Since our Executive and Legislative Branches were taken over by Arkham Asylum, it’s been difficult to get too excited about the 2017 Rock and Hall of Fame induction ceremony happening tonight at the Barclays Center. In the grand scheme of things, the Hall of Fame is not important. However, the remarkable honorees are worth celebrating, and there’s the opportunity to have Steve Howe, Trevor Rabin, Lenny Kravitz, Alex Lifeson, Mike McCready, Stone Gossard, Nile Rodgers, Jeff Lynne, and the almighty Neal Schon make up an extraordinary guitar army for the closing all-star jam.
Joan Baez’s speech ought to be quite interesting. She’s justifiably being honored for six decades of exquisite pugnacity, calling bullshit in a celestial voice. And her insubordinate spirit hasn’t faded. In a recent Rolling Stone profile, Baez talks about a 2010 White House celebration of music from the civil-rights era she had attended. When Michelle Obama requested she sing “If I Had a Hammer,” Baez, who considers this beloved folk anthem “the most annoying song,” replied, “If I had a hammer – I’d hit myself on the head. Ain’t gonna do it.” Even in a benign situation, still speaking truth to power.
At one point, Steve Perry had the hairstyle of Baez, the face of character actor Leo Rossi (River’s Edge), and the voice of Sam Cooke. Before he joined Journey, they were an overlooked powerhouse that combined the sheer guitar intensity of Cream, the adventurous jazz fusion of Return to Forever, the melodies and vocal inflections of The Beatles, and the piano balladry of Elton John. Singer/keyboardist/songwriter Greg Rolie, Neal Schon’s old Santana bandmate, crooned like a smooth ‘70s Bay Area Dracula. In 1978, Perry added soul to this unique mix, and when the more pop-oriented keyboardist/songwriter Jonathan Cain replaced Rolie in 1980, they became one of the world’s most successful groups with the following year’s Escape, subsequently providing musical accompaniment to 35 years worth of proms and bonfires. No matter who’s in the band, Schon holds it all together, performing guitar solos that sound like victory marches.
It took a very long time for Journey to get in the Hall, mainly because the critics who always despised them are on the voting committee. The only reason Journey succeeded was because of the fan vote, instituted just a few years ago. They led by such a wide margin, the Hall actually extended the voting by almost two weeks. This was an amusingly transparent move, as they were clearly hoping for some act, any act, to take over the lead. Back in the ‘80s, these detractors would refer to Journey and other hard rock bands from that era as “faceless, corporate rock.” It always struck me as absurd that a collection of relatively anonymous, interchangeable people the average person wouldn’t be able to identify, would consider musicians constantly on the radio/MTV, selling millions of records and concert tickets as “faceless.”
Another act that should’ve gotten their due during the Clinton administration is Yes. It’s appropriate that they have a song called “Wonderous Stories” and an album named Drama, as the band’s lengthy instrumental breaks aren’t extraneous, but vital parts of grand cinematic tales that ignite the imagination. The beauty and ferocity of “Heart of the Sunrise,” from 1971, with its bucolic feel (mostly from keyboardist Rick Wakeman’s haunting mellotron) and urban imagery, conjures up a nocturnal ballet in Central Park staged during an earthquake.
“Starship Trooper,” also from ’71, is an otherworldly three-part epic with swirly guitar, ghostly harmonies, and an atmosphere of introspective isolation. The last section, “Würm,” with its slow-burn menace, saves the best for last. Steve Howe leads the way, playing a watery guitar jangle, with Chris Squire’s rumbling bass like a monster gradually waking up from a deep slumber, and original keyboardist Tony Kaye’s hammond organ adding eerie midnight cathedral ambience. Howe, a Rudolf Nureyev clone who always looks like he’s poised to strike, executes a solo that manages to psychedelicize his disparate influences, such as Chet Atkins, Chuck Berry, and Wes Montgomery.
After a brief spilt, Yes reconvened in the early ‘80s without Howe, replacing him with guitarist/vocalist extraordinaire Trevor Rabin, who became their main creative force during that decade. Befitting a band often labeled “progressive,” Yes were inspired by hip-hop back when most rock’n’roll bands paid no attention to it. “Owner of a Lonely Heart”, from 1983, used a sample of the drum breakdown by Funk, Inc.’s 1971 “Kool Is Back.” Questlove has claimed that this was the first use of a sample as a breakbeat, instead of a sound effect. Not bad for a band often falsely associated with sprites and forests. It was their only song to go to number 1 on the Billboard Hot 100.
