Women That Should Be in the Rock Hall, Part 2: Pat Benatar

Sound. Vision. Both are key components in the career of Pat Benatar, the second subject of this series on women that belong in the Rock Hall.

When the scope of an artist's influence and cultural impact has become too large to quantify—and they have a truckload of hits—it's time to consider them for the Rock Hall. Yet Brooklyn-born, Long Island-raised mezzo-soprano Patricia Mae Andrezejewski remains on the outside looking in. Chalk that up to the increasingly indefensible elitism and sexism that apparently afflicts this institution, causing its Nomination Committee to repeatedly overlook and snub artists of her stature.

Eligible for induction since 2004, Benatar has been absent thus far from the Rock Hall conversation, but her presence has been felt for decades on the FM dial, concert stages, and MTV. Fierce, confident, and vocally gifted, she arrived in 1979 with "Heartbreaker," the lead track of her debut album In the Heat of the Night. It's one hell of an opening salvo (key lyric: "Don't you mess around with me") and a timeless pop-rock anthem. 

The Hall's exclusion of this nearly universally-admired performer is perplexing. Its two main criteria for induction, musical excellence and influence, abound here. If the complaint is that Benatar's heyday is relegated to the '80s, that shouldn't be a negative. As the first female artist to appear on MTV ("You Better Run" was the second-ever clip to air on the fledgling network), she paved the way for the later video success of Cyndi Lauper and Madonna, among others. She didn't write enough of her songs? The Rock Hall is teeming with artists that didn't always pen their own material, and in fact, Benatar co-wrote some of her sharpest singles, including "Treat Me Right," "Promises in the Dark," and "Fire and Ice." She won Grammys four years in a row between 1980 and 1983, underscoring the respect she earned in the music industry. And her sound evolved over time— there was the resonant choral pop of "We Belong" (a Top 10 hit) and a full embrace of synthesizers on the underrated 1985 single "Sex as a Weapon." 

We are strong: The "Love is a Battlefield" video

To further expound on Benatar's MTV contributions, her risk-taking maneuver of stepping into the shoes of a homeless teenager in the "Love is a Battlefield" video was a bonafide pop culture moment, not to mention a watershed depiction of streetwise female empowerment. Also, with its cinematic story arc and choreographed group dance sequence, it paralleled and served as a counterpoint to Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video. The "shoulder-shimmy-the-pimp-away" scene might seem a bit silly in hindsight, but don't miss the point: It was effectively Benatar taking control, and telegraphing the mission statement of her art: "We are strong." 

Pat Benatar is an icon—a rocker and balladeer that opened doors for everyone from Madonna to Katy Perry. She attained multi-platinum status, awards, and major airplay in a tough, male-dominated world, and did so with style and poise. Embraced by radio, MTV, and millions of fans—including teenage girls that dressed up like her—she's both a rock legend and a prime candidate for the Rock Hall. And in recent developments that boost her case, such contemporaries as Joan Jett and Heart have been inducted, while fellow AOR staples of her era like Cheap Trick and the Cars are finally making their way onto the ballot and beyond.

Copying: A Benatar lookalike in Fast Times at Ridgemont High

Maybe this quote from Benatar's memoir "Between a Heart and a Rock Place" says something the Rock Hall needs to hear:

“For every day since I was old enough to think, I’ve considered myself a feminist … I see women everywhere doing their thing and throwing themselves into situations headfirst, and not taking shit from anyone. It’s empowering to watch and to know that, perhaps in some way, I made the hard path they have to walk just a little bit easier.”

If nothing else, consider this: The woman that sang "Heartbreaker" and "Hit Me with Your Best Shot" is not in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Amazing.

She belongs.

Women That Should Be in the Rock Hall, Part 1: The Crystals, The Marvelettes and The Shangri-Las

Nominating a woman—what a concept, America! Now it's time to nominate more women for the Rock Hall, and also induct them.

