Remembering the legendary singer-songwriter, guitarist, rock ’n’ roll rebel, and ambassador of the American spirit.
It’s an unseasonably cool evening in late July, but halfway into his set with the ever-stalwart Heartbreakers behind him, Tom Petty sounds perfectly at ease. “Wow, we’ve got a lot of singers out here tonight!” he marvels, his laconic Florida drawl unmistakable even after spending more than half his life in Southern California. The sellout stadium crowd in Queens, New York, hollers back its approval, and as he strums the opening chords to his signature hit “Free Fallin’,” the cheers build instantly to a roar that seems to compress the night air like an arm around your shoulder. Petty has likely played this song more than a thousand times since he released it back in 1989, but he still gives it everything he has.
It’s a testament to Petty’s fearless commitment to his music that he succumbed to a heart attack at his Malibu home on October 2, scarcely a week after wrapping up his 40th anniversary tour with the Heartbreakers—the band he cofounded back in 1976 with his childhood friends from Gainesville, guitarist Mike Campbell and keyboardist Benmont Tench. For Petty, music was as much a means of survival as it was expression, and while he certainly didn’t plan to go out on top, his last three triumphant nights at the Hollywood Bowl leave the lingering impression that he wanted it that way.
Petty’s hardscrabble upbringing in Gainesville was the early spark that drove him—that, and a chance meeting with Elvis Presley in 1961, when the star was filming in the neighboring town of Ocala. Three years later, the Beatles appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show, and 13-year-old Thomas Earl Petty was officially hooked on rock ’n’ roll. His first guitar was “an almost unplayable Stella,” as author Warren Zanes describes it in Petty: The Biography, published in 2015. “It wasn’t much more than a shape to hold, an idea with a strap. But it was enough.”
As a teenager, Petty threw himself into what was then a lively music scene in Gainesville. By 1970, he was playing bass and singing original songs in Mudcrutch, a Southern rock band with a country twist, with guitarist Tom Leadon, and lead singer Jim Lenahan. Before long, they were looking for a new drummer.
in rock history.”
“We went out to audition Randall [Marsh] at his house,” Petty recalls in the 2007 documentary Runnin’ Down a Dream. The band also needed another guitar player, and Marsh suggested his housemate. “And I heard him yell, ‘Mike, can you play rhythm guitar?’ And this voice comes back, ‘Uh, I think so.’ And into the room walks Mike Campbell, and he’s carrying this $80 Japanese guitar. At that point, we all looked at the ground like, ‘Oh no, this guy’s bound to be terrible.’ Mike kicks off ‘Johnny B. Goode,’ and after the song ended, I just said, ‘Hey, you’re in our band.’”
Tench soon joined the lineup, Petty took over lead vocals, and Mudcrutch became the buzz band in and around Gainesville. Eventually they signed to the indie label Shelter Records and relocated to Los Angeles, but when their 1975 single “Depot Street” flopped, Petty found himself at a crossroads, with the label asking to keep him on as a solo artist. Tench responded by booking a session to track some demos with Campbell and two friends from Gainesville—bassist Ron Blair and drummer Stan Lynch. He invited Petty to sing some vocals, and, within less than an hour, the Heartbreakers were born.
They weren’t an overnight success—not that success was of any immediate concern to Petty. As long as he could keep writing songs and keep the band together so everyone could make a living, he was content. On the strength of “Breakdown,” the brooding, soulful second single from his 1976 debut Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Petty had his first Top 40 hit, but it wasn’t until his third album, the monumental Damn the Torpedoes (coproduced with Jimmy Iovine and released in 1979), that he began to see his rock ’n’ roll dream as something real. With Campbell as his co-captain, Petty not only established the Heartbreakers as a quintessentially American rock band that could give the Rolling Stones or, for that matter, the Ramones a run for their money, but he’d written a nearly flawless collection of songs—among them the anthemic “Refugee,” the defiant “Don’t Do Me Like That,” the love-struck “Here Comes My Girl,” and the truly masterful “Even the Losers”—that held a timeless appeal for anyone who sought a deeper, more evocative experience from a 3-minute radio hit.
Tom Petty was a gear aficionado who loved vintage guitars. He also had a knack for transforming simple chord progressions into legendary tunes that continue to resonate through each passing generation.
