06 May 2006
♥ Money Becomes King
If you reach back in your memory
A little bell might ring
'Bout a time that once existed
When money wasn't king
If you stretch your imagination
I'll tell you all a tale
About a time when everything
Wasn't up for sale
There was this cat named Johnny
Who loved to play and sing
When money wasn't king
We'd all get so excited
when John would give a show
We'd raise the cash between us
And down the road we'd go
To hear him play that music
It spoke right to my soul
Every verse a diamond
Every chorus gold
The sound was my salvation
It was only everything
Before money became king
Well I ain't sure how it happened
And I don't know exactly when
But everything got bigger
And the rules began to bend
And the TV taught the people
How to get their hair to shine
And how sweet life can be
If you keep a tight behind
And they raised the cost of living
And how could we have known
They'd double the price of tickets
To go see Johnny's show
So we hocked all our possessions
And we sold a little dope
And went off to rock and roll
We arrived there early
In time to see rehearsal
And John came out and lip-synched
His new lite beer commercial
And as the crowd arrived
As far as I could see
The faces were all different
There was no one there like me
They sat in golden circles
And waiters served them wine
And talked through all the music
And paid to John paid little mind
And way up in the nosebleeds
We watched him on the screen
They'd hung between the billboards
So cheaper seats could see
Johnny rock that golden circle
An all those VIP's
And that music that had freed us
Became a tired routine
And I saw his face in close-up
Trying to give it all he had
And sometimes his eyes betrayed him
You could see that he was sad
And I tried to rock on with him
But I slowly became bored
Could that man on stage
With everything
Somehow need some more?
There was no use in pretending
No magic left to hear
All the music gave me
Was a craving for lite beer
As I walked out of the arena
My ears began to ring
And money became king
A little bell might ring
'Bout a time that once existed
When money wasn't king
If you stretch your imagination
I'll tell you all a tale
About a time when everything
Wasn't up for sale
There was this cat named Johnny
Who loved to play and sing
When money wasn't king
We'd all get so excited
when John would give a show
We'd raise the cash between us
And down the road we'd go
To hear him play that music
It spoke right to my soul
Every verse a diamond
Every chorus gold
The sound was my salvation
It was only everything
Before money became king
Well I ain't sure how it happened
And I don't know exactly when
But everything got bigger
And the rules began to bend
And the TV taught the people
How to get their hair to shine
And how sweet life can be
If you keep a tight behind
And they raised the cost of living
And how could we have known
They'd double the price of tickets
To go see Johnny's show
So we hocked all our possessions
And we sold a little dope
And went off to rock and roll
We arrived there early
In time to see rehearsal
And John came out and lip-synched
His new lite beer commercial
And as the crowd arrived
As far as I could see
The faces were all different
There was no one there like me
They sat in golden circles
And waiters served them wine
And talked through all the music
And paid to John paid little mind
And way up in the nosebleeds
We watched him on the screen
They'd hung between the billboards
So cheaper seats could see
Johnny rock that golden circle
An all those VIP's
And that music that had freed us
Became a tired routine
And I saw his face in close-up
Trying to give it all he had
And sometimes his eyes betrayed him
You could see that he was sad
And I tried to rock on with him
But I slowly became bored
Could that man on stage
With everything
Somehow need some more?
There was no use in pretending
No magic left to hear
All the music gave me
Was a craving for lite beer
As I walked out of the arena
My ears began to ring
And money became king
I love Tom Petty. My parents played him all the time when I was little, and when I became conscious of the music I was listening to, I bought every album he's put out - solo, with the Heartbreakers, with the Sundowners, with the Traveling Wilburys, you name it. I love Tom Petty. I saw him in concert when he came to Red Rocks with Jackson Browne. I'd never smelled weed in my life, and one of our friends (I was there with my mother) hooked up with this bald guy, and I could hardly stay awake at school the next day because I was 12 and I didn't actually know the meaning of the words "being an adolescent" yet. But it was 5th row, and you could see the spit flying out of his mouth. It was amazing.
So when my boyfriend told me that The Last DJ, Petty's latest work, was his "sellout album," I looked at him blankly and pretended not to hear.
And when I heard he was coming again with Pearl Jam, well, I couldn't help but dance in circles and call everyone I knew. Now there, I thought, is a concert you can't miss.