In this series' first installment, the focus is on three '60s girl groups that, as time goes on, seem increasingly conspicuous in their absence from the Rock Hall: The Crystals, The Marvelettes, and The Shangri-Las. With harmony, romantic longing, and attitude, all three burst out of radio speakers in a turbulent decade, providing a vicarous voice and identity suggestions for teenage girls everywhere. And for better or for worse, they were overseen by svengalis such as Phil Spector, Berry Gordy, and George "Shadow" Morton. This might at least partially account for the lyrical subject matter (boys, rebels, kisses), which betrays a decidedly male projection of what young women are most concerned with (male validation, of course!). But when the songs hit the airwaves, there was no denying their cultural impact:  

"And when he walked me home that night/All the stars were shining bright/And then he kissed me..."

"Please Mister postman, look and see/Is there a letter, a letter for me..." 

"Betty, is that Jimmy's ring you're wearing?"

"Then He Kissed Me." "Please Mr. Postman." "Leader of the Pack." Just three of the songs, and all anthems so deeply woven into the musical fabric of the '60s that when one considers the fact that none of the acts that performed them have been inducted into the Rock Hall, it feels unjust. (In fairness, the Marvelettes have been nominated twice.)

A naysayer/Nomination Committee member might say these acts often didn't write their own songs, or that their success was largely due to their male benefactors. And which version of the Crystals are we talking about anyway, the "He's a Rebel" version (i.e. the Blossoms repackaged as the Crystals by Spector) or the "Then He Kissed Me" version? But put all that aside; if the discussion includes the Rock Hall's qualification of "musical excellence," one need only re-listen to these classic songs to grasp the depth of accomplishment here, and understand that these '60s girl groups are all richly deserving of induction.

In short? They all rock. Here are just a few reasons.

The Crystals 

Formed in Brooklyn in 1961, and signed to Phil Spector's Phillies Records. Their seven-year career of lush harmonies and smooth performances began with "There's No Other (Like My Baby)" and is marked by the bizarre decision by Spector (one of his many bizarre decisions) to produce and release a single sung by Darlene Love under the Crystals name ("He's a Rebel," a number one hit). The original Crystals rebounded with "Da Doo Ron Ron" and "Then He Kissed Me," two high watermarks of American rock and roll. A complicated history, to be sure, but what tremendous, buoyant, and unforgettable hit singles. "Da Doo Ron Ron" alone feels like enough to make a place for them in the Hall.

The Marvelettes

Formed in Inkster, Michigan in 1960, the Marvelettes boast Motown's first number one single, 1961's "Please Mr. Postman." The Supremes were their competition, yet Smokey Robinson was an important mentor, assisting with production and songwriting. Others involved with their musical output include Berry Gordy, Holland-Dozier-Holland, and Marvin Gaye. "Don't Mess with Bill" and "The Hunter Gets Captured by the Game" are among their other fine singles. They are the only act of the three here to actually receive previous Rock Hall nominations (in 2013 and 2015), but have yet to be inducted. Nonetheless, they've been honored by the Official Rhythm & Blues Music Hall of Fame and the Vocal Group Hall of Fame. Maybe three times nominated will be the charm.

The Shangri-Las

A Spector hovered over the Crystals, and the Shangri-Las were under a Shadow: George "Shadow" Morton, a genius producer and songwriter that orchestrated their widescreen teenage dramas. Most notable was the death-courting "Leader of the Pack" as well as the heartbreaking, seagull-accented "Remember (Walkin' in the Sand)." The Shangri-Las, in contrast to the more prim and proper girl groups of the era, cultivated a bad-girl image, complete with boots and leather pants. And the surging emotion on display in both "Leader" and "Remember" is perhaps the epitome of the teenage mindset — everything is magnified. The layered music responds in kind, featuring spoken dialogue, handclaps, and finger snaps alongside such sound effects as motorcycles revving and glass shattering like hearts. It all accompanies Mary Weiss' plaintive lead vocals, which anchor both of these remarkable tracks. As with the monumental achievement in song by the Crystals and Marvelettes, the Shangri-Las' two most popular singles (they also had the lesser hits "Give Him a Great Big Kiss" and "Out in the Streets"), played in tandem, provide one of the strongest arguments for induction that an act could have. 

