Jesus Christ Now Tom Petty Is Dead Too
This post was based on an erroneous report from CBS that said it had confirmed Petty's death from the LAPD. Petty was taken off life support shortly before this post came out, and then died last night around midnight.
Donald Trump was right: there is nothing today but American Carnage. Following last night's gun massacre of nearly 60 people in Las Vegas, with more than 500 injured whose status we do not know, the LAPD has confirmed to CBS that Tom Petty has died of a heart attack at the age of 66. (The two incidents, to be clear, were presumably unrelated except by time.)
I hope Tom Petty is not actually dead and makes a full recovery to see all the kind, sweet things you are are saying about him. What a life. ❤️— Neko Case (@NekoCase) October 2, 2017
It's an odd day to write about the death of a rock and roller; is he more important than the 33,000 Americans a year who are killed by guns? Not in God's eyes, if God existed.
But here he gets an obit and they don't. I'm sorry.
Tom Petty was an American touchstone. He was summer. He was youth. And he was one of the few musicians whose work got better and richer after his youthful fame. His work on the She's the One soundtrack, Echo, and Wildflowers was lilting, deep, languid, gorgeous. (Those links give your Wonkette a tiny cut.) Compare his later albums to anything the Rolling Stones put out in their dotage, or Sting singing anthems to the fine leather seats in his Jaguar. Only Johnny Cash and Leonard Cohen sounded so good old.
I don't have much more to say: Summer in Southern California just died. Sixteen-year-old me did too.
Tom Petty, what even the fuck?
Here's Petty covering Lucinda Williams.
Here's the song that would knock my small buttercup of a son out of his seat with laughter on our road trips.
And here's the song that tied with Free Fallin' for wearing out my Full Moon Fever cassette tape; it was a whole album for 16-year-old good girls and bad girls both.
Here's Tom Petty apologizing for being a Confederate flag idiot back in the '80s, which honestly is the only political thing we've ever heard of him, and honestly I don't even care.
Wonkette is sad today. That's all I got.
Rebecca Schoenkopf is the owner, publisher, and editrix of Wonkette. She is a nice lady, SHUT UP YUH HUH. She is very tired with this fucking nonsense all of the time, and it would be terrific if you sent money to keep this bitch afloat. She is on maternity leave until 2033.