There should be some consideration in the coming years, not to have an annual Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony; to skip a year or so. There is a need, apparently, to stage a big annual event for fundraising purposes, and now that HBO is on board, there is the pressure to make it a bigger and bigger event (even if there aren’t the names to warrant its increasing size). This year, for example, it was held in a New York arena for the first time, Barclay’s in Brooklyn.
A far cry from the chummy and often shambling jam sessions in the Waldorf Astoria ballroom, this is produced within an inch of its life — well, at least the musical portions are. The event itself April 10 ran five and a half hours, mostly because of lengthy speeches from recipients and, one imagines, set changes. But the edited broadcast version of the 2014 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony (HBO, 8 p.m.), airing tonight, is almost as long-winded as its convoluted title, running three hours and fifteen minutes.
No doubt there are some stellar musical moments, mostly coming in the third hour. But there is also the gnawing realization that the organization is done honoring anybody in the pioneer years of the 1950s or 1960s (Beatles and Stones managers Brian Epstein and Andrew Loog Oldham were honored in the nonperformer category, though there was no accompanying musical salute; Oldham, a DJ on “Little Steven’s Underground Garage,” who unlike Epstein, is very much alive and living in New York, apparently didn’t even bother showing up).
No, aside from the newly eligible Nirvana, who close out the event terrifically with some innovation, it’s all a wallow into the early ’70s mostly.
Look, Hall & Oates put out a lot of decent soul-pop on the radio, but there are about a dozen actual soul groups I’d put in the hall before considering them. And having a lot of hits shouldn’t be the criterion for entry. The Rock Hall should be the place for people who changed the game, and as good as their catalogue is, Hall & Oates didn’t. And the two songs chosen to be performed underscored their sometimes blandness by playing “You Make My Dreams” after “She’s Gone.” (As such, their induction only opens the door to Tower of Power and Average White Band next year).
Likewise, Cat Stevens was about as good in the singer-songwriter game as anybody in his era, but even Yusaf Islam seemed bemused that he was being singled out for the honor. Peter Gabriel revels in his induction; he realizes he won’t have this kind of public accolation again unless he gets an Oscar for a movie soundtrack. There is no doubt he’s probably still creating interesting new work, but like Islam, he was prevented from playing it. Instead “Washing of the Water” with Chris Martin of Coldplay and “In Your Eyes” with Youssou N’Dour.
The highlight of the Kiss induction was the band’s very argument for inclusion, more forcefully made here by Tom Morello, a fan who obviously had to defend himself as a young fan with the same argument. After his strongly stated case, you almost agree that there’s a place for the band in their influence alone. But then the bloated marketers took the stage with their self-satisfied speeches — the two struggling, kicked out originals and the two who kept it going, becoming millionaires. Asked to play as the original four, the two refused. So in a childish move, nobody played. Since when is this their decision to make? Have someone else play their two good songs. Or maybe we were better off hearing none.
They put together a formidable cast of female singers to salute the induction of Linda Ronstadt, who they treated as if she were dead. She’s not. But she didn’t appear, and because Parkinson’s says she can’t sing any more. I tend to think she probably still can, just not to her very high level of expectation. Anyway, it was a kick to hear her hits sung by Bonnie Raitt, Emmylou Harris, Stevie Nicks, Sheryl Crow and especially Carrie Underwood.
Unsung during this segment — and most of the rest of the night as he played with Paul Shaffer’s able backing group — was Waddy Wachtel, doing his original guitar licks that added so much to those recordings.
But the selections were all from a certain era; her later Mexican music was never mentioned, and most of the selections were covers — of Roy Orbison, Buddy Holly, Dee Dee Warwick and the Everly Brothers — the only connection to the 50s all night, it turned out.
All of that serves as opening act, however, to HBO’s final hour — though it’s been edited all out of order (Hall & Oates were inducted after the E Street Band on the night of the event, that’s why they complain about how long it takes for a big band to have everybody make a speech).
The E Street Band is an interesting portion, though. It’s a sly way to make a huge rocker perform — Bruce Springsteen. But it also settles the band’s internal beef when he was inducted in 1999 as a solo act without them. That’s what makes Springsteen’s own induction speech so odd, with the Boss actually being a boss — as if he were at a New Jersey car lot gala, handing out end of the year awards after a particularly strong sales year. At the same time, he’s also patching up old wounds (with Little Steven listening emotionally) and packing on the praise for a group that he entirely hired and fired on his own.
It’s completely engrossing, like gaining insight to an incredibly well-attended band meeting. And with the reverence HBO has for Bruce, they would no more cut a syllable of his speech than they would cut into a Presidential speech. But given a chance to have their own say makes the event go haywire in time; it leads to the most pointed editing of the show, with individual phrases from the various speeches cut into a freewheeling version of “Kitty’s Back,” the closer to their own solos the better. They also play “E Street Shuffle” in full — both from their second album, released in 1973.
Nirvana is the only glimmer of something new on the night, and they’re inducted, rather clumsily after Springsteen’s precision, by Michael Stipe of R.E.M., who looks like a classics professor. Dave Grohl and Krist Novoselic were good in their speeches, which were in essence a tribute to Kurt Cobain, whose death came 20 years ago this spring. Cobain’s mom accepted on his behalf and Courtney Love lifted spirits because she declined to give her prepared speech.
More than that, she wasn’t invited to be among the female rockers to step and take lead vocals on four Nirvana anthems. It was an innovative and fitting presentation for the songs, as Cobain often revealed a more feminine side to the snarling music. It’s certainly something he would have approved, especially considering how it turns out, with the still uninducted Joan Jett (who did change the game) doing “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” Kim Gordon perfect for “Aneurysm,” the consistently compelling on “Lithium” and Lorde (with the rest) with “All Apologies.”
And while the singers captured the attention, it was startling to hear the band again — Grohl with those memorable pounding fills, Novoselic’s deep melodic underpinnings and the unsung guitar playing by longtime second guitarist Pat Smear. Those are the moments that make the magic of the forced reunion moment and celebration. But you’ll have to wait a long time for it.