The Who, The End?

The Who

Moda Center, Portland

May 17, 2016

"The sun came out today," noted Pete Townshend at the Moda Center, adding, "Life is good." It was a welcome bit of optimism from a serious rock and roll curmudgeon, a 71-year-old Brit on his umpteenth tour playing the bloody hits yet again. Townshend's words were atypical, but then again, something different was in the air at this event, as opposed to, say, that Who concert you saw back in 2004, or maybe in 1989 or the '70s. This felt like goodbye. For real this time.

While this "The Who Hits 50" extravaganza isn't billed as such, the band is definitely guilty of pioneering the "farewell tour" as it exists as a rock and roll construct. After Townshend went off the rails with substance abuse in the early '80s, the group heeded the cautionary tale of the late Keith Moon, leaving the road (if not the recording studio) after one last big jaunt, even appearing on the cover of a 1982 issue of Rolling Stone with the headline "The Who The End." Of course, many a rock act has embraced this folly, only to renege. It's become such a cliche that a certain L.A. glam-metal band, upon recently announcing a farewell tour, actually signed a contract beforehand that they wouldn't merely hit the road again when money got tight or they got bored. Hilarious.

This is the end: The Who (photo by Mary Layton)

Of course, the book of the Who was not fully written. In 1989, they returned with their "The Kids are Alright" tour to celebrate their 25th anniversary. And then, after the most protracted period of inactivity in their history, they resumed touring in 1996, and basically haven't stopped since. Diminishing returns? Depends on your perspective. Consider their 2000 tour specifically, when bassist John Entwistle was still alive. There was some truly fiery, dynamic instrumental interplay (even some jams!) and it proved that Roger Daltrey, Townshend, Entwistle and hired-gun drummer Zak Starkey (Ringo's son) could still really bring it. In 2002, Entwistle died in Las Vegas on a Thursday, and the band resumed touring the following Monday, playing the Hollywood Bowl in a defiant (some might say cold) demonstration of "the show must go on" imperative that brought bassist Pino Palladino into the fold. 

But let's jump ahead to 2016 and Portland, a continuation of the fifth Who tour since Entwistle passed. It's technically their 50th anniversary tour, but is now stretched to 52 years beyond their 1964 London formation, as this gig (and others) were postponed after Daltrey contracted viral meningitis in 2015. Originally slated for last September with opening act Joan Jett (not retained in favor of young Warrington, England group the Slydigs), the show finally took place, even if it was evident many folks opted for refunds, as dark scrims covered portions of the 300 level at the back. 

How was it? Well, perhaps it's easier to define a Who show in 2016 by what it is not, rather than what it is. In the context of "classic rock" giants that still stalk our arenas, this is not the high-energy, 35-song rock and roll revival that Bruce Springsteen can summon in his sleep on a Wednesday. This is not the mind-melting, illuminated trip through the cosmos that was David Gilmour's triumphant recent tour. This is not one of Paul McCartney's mega-impressive, tear-inducing bonanzas. No, this was a nostalgia ceremony and a valediction—Pete and Roger, slightly worse for the wear, but graciously honoring their touring commitments with sufficient fuel in the tank to remind fans why they loved this raucous, guitar-smashing band of London misfits in the first place.

Happy to be anywhere: Pete and Roger

There is clearly some unfinished business in the minds of Townshend/Daltrey (a better name for these proceedings, probably, but that imprimatur might not sell as many tickets). Capping a legacy/self-deification may be part of it. On a huge video screen behind them at one point, the side of a dramatically tall seaside cliff was emblazoned with classic, youthful images of Roger, Pete, John, and Keith, which suggested a Mount Rushmore of sorts. On this night, we got two of those guys, backed by Palladino, Starkey, guitarist Simon Townshend (Pete's brother), and curiously, three keyboardists (Loren Gold, John Corey, Frank Simes), none of whom were longtime adjunct Who member John "Rabbit" Bundrick. It was six hired guns behind two rock icons still engaging in their signature stage moves: one still windmilling and leaning energetically into his axe, the other doing microphone twirls, albeit with the tentativeness of a stiffer 72-year-old.

