Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers

Lucca, United States of America. It's a night awash in stars and stripes that opens the 15th edition of the Summer Festival. On stage tonight is the unmissable return to Italy, after twenty-five years, of a rock legend, Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers, preceded by a set from one of the most promising young talents on the American singer-songwriter scene, Jonathan Wilson, who made his mark last year with "Gentle Spirit".

Defying both the heat wave and a ticket price that's less than encouraging, I finally arrive in the beautiful Tuscan town, seeking refuge in the shade of the alleyways and towers from a temperature straight out of the savannah. Figures of weathered rockers in regulation band t-shirts swarm the streets of the old town. Many are already queuing hours before the show. Have Italians finally caught on to Tom Petty? Not quite, because the astonishment at seeing Piazza Napoleone packed is quickly followed by the realization that many of those six thousand fans are foreigners - Americans above all, but also Brits and Germans. In short, for one night Lucca becomes a destination for international rock tourism. Because it's worth remembering that, while in Italy he has mysteriously remained little more than an outsider, elsewhere in the world Tom Petty has sold over sixty million records.

But there's little time for reflection, because by 8:30pm Jonathan Wilson has already picked up his guitar. Tall and lanky, with teardrop sunglasses, pendant necklaces around his neck and long, straight hair swaying over his face, the North Carolina songwriter ferries us straight back to the seventies, tipping his hat to Neil Young and all the noble forefathers of roots rock. A crowd of nostalgics like this one can only approve. And indeed the performance goes down a treat, with moments of real euphoria during the sprawling, driving rendition of "Valley Of The Silver Moon". It's good old psych-rock, unafraid to show up in its usual ragged, freak-flag clothes. There's not an ounce of innovation in it, but that's perfectly fine.

Now, though, it's time for the diligent disciples to make way for the masters.

After a good half hour of meticulous soundcheck on stage, just before 10pm the newly bearded Tom Petty and his longtime band burst into view. Of the Heartbreakers, the hard core remains: Ron Blair on bass (an original member, back in the fold after Epstein's passing in 2003), Benmont Tench on piano and keyboards, and guitarist Mike Campbell, joined by Scott Thurston on rhythm guitar and backing vocals and special guest Steve Ferrone, whom Petty introduces as "my favorite drummer". In short, the war machine as advertised, but above all a group of friends who, over 36 years, have weathered the stormy waters of show business without ever losing their values of honesty and consistency.

The opening, however, is understated: "Listen To Her Heart", the tender, Byrds-ian ballad from "You're Gonna Get It!", is a folk-rock caress that turns the clock back to that timeless 1978, "too hard for mainstream lovers and too soft for the punks", as Petty himself once described it, while the more urgent "You Wreck Me" (from "Wildflowers") reminds us that, deep down, that sound was always resistant to any trend, just as ready for use in its updated Nineties incarnation.

But it's with "I Won't Back Down" that the evening truly takes off: those Harrison-esque guitars light back up, filtered through the pop sensibility of Jeff Lynne, the deus ex machina behind the masterpiece "Full Moon Fever", and the crowd doesn't miss a single verse, trying to sing along to every word. Petty is happy, almost surprised by such a warm welcome in a country that had last seen him in 1987, supporting Bob Dylan. He sheds his pinstripe jacket and remains in a sequin-studded shirt with a black leather vest: the stage attire of an old-school rocker.

But it's tenderness that prevails once again: an intense "Here Comes My Girl", dedicated like a true gentleman to a friend on his honeymoon. The same old heartbreaking Tom, one who hasn't forgotten his fellow travelers in the Traveling Wilburys, even though some of them are gone (George Harrison, Roy Orbison), with a poignant "Handle With Care" in which Thurston plays Orbison's part, trying not to make us miss him too much.

Petty has never been a histrionic frontman, and he's certainly not about to become one at 61: in good shape, lean, with just a few more wrinkles, he moves around the stage with charisma and restraint, dispensing smiles and "thank you so much!". With that respect for the audience that belongs only to the greatest: when he announces he wants to play a track from "Mojo", his latest and most overlooked album, he senses a bit of murmuring and reassures the crowd: "It's a blues, you'll like it, you'll see". How could you not love a guy like that? And yes, we really do love "Good Enough", one of his typical heart-in-throat rock ballads, with echoes of "I Want You" by his beloved Beatles. He "apologizes" once more: "Nobody knows this one, but it's one of my favorites..." and launches into the Dylan-esque folk-rock of "Something Big" (from 1981's "Hard Promises").

Then comes the request everyone was waiting for. "You want some rock and roll?". The answer is a thunderous show of hands. And so come two choice covers: "Oh Well" by Fleetwood Mac's Peter Green, with Petty shaking the maracas with a devilish grin, and a blazing "Carol" by Chuck Berry, a reminder of who and where it all began.

The high point of the night, though, is a long, punishing "It's Good To Be King", which morphs into a Young-esque ride, with three guitars going head to head: Campbell's, Petty's, and Thurston's rhythmic support. A breathtaking tour de force in which, alongside the virtuoso Campbell - long dreadlocks and a fiery red shirt - a spectacular Ferrone takes center stage, unleashing a firestorm and practically smashing one of his cymbals to pieces.

It's a whirlwind of emotions and guitars. Some - like Gianni Sibilla - will count twenty-five of them by the end, ten to fifteen in Mike Campbell's hands alone, four different Rickenbackers, then Gibson, Gretsch, Fender... But Petty isn't just the traditionalist rocker. He's also the Mad Hatter of "Don't Come Around Here No More", with its audacious blend of instruments (synth, boxy drums, guitars, twelve-string electric sitar) and its sensational closing acceleration, with galloping bass and guitars battered by wah-wah pedals. A hallucinatory bacchanal under psychedelic blue lights, with Tom running across the stage, grinning mischievously. It's pure delirium, and you can no longer even feel the heat of that damned scorcher of a night.

The slow descent into the new emotional abyss of "Free Fallin'" serves as a breather, recalling that good American girl crazy about Elvis, who loved her mom, Jesus, America and even horses, whose heart our man regrets having broken. Pure magic, like an acoustic "Learning To Fly", almost just voice and guitar, with Tench's piano chiming in right on cue in support. Or like that timeless "Yer So Bad", still strumming out its melodic charm on the guitar strings, with the crowd enraptured, singing the refrain along in chorus.

But the crowd is thirsty for his rock anthems: the Zeppelin-esque one of "I Should Have Known It" and, above all, the unforgettable one of "Refugee" (from "Damn The Torpedoes", 1979), which still soars, impetuous, with the solemn blast of the organ backing up the guitars, and Petty's nasal singing, which, today just as over thirty years ago, reminds us that "everybody had to fight to be free", so as not to have to live like refugees. Or to run breathlessly through the lands of the dream: "Runnin' Down A Dream", another immortal riff-killer that seals the finale, complete with heartfelt farewells. "It's been wonderful to be here, I'll be back in Italy soon", Petty promises, perhaps recalling with a touch of guilt those twenty-five years of absence.

Then, the inevitable return and the most anticipated encore: "Mary Jane's Last Dance", the breathtaking ballad par excellence, with its polished guitars and its scorching harmonica solo. There's also room for a new song, played here for the first time: "Two Men Talking", an old-school slice of blues in the vein of "Mojo". But that can't be the farewell. Because there are still the killer jangles and the joyous choruses of "American Girl", still as fresh and dazzling as ever, despite its thirty-six years.

"God bless you", is the final farewell. And God bless rock'n'roll, if it still has the face and soul of Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers.

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