Photo by Ken Settle
From there, at the dawn of MTV no less, Petty and the Heartbreakers went on an unprecedented run. Through six albums over a decade, from 1981’s Hard Promises to 1991’s Into the Great Wide Open (and including his classic 1989 solo debut Full Moon Fever, coproduced with Jeff Lynne and Mike Campbell), Petty honed his craft both as a songwriter and as a guitarist, prompting none other than Bob Dylan to refer to him as “a masterful poet.” While Petty’s songs seemed to capture a raw American and a particularly Southern spirit—ever-restless for meaning in life, always rebelling against conformity, always bypassing bullshit to get to the heart of any matter—he could transform a deceptively simple guitar figure, like the flatpicked opening to “The Waiting” or the leadoff chords of “Free Fallin’” or the changes in “You Don’t Know How It Feels” (from 1994’s milestone Wildflowers, with producer Rick Rubin), into something instantly touching and memorable.
By the end of 1987, after Petty and the band had spent most of the past two years on the road with Dylan, the wheels were already in motion for the Traveling Wilburys. That the supergroup included three of Petty’s childhood idols—Dylan, George Harrison, and Roy Orbison—didn’t seem to faze him, although Petty consistently opted for quiet modesty when in the presence of stardom; it was the cool-headed Southern rocker in him. But if his long journey with the Heartbreakers had made him a peer in the eyes of his heroes, for the rock intelligentsia, his two years in the Wilburys cemented his place in the pantheon.
In 2002, Petty and the Heartbreakers were voted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Petty himself never seemed comfortable with awards. He won three Grammys after being nominated 18 times, including Best Rock Album for his last two outings with the Heartbreakers, 2010’s Mojo and 2014’s Hypnotic Eye. But it’s clear the recognition of his fellow artists meant much more to him than any nod from the industry. His work with Stevie Nicks, Johnny Cash, the Byrds’ Roger McGuinn, and, most recently, Chris Hillman stands with some of his best—in large measure because he was so uncompromising as an artist.
And, of course, there are the guitars. Petty and Campbell are probably two of the most knowledgeable aficionados of instruments and amplifiers to ever play in a rock band together. Campbell’s Rickenbacker 620/12 was a frequent presence on early tours and on the iconic Damn the Torpedoes cover. But over the years Petty played dozens of vintage guitars—Strats, Teles (including a Torucaster, built by Toru Nittono), Firebirds, J-200s, Epiphone Casinos, Rickenbackers, and Voxes. He also was honored with a signature Martin and Rickenbacker—both 12-strings. Tone and feel were often just as important to Petty as a memorable chord progression, especially as he gained more experience as a producer.
For everything Petty went through in his life—and there was a lot, from the painful breakup with his first wife Jane to the near breakup of the Heartbreakers (in 1994, a combative Lynch was replaced by Steve Ferrone on drums), from the loss of longtime bassist Howie Epstein (who stepped in for Blair in 1982 and was fired in 2001, only two years before he died of an apparent heroin overdose) to Petty’s own struggles with heroin addiction and depression—he never gave up on the one thing that seemed to keep him grounded besides music, and that was family. When he reunited Mudcrutch in 2007 and again in 2015, many saw it as a way for Petty to get back in touch with his Southern roots, and to reconnect with friends who’d been like brothers to him since his childhood.
Tom Petty’s last performance was September 25, 2017, at the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles. He died a week later of cardiac arrest, but he was in top form belting out his longstanding opus “Free Fallin’” while playing his beloved Rickenbacker.
When looking back on his body of work as a whole, there’s little doubt that Tom Petty will be regarded as one of the greatest American songwriters in rock history. He could take a beautiful ballad like “Southern Accents” and make it bleed, or light up a hard-rocking slab like “I Should Have Known It” and make it burn. More than anything, his songs come across as raw and intensely personal, even if the meaning behind them sometimes feels mystical or mysterious. Whenever he carried a heavy weight—as a singer, as a songwriter, as an artist—he often made us feel that we carried it with him, and that’s what will make his music so accessible to the next generation, and the next.