Nevertheless, it was a fist-pumping good time, even if the tea mug-toting Roger needed to take a whole song off to work himself into the climactic note of "Love, Reign o'er Me." And to Daltrey and Townshend's credit, they were gracious, coming off as bemused elder statesmen who are as surprised as you are that they're still touring. "I'm happy to be here," said Daltrey early on. "I'm happy to be anywhere!" Unusually conversational from the stage, Pete and Roger kicked things off with "Who Are You" and churned through a 21-song set that touched on key milestones in their tremendous songbook, from 1967's soaring "I Can See for Miles" (an apt notion from one of their earliest singles) to the trifle "Squeeze Box" to 1982's percolating, barbed wealth meditation "Eminence Front." A welcome deep cut emerged with the powerful Quadrophenia instrumental "The Rock," a terrific choice that nodded to their best album, its performance adorned by interspersed video images of global calamity and Who history. Their legacy was being put in perspective, and put to bed.

And what a legacy. At the risk of deploying a tired Who cliche, they didn't die before they got old, and so, loyal fan, they're up there playing for you one last time, and maybe for your kids that you brought along. Townshend summed it up best, dryly stating at the end of the show, "If this is your first time seeing us, tell your friends.... they've missed us!"

In the Air This Year? 2017 Rock Hall Dark Horses

A real dice roll, predicting what the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is going to do (you know, besides reliably tick people off). In any case, it's still pretty interesting to bat around some names, certain or otherwise, that might crop up as nominees each year. 

With the HBO broadcast of the 2016 induction ceremony now in reruns, why not start informally speculating on some of the dark horses that "could" surprisingly nab a nomination for the 2017 class (i.e., like Los Lobos this past year—did anyone see that coming?). These 10 acts aren't official predictions, aren't comprehensive, nor are they personal selections, necessarily. Sporadically mentioned in various quarters, it just feels like they're in the air around the Rock Hall conversation to some degree. Call them maybes. In other words, not Pearl Jam.

Black Flag - Formed in Hermosa Beach, CA, they were the pioneers of hardcore punk, blazing a screeching, take-no-prisoners trail across the U.S. They embodied the DIY ethic, self-releasing albums and touring in a van under such brutal conditions, they had to have wanted it. You want influence? It's remarkably widespread, with Nirvana, Sonic Youth, Pantera, Faith No More, Beastie Boys and Green Day just a smattering of names that owe them a huge debt.

Black Flag

Phil Collins - Deluxe reissues of his solo work hitting the marketplace, and after a bizarre retirement phase where he collected a trove of Alamo artifacts (no, really), he's suddenly active again, playing live. So functionally and logistically, it's the right time, never mind that his fellow Genesis vocalist, Peter Gabriel, was enshrined solo in 2014. Collins bore the scarlet letter of "adult contemporary" as his solo career wore on, but his earlier efforts had some inventive edge ("In the Air Tonight," of course) and Top 10 cachet. Unless the Rock Hall nominators and voters just don't care anymore-oh-OH.  

Electric Light Orchestra - Musical mastermind Jeff Lynne was behind some innovative, catchy '70s hits with ELO, and he's lauded both as a producer and as a co-founder of the Traveling Wilburys. Lynne is the type of guy that could be inducted under Lifetime Achievement, or Musical Excellence, but ELO is an iconic name that wouldn't be out of place on the 2017 nominee list.

Eurythmics - One of the great duos of late-20th century popular music, the aesthetically-savvy new wave/synthpop act lit up the charts and MTV in the '80s starting with the haunting single "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)" and many more after. Alongside her guitar-playing foil Dave Stewart, powerhouse vocalist Annie Lennox summoned an ice and fire that danced atop both chilly synth soundscapes and power chords to striking effect. They have plenty of hits and respect, so who am I to disagree?