So what if it's at the Pepsi Center, the venue I've always considered to be for sellouts? I mean, sure, he'll be here in early July and the weather will be perfect. Sure. It's not for sellouts, right?
Maybe I'm being too harsh, I thought. I mean, I'm the girl who insists that Bob Dylan is a sellout. The six-volume autobiography? The Victoria's Secret commercial? Come on. I want to like Bob Dylan; I want to think it's nothing. I mean, the fact that he's become totally egocentric and sold a lot of push-up bras doesn't change the fact that he's changed the face of music; at this point, nothing can really change that. Nothing can really change my opinion of Bob Dylan the musician. But things can change my perception of Bob Dylan as a man.
But what do I matter? I'm a sixteen-year-old girl living in suburbia. What power do I have? Not much. This blog that three people read. My position at the Spectator. But does a high school journalist really have much to say about anything? Of course not. Fewer people read that than this blog, but deliberate social ignorance will have to be saved for a later posting, because right now I'm too distraught over this loss.
Because whether or not I choose to believe that the Pepsi Center is a venue for sellouts changes nothing. I bought Conversations with Tom Petty, that Paul Zollo book that's just a big interview with Tom Petty. He talks about drugs, his early days, his parents, you name it. There's an extensive section on his fabulous new wife, Dana, who is considerably younger than him, but Zollo says Petty made a disclaimer before the interviews even began that he would not speak of his nasty divorce from his first wife, Jane.
I'm not judging him for his divorce. I'm not even judging him. I just think it's ironic to refuse to include the event for which you've had the most publicity in a supposedly tell-all interview biography.
This is beside the point. The price of tickets for decent seats at Petty's upcoming Pepsi Center show are twice what we paid last time I saw him. He's playing at the big indoor venue, and the only seats I'll be able to afford will be in the nosebleeds, where I'll have to watch him on a screen between the billboards.
Nothing can change my opinion of Tom Petty the musician. But this has permenantly tarnished my perception of Tom Petty the man.
So when my boyfriend told me that The Last DJ, Petty's latest work, was his "sellout album," I looked at him blankly and pretended not to hear.
And when I heard he was coming again with Pearl Jam, well, I couldn't help but dance in circles and call everyone I knew. Now there, I thought, is a concert you can't miss.
So what if it's at the Pepsi Center, the venue I've always considered to be for sellouts? I mean, sure, he'll be here in early July and the weather will be perfect. Sure. It's not for sellouts, right?
Maybe I'm being too harsh, I thought. I mean, I'm the girl who insists that Bob Dylan is a sellout. The six-volume autobiography? The Victoria's Secret commercial? Come on. I want to like Bob Dylan; I want to think it's nothing. I mean, the fact that he's become totally egocentric and sold a lot of push-up bras doesn't change the fact that he's changed the face of music; at this point, nothing can really change that. Nothing can really change my opinion of Bob Dylan the musician. But things can change my perception of Bob Dylan as a man.
But what do I matter? I'm a sixteen-year-old girl living in suburbia. What power do I have? Not much. This blog that three people read. My position at the Spectator. But does a high school journalist really have much to say about anything? Of course not. Fewer people read that than this blog, but deliberate social ignorance will have to be saved for a later posting, because right now I'm too distraught over this loss.
Because whether or not I choose to believe that the Pepsi Center is a venue for sellouts changes nothing. I bought Conversations with Tom Petty, that Paul Zollo book that's just a big interview with Tom Petty. He talks about drugs, his early days, his parents, you name it. There's an extensive section on his fabulous new wife, Dana, who is considerably younger than him, but Zollo says Petty made a disclaimer before the interviews even began that he would not speak of his nasty divorce from his first wife, Jane.
I'm not judging him for his divorce. I'm not even judging him. I just think it's ironic to refuse to include the event for which you've had the most publicity in a supposedly tell-all interview biography.
This is beside the point. The price of tickets for decent seats at Petty's upcoming Pepsi Center show are twice what we paid last time I saw him. He's playing at the big indoor venue, and the only seats I'll be able to afford will be in the nosebleeds, where I'll have to watch him on a screen between the billboards.
Nothing can change my opinion of Tom Petty the musician. But this has permenantly tarnished my perception of Tom Petty the man.
5/06/2006