“I’m doing the best I can,” he said in a 2014 interview with Canadian journalist Jian Ghomeshi. “You can’t say I didn’t try really hard, because I’m trying really hard to be good. Do I always hit what I was shooting for? No. There’s no great artist that hasn’t done some real shit. But you have to do that to maybe hit the stuff you’re trying to hit. It’s an ongoing challenge, but it’s a really enjoyable one, and it’s something I’m still pulled to. It’s a great little puzzle to work out. I’m just glad to have a job, to be honest, but I’m doing this for the music, and to hang around with my friends and play music with them.”
Columnist Janek Gwizdala with heroes Dennis Chambers (left) and Mike Stern (right).
Keeping your gigging commitments can be tough, especially when faced with a call from a hero. But it’s always the right choice.
Saying “yes!” to everything early on has put me in a place now where I can say no to almost everything and still be okay. That wasn’t without its challenges. I’d like to share a story about a “yes” that would haunt me for years.
As bass players, we can, if we choose, quite easily find ourselves in a wide variety of situations without having to change much about our sound or our playing. If your time is good and you’re able to help those around you feel good and sound better, the telephone will pretty much always ring.
Playing jazz as an electric-bass player living in New York City from 2000 to 2010 was somewhat of a fool’s errand in terms of getting work. No one wanted electric bass, and bandleaders would go to the bottom of a list of 100 upright players before they would even think about calling you. Not only that, but I wasn’t even at the top of the electric list when I first moved there. Not even close. Anthony Jackson, Richard Bona, Will Lee, Tim Lefebvre, James Genus, Lincoln Goines, Mike Pope, John Benitez, Matthew Garrison—that’s a who’s who of the instrument when I first moved to town, and I was very much a freshman with almost no experience. Almost…
I’d been lucky enough to play extensively with Kenwood Dennard (Jaco’s drummer), and a little with Hiram Bullock (Jaco’s guitarist) before moving to NYC which helped create a little momentum, but only a VERY little.
This is where the story begins:
I’d sent Mike Stern a demo back in late ’97. He’d not only taken the time to listen to it but had called my parents’ house right after I moved to the U.S. to tell me he loved it and wanted to hang. I missed the call but eventually met him at a clinic he gave at Berklee.
Of course, I was buzzing about all of this. It helped me stay laser-focused on practice and on moving to NYC as soon as possible. I got the typical “look me up when you get to town” invitation from Stern and basically counted the seconds through the three semesters I stayed at Berklee until I could split town.
I arrived with a ton of confidence but zero gigs. And nothing happened overnight. It really took saying yes to literally everything I was offered just to keep a roof over my head. Through that process, I felt like I was getting further away from playing with my jazz heroes.
The early gigs were far from glamorous—long hours, terrible pay, and sometimes, after travel expenses, they cost me money to play.
“Whenever I have a single moment of doubt, I think about the time I had to say no to my heroes—the reasons I moved to America, the reason I do what I do.”
When Stern finally called, a few years into living in NYC, things started to move pretty quickly. I began playing a lot of gigs at the 55 Bar with him, and short road trips became a thing—a four-night stint at Arturo Sandoval’s new club in Miami, gigs in Chicago, Cleveland, and upstate New York, and then some international work, including a tour of Mexico and a trip to Brazil, if I remember right.
But the hardest phone call of my career came from Mike not long into my time touring with him. It went something like this:
“Hey man, what’s your scene in April? Lincoln can’t make a trip to the West Coast. It’s just one gig. Trio… with DENNIS CHAMBERS.”
Mike didn’t shout Dennis’ name, but that’s how I heard it. My all-time hero. Someone I’d been dreaming about playing with for over 15 years. And here’s the kicker: I had to say no.
I’d just committed to six weeks with Jojo Mayer’s band Nerve in Asia and Europe, and there was no way I could bail on him. And there was no way I could afford to ditch six weeks of work for a single gig with Mike. To say that haunted me for years is an understatement. I was destroyed that I had to turn it down.
The tour with Jojo was amazing—the posters hang in my studio as a reminder of those times to this day. And thankfully, I was able to go on some years later and play dozens of shows with Mike and Dennis all over the world—truly some of the highlights of my career.