Eurythmics

J. Geils Band - The type of classic, all-American rock and roll band that will probably get in eventually. With FM radio staples the Cars achieving nominee status, and similarly, Cheap Trick inducted, J. Geils Band's chances would seem to increase. Also, there's the "Friend of the Rock Hall" thing: loose-limbed frontman Peter Wolf is regarded by the Rock Hall brass enough to be invited twice as an induction speaker, so J. Geils Band could likely be funneled into the nominee holding pen.

Journey - In a recent interview with Den of Geek, Rock Hall CEO Joel Peresman was asked about bands he was surprised weren't in yet, and he mentioned Journey. Sure, they're massively successful overall, but in Rock Hall terms, still reside in that dark horse realm, as populist arena rock of this ilk has been given acutely short shrift by the institution (think Boston, Kansas, Foreigner, Styx). But don't...um, count out Steve Perry and company. 

Kool & the Gang - Yeah, you never need to hear "Celebration" ever again. But if you go to a wedding reception or any New Year's Eve event, rest assured, my friend, you will. Kool & the Gang have actually been at it since the '60s, when they started as a jazz unit, but broke big in the next two decades as they brought in the funk and had crossover pop/R&B success. Quentin Tarantino gave them a boost in the '90s, featuring "Jungle Boogie" in Pulp Fiction, a classic track by any standard. So there's serious career longevity here, if nothing else. And their catalog of hits is undeniable. But the Rock Hall, really, you might ask? Well, if their road manager is to be believed, they have been "in talks" per this article. Unless we're being misled.

Little Feat - The late Lowell George's versatile collective, which encompassed blues, funk, country, R&B, and more, is legendary and still touring. Additionally, they're beloved enough by fans to land at #2 on Rolling Stone's recent readers poll of who should be inducted in 2017. This unlikely high placement is a result that smacks of ballot-stuffing, but perhaps it means Little Feat is on the Rock Hall radar. 

Sonic Youth

Randy Rhoads - Per his social media posts, Tom Morello has Rhoads on his "Mt. Rushmore of Rock and Roll." Morello's on the Nomination Committee and his persuasive powers were sufficient enough to get KISS inducted, so the late, prodigiously talented Ozzy Osbourne/Quiet Riot guitarist might just shred his way into a Musical Excellence recognition slot. Crazy, but that's how it goes.

Sonic Youth - Repeatedly mentioned as prime Rock Hall candidates, Sonic Youth, those New York City-based arbiters of guitar experimentalism, punk noise, and left-field alt-rock hits ("Kool Thing," "100%") would seemingly have the credentials the Hall is looking for. They were impactful, dynamic, and resolute in their art-damaged mission until they effectively disbanded due to the marital breakup of their principals, Thurston Moore and Kim Gordon.  For the musical performance of inductee Nirvana at the induction ceremony in 2014, Gordon was brilliant singing "Aneurysm," so there is definitely some Rock Hall association.

With an Intellect and a Savior-faire: A Personal Appreciation of Prince Rogers Nelson

I remember when the purple bomb hit.

It was MTV, 1983. Prince's "1999" video flashed onto the screen. Swirling spotlights. A solitary figure standing atop a tiered stage. Then, drums. Wendy and Lisa. Synchronized swaying and side-stepping. A purple bass. Dr. Fink, a guy in medical scrubs, on keys. Guitarist Dez Dickerson rocking guitar and a white Rising Sun headband. After sliding down a pole and hopping down to normal stage level, shiny trench coat flaring like a superhero's cape, Prince bounded into my life: "The sky was all purple, there were people runnin' everywhere..."

