Now what did I
do with my invitation? Not that I had any intention
of attending (on moral grounds, mind you). The
$25,000 a table price tag had nothing to do with
it, really it didn’t. Still, all in a good
cause—or is it? Well, actually the truth
about where all this money goes is quite scandalous,
but you’ll have to wait until after the
ceremony. Outrage for dessert.
How do you get into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, anyway? A nominating committee
of 15 music historians (this, right away, makes your heart sink) sift through
ballots from 1,000 international rock experts ( I want names!). Okay, I’m
one of these so-called experts, and you know if they’re soliciting my vote,
there’s bound to be a few thousand real assholes out there, ticking
off their little boxes.
Every year the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame sends me a form to fill out listing
potential inductees (wot a ’orrible word) and they even call me to remind
me. David, it’s come to our attention that you haven’t ticked off your
boxes and returned your ballot. They care! Despite their pleas, I will never
fill the stupid thing out. What business do I have choosing between rock saints
such as these—James Brown, John Lee Hooker, Hank Williams, Otis Redding,
Carl Perkins, Eddie Cochran, Sam and Dave, Janis Joplin, Elmore James, Sly Stone,
the Temptations, little Willie John? And such giants in the earth are listed
cheek by jowl with Rod Stewart, the Bee Gees, Billy Joel, Dion, and the Eagles—bless
their poppy little hearts, but they are barely rock ’n’ roll, never
mind titans of rock.
And what does it all come down to in the end? Not a tribute to the great spirits
of rock—although they do slip in one or two, here and there, to look historical
and cool—but yet another smarmy self-congratulatory music biz bash.
Last year was typical: Billy Joel, a glorified lounge crooner, got inducted.
Someone so peripherally rock ‘n’ roll as to be barely eligible, one
would think. This year is typical. Aerosmith, that Stones clone with a Mick-Jagger
replicant as its lead singer. Are they kidding? Inductees in the Riff & Hook
Stealing Awards, maybe, but, sirs, you tarnish the very name of rock by such
supine election. (Hey, maybe I should start voting on this stuff.) And,
to add insult to injury, they have that moronic hack rapper Kid Rock calling
them "the greatest band in American history." What? They allow
these idiots to say anything they want? There oughta be a law.
Then Paul Simon and Michael Jackson. Again? They’ve already been
inducted as members of groups. Abducted, too, if you ask me, by sinister OWEs
(Other World Entities).
Okay, now we come at last to some worthies: Ritchie Valens (dead these 42 years)
of "La Bamba" fame, and the Moonglows (mostly dead, too). And the soul-stirring
Solomon Burke—yeah! Put your hands together, brothers and sisters,
and testify!
Awright! Are you ready to give the sidemen some? Let’s hear it for James
Burton, Elvis’s long-suffering guitar player! And, especially, the great
Johnnie Johnson, Chuck Berry’s piano player and the secret ingredient in
Chuck’s sound. Many of the chords Berry played were originally piano chords—and
where do you think they came from? Which is why, no doubt, Johnson is currently
suing Berry for millions of dollars in past royalties for songs he says he co-wrote.
And why, presumably, Chuck didn’t show at the ceremonies. It was great (and
appropriate) to have the sublime Keith Richards, with key chains woven into his
hair, introduce him. He identified with sidemen, said Keith, who have to "watch
this bum with a hairdo" to make sure he doesn’t make a fool of himself.
I wonder who he could have been talking about?
The evening ended on an apostolic note with Solomon Burke doing his classic "Everybody
Needs Somebody To Love"—unfortunately, the poor guy had to share the
vocals with Kid Rock. Well, at least Keith got to sing along, too.
Oh, yeah, about that scandal... Check out Bob Sarles’s rant at bsarles@aol.com.
Hair-raising stuff—don’t miss this!
One last thought. What in the hell is rock ’n’ roll doing in a museum,
anyway?
