"Now, Elvis, he was just...uh... gone!" says Tom Petty, bouncing on the balls of his feet a couple of hours after a triumphant two-encore set at San Francisco's Winterland Ballroom. A funny faraway gleam glazes his eyes.

"Did you ever see him do 'Reddy Teddy' on the Sullivan show?" he wonders. "Now, man, that was real gone. His hips were swivelling and his eyes were wild and cross-eyed. He just kept banging on his guitar, really wailing, and he shuffled 'cross the stage like he was on wheels. Never seen nothing like it before."

If Tom Petty had a time machine in his backyard—say the cobalt galactic wonder that transported H.G. Wells into the land of Eloi and Morlocks—he would set the dials for downtown Memphis, circa 1955, at Sun Studios where Elvis was cranking up his chromosomes for a first take of Kokomo Arnold's "Milk Cow Boogie Blues."

You can hear the resulting drama on The Sun Sessions, released last year by RCA. Elvis lurches into the tune..."Ah woke up this morning and ah looked out the door..." but abruptly halts, as if suddenly broking his Cadillac at a stop sign. "Hold it, fellas," he growls. "That don't move me." You can almost see him shyly lowering his eyes to the floor. "Let's get real...real gone for a change."

Once again the operative word here is gone. The rest is history.

Tom Petty, born in Florida and raised in a succession of sleepy Southern towns, promises to be part of this rock 'n' roll time. He idolizes Elvis, learned guitar listening to The Rolling Stones Now, and boasts that his favorite (and as of yet unreleased) album track is a 20-minute version of Slim Harpo's"Baby Scratch My Back."

His band, the irrepressible Heartbreakers, own not one but two sets of Vox Beatlemaster Amps—just, in case one load gets waylaid, as happened the night Petty won Winterland's frigid heart. Lead guitarist Mike Campbell, whose effortless accompaniment often evokes the emotjonal range and technical skills of the Yardbirds' trio of axemen, can choose from a pair of Gibson Flying V's, a see-through plexiglass Dan Armstrong model and a Rickenbacker six-string. So much for credentials.

Happily, Petty balances this refined musical taste with a burst of exotic rock talent. His deep-set eyes and chalky complexion have baffled most rock chroniclers. Descriptions have ranged from a "peroxided Keith Richard" andi a "grey-eyed offspring of a union between Speedy Keen and Mick Ronson," to an "Arthur Rackham goblin."

One critic claims Petty is a cross between "Tom Verlaine and Elliott Murphy" while another claims the resemblance lies between "Brian Jones and Iggy Pop." (Just imagine how confused these poor fellows would be if they were forced to identify a murder suspect. Yes, officer, he looked a lot like Richard Boone.. .or was that Liilian Heilman?)

Onstage at Winterland, Petty sported black velvet trousers, grey vest and a tight white shirt with a safety pin through the collar. Though not particularly articulate ("We're gonna play this song I wrote," he mumbled at one juncture. "It's about this girl ya see..."), his restrained, almost passive demeanor proved to be a perfect antidote for those of us weary of freshly-scrubbed cheerleading clones.

Petty's only bravura gesture came after "Breakdown," a spooky stutterstepper featuring naughty-little-boy stage whispers. TP casually shed his jacket, weaved up to the mike and curled his lip into a Troy Donahue pout. He was rewarded with a prompt wave of high-pitched screams from the balcony—one girl near my perch sighed, "Now I know why they call them the Heartbreakers." So much for Petty mania.

TP also racked up points for attempt - ing a modified Chuck Berry duck-walk during his encore ("Route 66" naturally —the first of a pair of second-generation Rolling Stones cover versions— "King Bee" was soon to follow). He also won this critic's heart by drooling down his chin during his bootleg signature "Dog On The Run," a tune thankfully bearing utterly no resemblance to Sweet's "Fox..."

Petty's best compositions—"Fooled Again" (which boasts the Jaggeresque coda "AND I DON'T LIKE IT"), "Strangered In The Night" and, of course, "American Girl," are winsome, often awkward teenage romances, embracing the same vulnerable punk persona that the Everly Brothers, Nils Lofgren and countless other baby faces have mined with considerable agility and elan.

An amiable and oddly erotic air of confusion drenches Petty's best-constructed tunes. Critics constantly harp on how derivative the new rock generation seems to be—but Petty enjoys a completely organic mood of deja vu, tempting us with a fragrant c whiff of melody dregged up from some | long-forgotten transistor radio rendezo vous.

TP retains this relaxed, laconic manner off-stage—preferring to reminisce about childhood idols than brief his interlocutor on his own past. Particularly satisfying memories did tumble out—he fondly recalled penning "American Girl" on the 4th of July, joked about his first band ("We had an awful cat on bass," he grinned. "Me. Anyone who had an amp and Beatles boots could join. ") and spoke in reverent tones of his "American Girl" duet with Roger McGuinn at the Bottom Line: "He did the real high parts, just like we were the, Everly Brothers."

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Petty also waxed enthusiastic about his recent trip to England, where the Heartbreakers were treated with the fervor Brits usually reserve for visiting soccer stars and democratic Presidents. "From the time we hopped off the plane, it was crazy," he said. "England's a real sweaty country. They don't forget—everybody still remembers Gene Vincent. We played 'til we literally dropped. Even when we were the opening act, there'd be a riot in 15 minutes flat."

Inspired by the Brits' refined rockoracle perspective, Petty added some new tunes to his live repertoire, most notably the Animals' "Don't Bring Me Down" and the Isley Brothers' old war horse, "Shout."

"The great thing about England," Petty said, "is that there's a band forming every day. I guess it's the economy—there ain't a fuck of a lot else to do."

Petty's favorite stop on the tour was the rough 'n tumble hamlet of Glasgow (not coincidentally Frankie Miller's hometown). "They've got a reputation for being either the best or the worst audience in the world," he said with awe. "You can lose your life if they hate you in Glasgow." Petty, we suspect, passed with flying colors.

When our conversation slowed to a halt, Petty contentedly leaned back on the couch, letting his cigarette smoke lazily waft up over his eyes. TP's time machine had obviously taken effect. Was he thinking of Elvis slapping his guitar at Sun Studios, Jagger crouched in the wings at the TAMI show, memorizing James Brown's new dance steps? Springsteen at Gobo Hall vainly trying to drag Mitch Ryder out on stage for the E Street Band's medley of Detroit Wheels hits?

Perhaps dreams of different night moves clouded TP's head, but nevertheless Petty has, to paraphrase the famous dictum, seen the rock 'n' roll past and knows that its wealth of passions and possibilities will always nurture his future. As he said of Elvis: "That guy is gone, man. Really gone." And Tom Petty, like rock 'n' roll, is here to stay. ¶§^