For me, the tectonic plates of popular music immediately shifted. Spinning around, grabbing the mic like he meant business, Prince was an alien, illuminating the television as if he'd been beamed down from Parliament-Funkadelic's Mothership. Little Richard hair. Impeccable wardrobe. Mustache. Dance moves like the baddest MF ever. No, this wasn't Adam Ant, Flock of Seagulls, or Men at Work, or any other staple of that fascinating early MTV era. This was a shimmering vision in purple, a renegade of funk, a charisma case in ascension.

Prince Rogers Nelson was a man with intelligence and savvy—a musical genius and preternaturally gifted performer who knew what he wanted, and where he was going. Rock stars rarely arrive with so many goods: songwriting, producing, singing, playing every instrument. Almost nothing compares to his rise, artistry, and game-changing cultural impact. He had a lion in his pocket, and baby, it was ready 2 roar. When "1999" splashed onto MTV, Prince was five provocative albums deep, but the clip was a key breakthrough—a quantum leap.

Gliding in next on the wings of a slow synth line was "Little Red Corvette," and it was off to the races. If you've read this far (and hey, thanks), there's no need to list all that came next, the collaborations, the accomplishments across the decades. A revolutionary intent on freedom from the outset, Prince redefined the music industry and fought many a righteous battle against it. He defied societal norms, was a guitar wizard, and won some of the deepest respect a musician can have. On a near-universal level, merely saying his name elicited reverence, a sort of unspoken, "Whoa, yeah. That guy. Astonishing." I feel wildly fortunate to have witnessed it, to have lived at the same time.

Still, Prince never seemed quite real. His well-cultivated mystique supported the idea that he truly existed in another dimension. But he did walk among us. Around the turn of the millennium, I went to the NAMM (National Association of Music Merchants) trade show at the L.A. Convention Center. While perusing an exhibit, I looked up and noticed a strange trio going by. One was a woman dressed up in a traditional taxi driver's uniform, with a cap labeled "TAXI". To her right was maybe a 10-year-old child, comically wearing an identical taxi driver getup. The other person on her left, to my disbelief, was... Prince. I quickly realized the woman was a bodyguard, and the kid, well, who knows? It was a bizarre posse. Prince floated down the aisle, turned a corner, and he was gone.

Farewell, Prince. No one in the whole universe will ever compare.

Here Today: McCartney "One on One" in Portland

Paul McCartney

Moda Center, Portland

April 15, 2016

In the hierarchy of living rock and roll legends, there's a strong argument that Paul McCartney sits at the top. Ample evidence of the ex-Beatle's primacy was on full display in Portland, as he delivered a spirited, 38-song extravaganza that not only did justice to his career, but also shined a light on the dustier, sometimes eccentric corners of his catalog. 

Channeling Jimi: Sir Paul on guitar (photos by  Mary Layton)

This latest jaunt, officially titled the "One on One" tour, could just be called "Paul Things to Paul People." The setlist was wide-ranging, and the structure of the show was enhanced by a seven-song acoustic segment. Suffice to say, there was something for everyone. Hardcore Beatles fanatic? Well, boom, here's "Hard Day's Night" to open the show, not played in 51 years and never during McCartney's solo era. Fab Four scholar? Here's a reading of The Quarrymen's "In Spite of All the Danger." Dig the weird stuff? How does McCartney II's electronic-pop bleeper "Temporary Secretary" work for you? Avid Wings fan? The bouncy piano escapade "Nineteen Hundred and Eighty-Five" has you covered. You once asked on social media, "Who's Paul McCartney?" Here's the Rihanna-Kanye-McCartney wildin'-out ditty, "FourFiveSeconds." You're just here to sing along to Beatles tunes? Here's 23 of those, from "We Can Work it Out" to "Back in the U.S.S.R." to "Love Me Do." Still want more? Here are three punchy selections from Macca's admirable 2013 album New.