I still think about that phone call, though. Whenever I have a single moment of doubt, I think about the time I had to say no to my heroes—the reasons I moved to America, the reason I do what I do. I get emotional writing and thinking about it even now. But I've learned to never have regrets and understand you just have to believe in the process and maintain the willpower to continue—no matter what.
New RAT Sound Solution Offers a Refined Evolution of Distortion
ACT Entertainment ’s iconic RAT brand has unveiledthe Sterling Vermin, a boutique distortion guitar pedal that blends heritage tone with modernrefinement. With a new take on RAT’s unmistakable sound, Sterling Vermin delivers a new levelof precision and versatility.
“The Sterling Vermin was born from a desire for something different — something refined, withthe soul of a traditional RAT pedal, but with a voice all its own,” says Shawn Wells, MarketManager—Sound, ACT Entertainment, who designed the pedal along with his colleague MattGates. “Built in small batches and hand-soldered in ACT’s Jackson, Missouri headquarters, theSterling Vermin is a work of pure beauty that honors the brand legacy while taking a bold stepforward for creativity.”
The Sterling Vermin features the LM741 Op-Amp and a pair of selectable clipping diodes.Players can toggle between the traditional RAT silicon diode configuration for a punchy, mid-range bite, or the BAT41 option for a smoother, more balanced response. The result is a pedalthat’s equally at home delivering snarling distortion or articulate, low-gain overdrive, with a wide,usable tonal range throughout the entire gain spectrum.
The pedal also features CTS pots and oversized knobs for even, responsive control that affordsa satisfying smoothness to the rotation, with just the right amount of tension. Additionally, thepolished stainless-steel enclosure with laser-annealed graphics showcases the merging of thepedal’s vintage flavor and striking design.
“From low-gain tones reminiscent of a Klon or Bluesbreaker, to high-gain settings that flirt withBig Muff territory — yet stay tight and controlled — the Sterling Vermin is a masterclass indynamic distortion,” says Gates, an ACT Entertainment Sales Representative. “With premiumcomponents, deliberate design and a focus on feel, the Sterling Vermin is more than a pedal, it’sa new chapter for RAT.”
The RAT Sterling Vermin is available immediately and retails for $349 USD. For moreinformation about this solution, visit: actentertainment.com/rat-distortion .
The Miku was introduced about 10 years ago and is based on the vocal stylings of Hatsune Miku, a virtual pop icon. But it does much more than artificial vowels and high-pitched words.
It’s tempting to think of this pedal as a joke. Don’t.
It all started a few years ago through a trade with a friend. I just wanted to help him out—he really wanted to get a fuzz pedal but didn’t have enough cash, so he offered up the Korg Miku. I had no idea then, but it turned out to be the best trade I’ve ever made.
Here’s the truth: the Korg Miku is not your typical guitar pedal. It won’t boost your mids, sculpt your gain, or serve up that warm, buttery overdrive you’ve always worshipped. Nope. This little box does something entirely different: It sings! Yes, sings in a Japanese kawaii accent that’s based on the signature voice of virtual pop icon Hatsune Miku.
At first glance, it’s tempting to dismiss this pedal as just a gimmick—a joke, a collector’s oddity, the kind of thing you buy for fun and then forget next to your Hello Kitty Strat. But here’s the twist: Some take it seriously and I’m one of those people.
I play in a punk band called Cakrux, and lately I’ve been working with a member of a Japanese idol-style girl group—yeah, it’s exactly the kind of wild mashup you’d ever imagine. Somewhere in the middle of that chaos, the Miku found its way into my setup, and weirdly enough, it stuck. It’s quirky, beautiful, occasionally maddening, and somehow … just right. After plenty of time spent in rehearsals, studio takes, and more sonic experiments than I care to admit, I’ve come to appreciate this pedal in unexpected ways. So here are a few things you probably didn’t know about this delightfully strange little box.
It’s Not Organic—and That’s OK
Most guitar pedals are chasing something real. Wah pedals mimic the human voice—or even a trumpet. Tube Screamers? They’re built to recreate the warm push of an overdriven tube amp. Cab sims aim to replicate the tone of real-world speaker setups. But the Miku? It breaks the mold. Instead of emulating reality, it channels the voice of a fictional pop icon. Hatsune Miku isn’t a person—she’s a vocaloid, a fully digital creation made of samples and synthesis. The Miku doesn’t try to sound organic, it tries to sound like her. In that sense, it might be the only pedal trying to reproduce something that never existed in the physical world. And honestly, there’s something oddly poetic about that.