Tupac Shakur was one of the supreme storytellers in hip-hop, or any other genre, his writing the sonic equivalent of Weegee’s photography. Like an obscene amount of iconic figures in music, he died way too early. Yet even in death, Tupac still has more rock’n’roll spirit and attitude than most of the bland, contemporary acts billed as “rock.” The induction of both Tupac and Pearl Jam are reminders that the ‘90s were so long ago, it’s starting to feel like any reference to that decade should be preceded with the phrase “Once upon a time.”
Once upon a time I was a freshman in college listening to Pearl Jam’s debut Ten, which had recently come out to zero fanfare. Like the other Seattle acts, they were a different kind of rock’n’roll band, combining hard rock swagger with literary lyrical content. It helps that lead guitarist Mike McCready is a disciple of UFO’s Michael Schenker, (a musician who inspires such devotion, an old work colleague of mine constantly referred to him as “fuckin’ Schenker”) and singer/songwriter Eddie Vedder worships at the temple of Springsteen. With the swift passage of time, Pearl Jam have amassed as good a catalog as anyone in the Hall of Fame. “1/2 Full,” “Deep,” “Sleight of Hand,” “Unemployable,” “Tremor Christ,” “Go,” “Life Wasted,” and “Lightning Bolt” are just some of the endless amount of stellar songs that have soundtracked our lives. It’s impossible to imagine college, and in general, the last quarter-century without this exceptional group.
Just like it’s inconceivable to think of the ‘70s without the Electric Light Orchestra, better known as ELO. If you ever wondered what it would’ve been like if The Beatles starred in a blaxploitation film, listen to the neon power-pop/funk strut of “Evil Woman” and “Showdown.” They were somewhat similar to their peers The Bee Gees, fellow Beatles devotees who also did some of their best work with steamy, illuminated dance floors in mind. “Last Train to London,” from 1979, is one of the crown jewels of disco. Jeff Lynne’s falsetto in the chorus is so Saturday Night Fever, you can picture Barry Gibb approvingly respond with an especially ball-crushingly high “YEAH!” Even their ballads were Bee Geeesque, like “Telephone Line” and “Strange Magic.” Since the fondue heyday of ELO, their mastermind Lynne has had an impeccable career, producing some of George Harrison and Tom Petty’s best material. And now he’ll finally join his fellow Wilburys in the Hall.
In the age of Charlie’s Angels, The White Shadow, and Superman, Chic spent a lot of time in the late ‘70s with ELO in dance clubs, on the radio, and my turntable in Queens. “Dance, Dance, Dance (Yowsah, Yowsah, Yowsah),” “Le Freak,” and one of the building blocks of hip-hop, “Good Times,” helped define that period in time. Unfortunately, Chic are not in the Hall, having been nominated a record 11 times. This year though, Nile Rodgers, who along with the late bassist Bernard Edwards, were the creative team behind Chic, will be bestowed with the Award for Musical Excellence.
As a guitarist/songwriter/arranger/producer (like fellow inductee Lynne), and the sonic architect of songs we’ve all danced to from David Bowie, INXS, Diana Ross, Sister Sledge, Duran Duran, Madonna, and on and on, few people deserve this honor more than Rodgers. If you’ve had a euphoric night out in the city during the last 40 years, chances are he had something to do with it.
Rodgers success as a producer tends to overshadow his distinctive, massively influential rhythm guitar playing, a style Bernard Edwards called “chucking,” which virtually every ‘80s British pop act paid homage to. Jamie West-Oram’s funky guitar on the verses of “Stand or Fall” by The Fixx is a perfect example. “Promises, Promises” by Naked Eyes is another. Johnny Marr of The Smiths holds Rodgers in such high esteem, he named his son after him.
Overall, it should be a memorable evening. Never mind that the Hall took so long to induct Yes that Chris Squire won’t be making it to Brooklyn, as he died two years ago. Sadly, Peter Banks, the original guitarist for Yes, passed away in 2013. Despite playing on their first two albums, naming the band, and designing their first logo, the pop art “thought bubble” on the 1969 self-titled debut, the Hall didn’t think his contributions merited induction.
In spite of this cruel incompetence, to quote Tupac, “I Ain’t Mad at Cha.” Not while Arkham Asylum provides something to be angry about with each passing day. If there comes a time when the Hall inducts the Dave Matthews Band before Thin Lizzy, that’s another story.
Matt Leinwohl