As with the Beatles and Wings, McCartney doesn't do all this alone; he's got a stable foundation in his versatile touring band of the past 14 years, Brian Ray (guitar, bass), Rusty Anderson (guitar), Abe Laboriel Jr. (drums), and Paul "Wix" Wickens (keyboards). They've got it all covered: harmony vocals, switching to bass so Paul can peel off Hendrixian guitar squeals at the end of "Let Me Roll It," or just banging a tambourine. Laboriel Jr. cuts perhaps the most striking figure, perched atop his drum riser as a vortex of swinging arms and drumsticks. While Sir Paul is the default focal point, these other parts of his well-oiled machine also deserve attention, whether it's Anderson tearing up a solo, or Ray strumming the spectral acoustic transition of "Band on the Run." 

Rock icons can often get a pass for just showing up. And McCartney could somewhat phone it in, but there's never any sense of that; his professionalism, respect for his audience, and spare-no-expense production value tactics are irrefutable. And at 73, with a bit of sandpaper in his voice now and again, he has to realize that time is finite. He's out there playing every city he can, whether it's a major market like Seattle, or neglected, smaller locales like Fresno and Cleveland. As gratifying and emotionally impactful as this concert was, as much as it projected vitality, there was a nagging feeling that Portland, which hadn't welcomed Sir Paul in 11 years, was witnessing something akin to a comet. The rareness of this night, you know? The sheer ephemerality of it all. Mortality is tough to bear, yet was noticeably underlined by the moments where McCartney paid tribute to two departed Georges (Harrison and Martin), and dedicated the heartfelt "Here Today" to John Lennon.

"Something" for George

To live, though, is to carry that weight, persevere, and make the most of this thing called life. As Paul sang at the conclusion of this evening, "And in the end the love you take / Is equal to the love you make." On this night, the love felt incalculable.

Setlist (spoilers ahead...)

   A Hard Day's Night
   Save Us
   Can't Buy Me Love
   Letting Go
   Temporary Secretary
   Let Me Roll It
   I've Got a Feeling
   My Valentine
   Nineteen Hundred and Eighty-Five
   Here, There and Everywhere
   Maybe I'm Amazed
     

Acoustic Set:
  We Can Work It Out

  In Spite of All the Danger
  You Won't See Me
  Love Me Do
  And I Love Her
  Blackbird
  Here Today
   
   Queenie Eye

   New
   The Fool on the Hill
   Lady Madonna
   FourFiveSeconds
   Eleanor Rigby
   Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite!
   Something
   Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da
   Band on the Run
   Back in the U.S.S.R.
   Let It Be
   Live and Let Die
   Hey Jude
    
    Encore:
    Yesterday
    Hi, Hi, Hi
    Birthday
    Golden Slumbers
    Carry That Weight
    The End

Public Image, Damaged: The Rock Hall's Public Perception Problem

As the stars converge and the hype builds for the 31st Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony in Brooklyn tonight, it's important not to lose sight of an inescapable fact: By any measure, the Rock Hall is an American institution with a tarnished public image. Sad to say, but it's lost hearts and minds. When tickets for your annual watershed gala event are going on StubHub for $12, and the simulcast of said event at the museum isn't sold out, well, those are bad omens.

There's an acute public perception problem here, and the reasons go beyond why your favorite band isn't in the hall yet; in fact, let's please put those reflexive, tiresome, moody blues to rest for now. In considering the Rock Hall gestalt, there are two entities that feed off each other. First there's the museum in Cleveland, which opened in 1995 and is an exceptionally-curated music fan pilgrimage. Secondly and most significantly, there is the organization that spearheaded the museum, The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Foundation, NYC-based and formed in 1983 by the late Ahmet Ertegun, Jann Wenner, Seymour Stein, Jon Landau, and others to recognize achievement in popular music.

