The world doesn’t need another angry rant about the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Many of these diatribes are well meaning, but often short-sighted, like those who are (rightly) upset about the lack of hard rock/heavy metal acts being honored, yet express annoyance that Patti Smith would be included. It comes down to personal taste, people wanting to see bands they like get in, and others they dislike kept out. Reflection and reason usually don’t apply in these discussions, just pure thoughtless passion. Besides, there are much more important things going on in the world to be concerned about.
However, some of the choices for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Class of 2015 are so puzzling, it’s worth writing about. Or as the case often is, who was not chosen. Arguably the most egregious omission in the history of this institution is Deep Purple, having been eligible longer than Nobel Prize Winner Malala Yousafzai has been alive. In two decades, they’ve made the nomination list only a few times, and that was just in the last couple of years. For some reason they didn’t even make it that far for 2015. This despite the fact they helped shape the sound of hard rock/heavy metal, and influenced several acts already inducted.
It’s because of their ludicrous slights that some people think the Hall of Fame doesn’t mean anything, that it’s even worthless. Maybe they’re right. But over the years, as an avid viewer of the ceremonies, you can see how much it means to those being included. In 1999, when Ray Charles inducted Billy Joel, the dazed and blissful expression on Joel’s face as he accepted his award expressed every failure and achievement leading up to that moment. As if that wasn’t enough, during the annual jam at the end, Joel was playing piano, when Paul McCartney (honored that night for his solo work) surprised him by giving a shoulder rub, like a proud older brother. Two of Joel’s biggest musical heroes essentially said to him, “welcome to the club.” Pretty good for a guy who, in the early 70’s, once tried to kill himself by drinking furniture polish because, according to Joel, “the world didn’t need another failed musician.”
Rush was eligible for almost fifteen years. When they finally made it in 2013, drummer/lyricist extraordinaire Neil Peart said, “We’ve been saying for a long time –years– that this wasn’t a big deal. Turns out, it kind of is.” One wouldn’t expect Neil Peart, of all people, to get sentimental about such things. But basking in the love engulfing the Nokia Theatre from the fans hailing their conquering heroes, it must have confirmed for him that, among many other accomplishments, Rush never courted the mainstream. The mainstream eventually came to them.
That point could not have been illustrated any clearer when, as they played “Tom Sawyer,” a brilliant song that nevertheless is often thought of as a sausage party in sonic form, the camera caught a quick shot of a beautiful woman in her 20’s, dressed like she was at a fancy Upper East Side soirée, dancing to Peart’s complex, yet funky grooves. A woman, much less a complete stunner, getting down to Rush? You could actually see icicles starting to form on the horns of Satan. It brought to mind the lyrics of “2112: Grand Finale,” “We have assumed control.”
While those are the kind of moments that make the Hall worth getting invested in, the people who control it have a tendency to create controversy and ill-will even when bands get in, by deciding which members are included and which are not. This is where the Hall can really embarrass themselves. For example, AC/DC was inducted in 2003, and early bassist Mark Evans was deemed unworthy for some reason. He played on their first three albums, the 70’s classics High Voltage, Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap and Let There Be Rock, probably the best in their estimable catalog.
Even more frustrating was the omission of the late singer/writer/guitarist Bob Welch from Fleetwood Mac’s 1998 induction. For three years and five albums, Welch bridged the gap between the Peter Green years and the Buckingham/Nicks era, as the main voice and face of the band. Somehow, this wasn’t enough.
That same year Santana was also inducted. Neal Schon, a sixteen-year-old guitar prodigy when he joined Santana, didn’t make the cut. The two records he contributed to, 1971’s Santana III (one of my all-time favorites) and 1972’s Caravanserai, are not only indispensable parts of their oeuvre, but helped push Carlos Santana’s playing up a notch or two. Having a teenage sidekick who could play high-speed, wrathfully macabre wah-wah solos that conjured up the image of a cackling goblin terrorizing a Mexican village, established them as a guitar duo for the ages.
Listen to Santana’s playing before and after Schon. He was always remarkable, starting out as an acolyte of jazz and blues guys like Gabor Szabo, B.B. King and Peter Green. After Schon, Santana really seemed to find his voice, combining his early influences with more firepower. And because of Santana, Schon brought more subtlety to his playing with Journey, especially on all those ballads we know and love. (By the way, Journey is not in the Hall. Shocker.)
And perhaps the greatest singer in heavy metal history, the unparalleled Ronnie James Dio, got the cold shoulder when only the four original members of Black Sabbath were (after predictably waiting a decade) finally let in. The two albums he appeared on during his first stint with the band, 1980’s Heaven and Hell and 1981’s Mob Rules, were equal to anything from the Ozzy years. It was extraordinary how this booming, imperial, snarling, enraged, soulful voice of God came out of such a tiny, humble, gentlemanly Italian guy from upstate New York. Dio’s super lungs gave Sabbath a breath of fresh, furious air, when most thought they were done, post-Ozzy. Had the Hall even heard of him?
