The Last D.J. (2002)
1. The Last D.J.
2. When Money Becomes King
3. Dreamville
4. Joe
5. When a Kid Goes Bad
6. Like a Diamond
7. Lost Children
8. Blue Sunday
9. You and Me
10.The Man Who Loves Women
11.Have Love Will Travel
12.Can't Stop the Sun
There had always been an undercurrent of rebellion in Tom Petty’s music—a quiet resistance to the machinery of the industry, a championing of the outsider without ever descending into sloganeering. But with the release of The Last DJ, the gloves finally came off. Whatever diplomatic tact had previously defined Petty’s protest was now cast aside. This is not a concept album in the formal sense, but much of its first half is so steeped in commentary on the state of the music business that it leaves little room for ambiguity. Petty had something to say—and for once, he wasn’t inclined to bury it beneath metaphor.
The opening title track sets the tone. Musically, it’s innocuous—pleasant, even—but lyrically it’s a pointed eulogy for individuality on the airwaves. Petty mourns the decline of the disc jockey as cultural tastemaker, replaced instead by corporate uniformity and sanitized playlists. It’s a theme echoed even more effectively on Money Becomes King, a melancholy narrative dressed as a cautionary fable. Through the story of “Johnny,” an emerging artist corrupted by fame and finance, Petty indicts not only the industry but the audience itself—now passive, affluent, and disengaged. Lip-syncing and wine service at a rock show? This isn’t merely satire; it’s lament.
Unfortunately, the spell falters with Joe, a half-spoken screed against corporate opportunism that lacks both melody and subtlety. It’s less a song than a spoken rebuke, and while the message may be sincere, the delivery feels blunt and unrefined. It is, without question, the record’s weakest moment, and serves as an uncomfortable reminder that righteous anger doesn’t always translate to listenable music.
Once the polemics subside, however, the album finds a more familiar and comforting register. Tracks like Dreamville and Like a Diamond restore a degree of emotional nuance, with the former standing out as one of the most criminally overlooked entries in Petty’s later catalogue. Elsewhere, When a Kid Goes Bad and Lost Children tread heavier thematic ground, but never entirely escape the gravitational pull of the album’s opening invective. Even Can’t Stop the Sun, the closing anthem of defiance and perseverance, seems less like a natural conclusion and more like a necessary counterweight to the cynicism that precedes it.
In the end, The Last DJ is likely to be remembered more for its stance than its songs—a rarity in Petty’s catalogue, where the message has traditionally followed the music. That some of the material here is among his most finely crafted makes that imbalance all the more regrettable. This is a thoughtful, occasionally brilliant record, but one occasionally drowned out by the volume of its own indignation.
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