That mission sounds simple enough. In fact, the early years, marked by the privately-held induction ceremonies at the Waldorf-Astoria in New York City, were a relatively non-controversial, celebratory breeze. Elvis! Chuck Berry! Bob Dylan! Aretha! The Beatles! But as decades have gone on, and as Wenner has dubiously claimed "all the no-brainers" are inducted, it seems that myriad issues have cropped up that threaten to irrevocably damage the very idea of "The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame." These issues include, but are not necessarily limited to, transparency, communication, gender equality, credibility, common sense, and conflicts of interest:

Transparency - Most people that follow the hall closely, as well as casual observers/everyday rock fans, get a sense that most major Rock Hall decisions are being made behind closed doors. This is a non-profit that is driven by donations, but the institution seems to act with impunity and zero accountability. Does anyone on the outside, let alone donors, know what's going on? Sure, financial numbers get disclosed.  But missing is the basic information that would actually matter to the populist masses the Hall is purportedly courting to buy memberships and tickets to the museum/induction ceremonies. The most corrective measure the Hall could take toward transparency would be to disclose the vote counts that decide who gets inducted. A press release is issued, and news outlets and social media are abuzz on announcement day, but it seems no one truly questions the results. (Does anyone truly believe that Steve Miller got more votes than Janet Jackson? That's not to take sides in support of either, but most fan polls outside the Rock Hall's bot-corrupted fan vote had Janet well ahead, and you'd think there would be at least some parallel).

Communication - The fact that most people believed that N.W.A. would perform at the induction ceremony tonight, only to be highly disappointed yesterday when they saw Ice Cube's interview in the New York Times saying they weren't performing due to disagreements with the organizers, is a prime example of the Rock Hall dropping the ball when it comes to communication. How long was this known? It certainly wasn't in the Hall's best interest to disclose that fact. Going broader in terms of the 2016 ceremony, why are there only five performer inductees this year? Previous years have had quite a few more. A sixth slot could have gone to a deserving artist like Yes. Again, there are no real answers from the Hall, just speculation across the board that maybe they're trying to shorten what have been admittedly long ceremonies.

Gender Equality - There's not a single female inductee this year, not even a single announced presenter tonight that is female. Furthermore, per the essential Rock Hall resource Future Rock Legends (futurerocklegends.com), "Of the 547 Rock Hall voters we have on our unofficial list, 9.3% are women." Expanding the voting body to include more women is urgent, crucial, and ridiculously overdue. 

Credibility - The Hall-run, official fan vote for the 2016 induction class was an abject disaster. Overtaken by bots and registering an inhuman 160,905,154 votes, it's exhibit A for the Hall to come up with a more secure, credible fan voting system. (And yes, Chicago fans, the point is taken that you are passionate, and that you voted a bunch. But you didn't vote 37 million times, as the official Rock Hall fan vote would have us believe.) This needs to be fixed before the next set of nominees is announced.

Common Sense - When choosing which band members to induct (or not induct at all, as in tonight's Steve Miller "sans Band" scenario), the committees apparently need to do more research, consult the bands, and use some common sense. In the case of Deep Purple, vocalist Rod Evans is being inducted, but bassist Nick Simper was excluded, which is confounding as they played on the same records and were in the band at the same time. Yet every drummer of the Red Hot Chili Peppers was inducted? Inconsistency at best.

Conflicts of Interest - The late Bert Berns is being given the Ahmet Ertegun Award for Lifetime Achievement tonight, an honor that is apparently determined not by voting but via the unilateral decision of a nomination committee. Steven Van Zandt and Paul Shaffer are producing a Broadway musical about Bert Berns, and they are both on such a committee. The red flags being raised here, justifiably so, are conflicts of interest, and the overarching sense that the Rock Hall insiders are just going to do whatever they want. Berts, a storied '60s producer, record man and songwriter, has accomplishments that have more than earned him this honor, but it's too bad his induction has this shadow of impropriety over it. 

In closing, the Sex Pistols' Johnny Rotten, upon learning of his band's induction, fired off a burning missive to the Hall in 1996, calling it a "piss stain." He added, "Your anonymous as judges but your still music industry people (sic)." Maybe Rotten's was among the first hearts and minds lost.

That doesn't mean the Rock Hall can't course-correct and win back those that still believe in a credible, well-executed, and balanced recognition of musical achievement. Fixing these issues isn't just the right thing to do; it may even secure the Rock Hall's long-term future.