A World-Class Buffer
Here’s a fun fact: I once saw a big-name Indonesian session guitarist—you know, the kind who plays in sold-out arenas—with a Miku pedal on his board. I was like, “No way this guy’s busting out vocaloid lines mid-solo.” Plot twist: He only uses it for the buffer. Yep, the man swears by it and says it’s the best-sounding buffer he’s ever plugged into. I laughed … until I tried it. And honestly? He’s not wrong. Even if you never hear Miku sing a note, this pedal still deserves a spot on your board. Just for the tone mojo alone. Wild, right?
“The Miku is one of those pedals that really shouldn’t work for your music, but somehow, it just does.”
Impossible to Tame
Most pedals are built to make your life easier. The Miku? Not so much. This thing demands patience—and maybe a little spiritual surrender. First off, the tracking can be finicky, especially if you’re using low-output pickups. Latency becomes really noticeable and your picking dynamics suddenly matter a lot more. Then there’s the golden rule I learned the hard way. Never—ever—put anything before the Miku. No fuzz, no wah, no compressor, not even a buffer! It gets confused instantly and says “What is going on here?” And don’t even think about punching in while recording. The vocal results are so unpredictable, you’ll never get the same sound twice. Mess up halfway? You’re starting from scratch. Same setup, same take, same chaotic energy. It’s like trying to recreate a fever dream. Good luck with that.
Full Range = Full Power
Sure, it’s made for guitar, but the Miku really comes to life when you run it through a keyboard amp, bass cab, or even a full-range speaker. Why? Because her voice covers way more frequency range than a regular guitar speaker can handle. Plug it into a PA system or a bass rig, and everything sounds clearer, richer, way more expressive. It’s like letting Hatsune Miku out of her cage.
The Miku is one of those pedals that really shouldn't work for your music, but somehow, it just does. Is it the best pedal out there? Nah. Is it practical? Not by a long shot. But every time I plug it in, I can’t help but smile. It’s unpredictable, a little wild, and it feels like you’re jamming in the middle of a bizarre Isekai anime scene. And honestly, that’s what makes it fun.
This thing used to go for less than $100. Now? It’s fetching many times that. Is it worth the price? That’s up to you. But for me, the Korg Miku isn’t just another pedal—it’s a strange, delightful journey I’m glad I didn’t skip. No regrets here.
Two guitars, two amps, and two people is all it takes to bring the noise.
The day before they played the coveted Blue Room at Third Man Records in Nashville, the Washington, D.C.-based garage-punk duo Teen Mortgage released their debut record, Devil Ultrasonic Dream. Not a bad couple of days for a young band.
PG’s Chris Kies caught up with guitarist and vocalist James Guile at the Blue Room to find out how he builds the band’s bombastic guitar attack.
Brought to you by D’Addario.
Devilish Dunable
Guile has been known to use Telecasters and Gretsches in the past, but this time out he’s sticking with this Dunable Cyclops DE, courtesy of Gwarsenio Hall—aka Jordan Olds of metal-themed comedy talk show Two Minutes to Late Night. Guile digs the Dunable’s lightness on his shoulders, and its balance of high and low frequencies.
Storm Warning
What does Guile like about this Squier Cyclone? Simple: its color. This one is also nice and easy on the back, and Guile picked it up from Atomic Music in Beltsville, Maryland.
Crushing It
Guile also scooped this Music Man 410-HD from Atomic, which he got just for this tour for a pretty sweet deal. It runs alongside an Orange Crush Bass 100 to rumble out the low end.
James Guile’s Pedalboard
The Electro-Harmonix Micro POG and Hiwatt Filter Fuzz MkII run to the Orange, while everything else—a DigiTech Whammy, Pro Co Lil’ RAT, and Death by Audio Echo Dream 2—runs to the Music Man. A TC Helicon Mic Mechanic is on board for vocal assistance, and a TC Electronic PolyTune 3, Morley ABY, and Voodoo Labs Pedal Power 3 Plus keep the ship afloat.