, “I don’t know but if we ain’t, I ain’t volunteering.”
That underlying coyness was an essential component of both Petty’s drive and ultimate success. With an acoustic guitar he sings his reported ode to the record company execs that initially dismissed him as a dumb redneck hippy from Florida, “I’m Stupid,” though even then he is unhesitant to proclaim himself as a proud Californian. “I have lived here for eight years now, I think,” he says outside his home, dubbed “Fort Petty” (an ironic moniker considering it would later be burned to the ground by an arsonist in a still unsolved crime) but still raises a flag, literally, of his home state. When asked if the neighbors mind, he smiles and says, “Well, I haven’t raised the skull and crossbones… yet.”
But yielding that trusty acoustic he delivers what was my favorite moment, a version of the Elvis Presley song, “Marie’s The Name, His Latest Flame,” which works doubly. As an 11 year-old kid Petty met “The King” on the set of his 1962 film, “Follow That Dream,” a moment that he often said changed his life and even the goofy theme song, “Heartbreaker’s Beach Party” was a tongue in cheek homage to Elvis’s cinematic forays.
“Heartbreakers Beach Party” (which will stream on Paramount + in 2025) is chock full of these types of nuggets but it also provides looks at the powerful engine that Petty and the Heartbreakers were at the time of their 1982 release, “Long After Dark.” This often underrated gem (which my friend, Mike Gent of the Figgs once covered in its entirety) in the Petty catalog which followed his protracted record company battle over the previous “Hard Promises” (which at one point had the working title “Eight Ninety Eight” when his label wanted to release the album for $9.98, a dollar above industry norms under that they called “superstar pricing”) finds the band with a newfound sense of freedom. Petty does, however, reference the battle to get there. “I’ll burn the tapes before I compromise,” he says of the “Hard Promises” legal battles and tells of hiding and mislabeling master recordings at points during it.
For the multitudes who circled the date on their summer calendars when they could sing along to “Free Fallin’” at their local amphitheater, “Beach Party” may not be to their fancy but for devotees familiar with the sentiment that inspired songs like, “I Won’t Back Down,” it’s an essential view of a seminal rock n’ roll band in their prime.