That’s bad enough. Then in 2012, the Red Hot Chili Peppers were inducted, and deservedly so. However, unlike some of the other groups just mentioned, the Peppers were represented by almost everyone who had been in the band. In a move that can only be filed under “shits’n’giggles,” Josh Klinghoffer was deemed worthy. He was a touring back-up guitarist for a few years, and then replaced John Frusciante when he left in 2009, contributing only to 2011’s I’m With You. Adding insult to injury, Klinghoffer became the youngest-ever living inductee at 32, just for being at the right place at the right time.
If you’re keeping score, in addition to the individuals already mentioned, Paul Rodgers, Kim Gordon, Richie Blackmore, Annie Lennox, Robert Smith, Brian Eno, Pat Benatar, Warren Zevon, Ian Curtis, and Phil Lynott, to name just a few, are not in the Hall of Fame. Josh Klinghoffer is. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, Josh Klinghoffer is in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
This is not meant as an indictment of Klinghoffer, an extremely talented musician. But it speaks to the cluelessness bordering on mean-spiritedness from the Hall if they think he contributed more to the Chili Peppers than Dio, Schon, Welch and Evans did for their respective bands.
And now with Green Day entering in April, the Hall has made one of their more puzzling decisions in their near thirty-year history. I have nothing against Green Day, a perfectly good band. In a ten-year stretch they showed an admirable amount of evolution, going from a record named after excrement (1994’s Dookie) to a concept album about early 21st century Bush America (2004’s American Idiot). The latter album was a huge commercial and critical success, eventually spawning a Broadway musical. Not bad. Getting into the Hall of Fame first time on the ballot worthy? Not really.
I’m loath to bring this up, as it may make me sound like a paranoid conservative, which I am definitely not. But you can imagine Green Day scored a lot of points releasing an album containing a negative slant on a President highly unpopular with an industry that tends to lean liberal (with the exception of Country music), including those who vote for the Hall. When former Yankee manager Joe Torre was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame this summer, he immediately said, “Might as well cut to the chase – I’m here because of the New York Yankees.” Green Day should say something similar regarding George W. Bush.
The Hall’s infatuation with Green Day seems to be a desperate stab at being hip, reminiscent of The Larry Sanders Show episode where Gary Shandling creeps up on Winona Ryder as she watches Smashmouth. Shandling is stiffly bobbing his head to the music, trying to look cool in front of her. The joke is all he’s doing is making awkward facial expressions to the sounds of Smashmouth, a band that performed the kind of music that could accompany slow-motion highlights of hacky-sack competitions.
Of all the bands out there, what exactly made Green Day so special that they had to get in the first time they were eligible? Especially when more impactful, influential and substantial bands had to wait much longer or have never been nominated in the first place? Even Buddy Guy, who took the electric guitar to levels that previously hadn’t been seen and heard before, didn’t get in until 2005.
Influence is often cited as one of the reasons for being honored, as it should. Does this mean the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame thinks that Green Day and all the poor man versions of them, those shitty, white-washed, twerpy, pseudo punk bands that appeared in their wake, have more credibility and weight than Deep Purple, Free, Johnny Winter, Big Star, Joy Division, Thin Lizzy and Mott the Hoople? The MC5 played a big part in creating punk, heavy metal and grunge, with live shows rivaling The Who for distortion, volume and energy, while adding Sun Ra avant-garde Jazz and some slick Sam & Dave dance moves for good measure. Not in. They’re all acts that actually were (what’s that phrase again?) rock’n’roll.
It’s not that Green Day is horrible in any way. They have written some very good songs, in particular, “Wake Me Up When September Ends.” A lot of this comes down to timing. There are so many acts from the 70’s and 80’s, including The Replacements (a huge inspiration for Green Day), that still have yet to receive their just due. Even bands from Green Day’s era, like Jane’s Addiction and Soundgarden, who both kickstarted 90’s alternative rock, should have been ahead of them. No one likes it when people skip lines. The Hall shouldn’t be any different.
Believe or not, this was initially going to be a short article. But in writing about the various inconsistencies of the Hall, the music fanatic gets unleashed like the Hulk. Ultimately, they’re no different than any other of this country’s major institutions these days, in that no one seems to know what the fuck they’re doing.
The truth is, when the ceremony airs next spring, I’ll visit the family and we’ll enjoy some excellent performances and a bunch of artists who, for the most part, are deserving of the honor. It’s a family tradition that’s gone on about 20 years, as long as the festivities have been televised. I’m calling right now that keeper of the Texas Blues flame, Gary Clark Jr., inducts Stevie Ray Vaughan & Double Trouble, jams with Double Trouble, and does Stevie proud by scorching the nose hairs off the usual suits sitting in front.
It’s easy to go into the default defensive position that the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame isn’t a big deal. If that’s the case, why do we music lovers spend so much time having endless debates about it?
Because turns out, it kind of is.