I bitch plenty about the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but probably because it means something to me.
It was easier to do when The Cure wasn’t in — that Robert Smith had to wait so long to be inducted was criminal in a very non-serious way — and less easy now that Joy Division/New Order will be going in this year. I still have beef with no Pixies in the Hall (Kurt Cobain admitted “Smells Like Teen Spirit” was a Pixies rip-off, and the band also influenced his quiet-loud-quiet style), and the B-52s not in is its own little tragedy. Who is like the B-52s? No one. The B’s are a one-of-one — originality should matter.
The Rock Hall was the first Hall of Fame I visited (I recently made the pilgrimage to Cooperstown, which was its own thrill), and I found it a meaningful venue filled with pieces and artifacts that define my youth. Eddie Van Halen’s red, white, and black paint-splattered guitar, the original written lyrics of London Calling, a destroyed Pete Townshend Fender Strat, one of Flavor Flav’s many clocks, Slick Rick’s eyepatch, the wall from Pink Floyd’s “The Wall.” On the second floor is a room with instruments to play, and I have a picture of my son, who was 5 at the time, shredding a red Fender. I spent 20 minutes banging away on a seven-piece drum set. I don’t have any real desire to live in Cleveland, but if through some set of circumstance I did, I would probably go to the Hall every other week.
The Rock Hall was the first Hall of Fame I visited (I recently made the pilgrimage to Cooperstown, which was its own thrill), and I found it a meaningful venue filled with pieces and artifacts that define my youth. Eddie Van Halen’s red, white, and black paint-splattered guitar, the original written lyrics of London Calling, a destroyed Pete Townshend Fender Strat, one of Flavor Flav’s many clocks, Slick Rick’s eyepatch, the wall from Pink Floyd’s “The Wall.” On the second floor is a room with instruments to play, and I have a picture of my son, who was 5 at the time, shredding a red Fender. I spent 20 minutes banging away on a seven-piece drum set. I don’t have any real desire to live in Cleveland, but if through some set of circumstance I did, I would probably go to the Hall every other week.
I worry now the Rock Hall induction has become more of a planned event than a difficult honor to achieve (baseball seems to continue to be the best example of a Hall of Fame being legitimately a difficult honor to gain, though it should add Pete Rose and Barry Bonds), as more and more bands and performers are added to the list each year. There are 18 inductees this year, too many I think, though I can’t quibble too much with the selection (Ed Sullivan? I understand, kinda, but really??) I love Oasis, but it was two albums. I like Phil Collins too, but Phil Collins? He’s already in with Genesis. His cover of “You Can’t Hurry Love” should have barrred him from contention, but we love what we love.
But the distraction of the Rock Hall is good, especially over a silly concept of who gets inducted into a made-up thing run by a now-terrible music magazine.
