Tom Petty and the Heartbreak of Nostalgia
On the cost of recovering our lost youth
Welcome back to Geoff Rodkey’s Bad Advice! Today’s question, from a Florida Refugee, evokes the kind of wistful ache I still get from listening to the ’86 live version of “The Waiting”:
“Tom Petty played in Palm Beach in 2017. The LAWN tickets were $400+. I passed on them, and then he passed. Should I still feel regret? Why were the lawn tickets so expensive?”
I had an identical experience, F.R.: that same summer, I looked on Stubhub for tickets to his two shows at Forest Hills, and seats in the back row of the stadium were going for $250. So I decided not to take a flyer on what turned out to be my last chance to see Tom Petty again.
While I definitely felt regret, it probably wouldn’t have been that great a concert. In recent years, I’ve seen a handful of rock bands that I first listened to as a teenager. Sometimes, it’s life-affirming. But as often as not, it’s just kinda sad.
Yet the ticket prices can be astronomical.
Unfortunately, that’s where the supply and demand curves meet. The rock stars of our youth are a steadily diminishing resource (mostly on account of, y’know, dying) just as our generation enters a life stage where we can afford to shell out stupid amounts of money on discretionary purchases like concert tickets and garish, unflatteringly cut tour shirts that will embarrass our children if we wear them in public.
But if the experience is just meh, why does the demand remain so high?
Here’s my theory: when we go to these concerts, we’re chasing a particular feeling.
That feeling is absolutely worth $400.
In fact, it’s priceless.
But we’re looking in the wrong place for it. Because it’s not actually about the music, or the musicians.
It’s nostalgia for our lost youth.
Duh! Right?
It’s not Tom Petty we want to reconnect with. It’s our younger selves. We wind up mistakenly trying to rekindle that connection by going to concerts because auditory memory is such a powerful avenue for transporting us back in time to those precious, fleeting moments when we stood on the doorstep of adulthood, fully alive to ourselves and the universe for the first time.
If you really think about it, what was the value you would’ve expected to receive in exchange for your $400?
Was it the chance to watch a 66-year-old man on a giant outdoor video screen, singing slightly more uptempo versions of most-but-not-all-and-maybe-not-even-the-one-you-REALLY-wanted-to-hear of his hits to a crowd of sweaty, past-our-prime parents drinking seventeen-dollar beers?
Of course not. What you were looking for was a momentary communion with the seminal moments in your past for which Tom Petty’s music provided the soundtrack.
Like that night you and your friend Danny smoked a bowl of weed out by the quarry, then drove around the deserted streets of your hometown in his dad’s Chevy Nova, playing “Even the Losers” over and over off a cassette copy of Damn the Torpedoes in a boom box laid across the seat between you.
Or that time you made out with Wendy Kupferberg on the plaid couch in her basement, while listening for the sound of her dad’s footsteps on the stairs over the low murmur of the video for “Don’t Come Around Here No More” as it played on MTV.
So to answer to your question, F.R.: no. You shouldn’t feel an ounce of regret at not seeing Tom Petty one last time.
Because for four hundred bucks, I can tell you…
A MUCH better way to reconnect with your lost youth.
First, go on Facebook and figure out where Wendy Kupferberg’s living now.
Don’t worry about whether or not she’s single. And don’t try to contact her in advance. What I’m about to suggest will be much more emotionally impactful—and thus more viscerally nostalgia-inducing—if it’s a complete surprise.
Once you’ve drawn a bead on her whereabouts, get yourself a Chevy Nova, a boom box that plays cassettes, and a bag of weed.
It’s easier than you think to source the boom box. This one’s only $39.99 at Wal-Mart.
The weed will be even easier to score, as long as Wendy Kupferberg lives in one of those blue states with a dispensary on every block and permanent clouds of ganja smoke hanging like smog over all the major population centers.
(Weird thing, though: when you go to the dispensary, what you want to buy is called “flower” now, for some reason? As opposed to the most popular form of weed in 2024, which is…gummy bears? I no longer understand how the world works. But can you imagine how much less cool Dazed and Confused would’ve been if the kids in that parking lot were passing around gummies? Jesus.)
Back to your shopping list: I just did a Google search, and it turns out you’re going to have to sub for the Chevy. The few Novas that still exist are breathtakingly expensive.
But the good news is you can rent a Ford Mustang or a Dodge Charger for about a hundred bucks a day as long as there’s a Hertz location within a few hours’ drive of Wendy Kupferberg. And if the Tom Petty cassette tapes you pull out of the storage box in your basement haven’t degraded beyond use, you’re going to bring this whole project in for way under your $400 budget.
Which is great, because you might end up needing the extra money to retain an attorney.
What you’re aiming for is an imitation—actually, let’s call it an homage, because that sounds classier—to the grand romantic gesture that John Cusack made to Ione Skye at the climax of Say Anything, except with a Tom Petty song (I’d suggest either “The Best of Everything” or “The Wild One, Forever”) instead of Peter Gabriel, because you don’t want to be toooo on-the-nose.
And while I’m pretty sure this will provide both you and Wendy Kupferberg with an absolutely priceless experience of pure nostalgic recall, there’s a slight-to-moderate chance it’ll result in some kind of legal action.
One other caveat: if her Facebook page indicates she’s married or otherwise in a cohabiting relationship, don’t show up at her house. Go to her workplace instead. It’s marginally less romantic, but you won’t be as likely to get shot in her driveway by a domestic partner who mistakes you for an intruder.
Thanks for your interest in my bad advice! Please share it with others who might find it unhelpful, unless their name is Wendy Kupferberg.
(Who, for the purposes of this column, is a fictional character. She does not exist, and any resemblance to real individuals, with or without that name, is purely coincidental. Also, the couch probably wasn’t plaid.)
Great as always!
Geoff, I read this while in my classroom with kids in the room. It was a mistake because I started laughing out loud, all by myself. In front of middle-schoolers. You are too funny!