A genre piece without a genre, this plays down the masquerade--Tom Petty's superstar equipment-storage problems coexist naturally with toxic golfers, blood-yellow skies, uppity wimmin, elusive wimmin, greedy wimmin, and of course beautiful wimmin. From the gal who's "got a body for business, got a head for sin" to riffs that date to when they were pups, it shows off just enough of the colloquial command of the old masters they hype themselves as. Inspirational Verse: "Lift your other foot up/Fall on your ass/Get back up/Put your teeth in a glass." B+