Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers

The place that Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers hold within the contemporary rock scene is akin to where the Grateful Dead were back in the '80s and '90s: they aren't the best at what they do, but they're the only ones doing what they do. It's a far cry from Petty's origins when, as a brash, young singer-songwriter, he built an important bridge between punk and folk rock. But since firmly solidifying his claim to rock immortality with the obligatory audio and visual retrospectives, and Hall of Fame induction over the last few years, what's left for Petty to do? The answer is, apparently, to go back to the beginning, as his last album, Mudcrutch — a tribute to his pre-Heartbreakers combo — demonstrated. Mojo continues in that vein, a straightforward collection of bluesy, psychedelic rock that, in spite of the band's usual top-notch playing, is totally aimed to please those who view Petty as the last vestige of American classic rock's dominance, a role he has never been entirely suited to fill. The main problem with Mojo is the songwriting, as Petty's trademark subject matter — basically, small-town kids with big dreams, or just driving by himself while high — has become thoroughly predictable. If Mojo is a reflection of his current headspace, Petty really mustn't have a care in the world. I can hardly blame anyone for wanting to share that experience with him, but Mojo is yet another brilliant masquerade from a perennially overrated artist.