IF I HAD A BALLOT FOR THE 2014 ROCK AND ROLL HALL OF FAME NOMINATIONS

Kiss

Background: Showmanship had always been part of the Rock and Soul Era, from James Brown's dramatics and Motown's choreography to the Stooges' chaotic assaults and Alice Cooper's Grand Guignol theatricality, the direct antecedent to Kiss's singular brand of stagecraft. But this hard-rock outfit took it a few platform-heeled steps further, incorporating its premise into its very persona while upping the onstage ante to nearly parodic excess. In many respects, some of those crucial, the music was secondary to the image, but as a reflection of rock music's evolution—substitute "development" if you are critical of the band—in the 1970s, Kiss is an integral part of that landscape.

The band's first few albums established its initial musical template: unadorned hard rock with unremarkable lyrics, performed with uneven instrumental prowess. Rhythm guitarist Paul Stanley and bassist Gene Simmons were competent singers but nothing more; drummer Peter Criss needed a beat injection; but Simmons and lead guitarist Ace Frehley got off some listenable lines now and then. Early songs like "Deuce," "Strutter," "Black Diamond" (later covered by the Replacements), and "Hotter Than Hell" came across more effectively on stage, and 1975's Alive!, the band's first live album, encapsulates Kiss's early charisma, particularly on the revamped anthem "Rock and Roll All Nite." What you don't get with the album, of course, is the stage spectacle—the lights, explosions, smoke, levitating drum kit, and the band's Kabuki-from-hell make-up and costumes.

Producer Bob Ezrin, who had worked with Alice Cooper, brought in firepower to bolster 1976's Destroyer, which, apart from a decent rocker like "Detroit Rock City," also supplied the power balled "Beth," a new dimension for the band. That growth continued subsequently with the swaggering "Calling Dr. Love" and another ballad, "Hard Luck Woman," which sounded as if Kiss had been listening to early Rod Stewart, while "Christine Sixteen" displayed more Brit-rock influence, although "Love Gun" sounded uninspired and a gender-reversed cover of the Crystals' "Then She Kissed Me" simply smelled of desperation. That was nothing compared to the disco inspiration of "I Was Made for Lovin' You," which, following the release of a solo album by each of the four members, signaled a loss of focus and flagging audience interest. (However, considering that Kiss's record label was Casablanca, which featured Donna Summer and the Village People, the disco angle shouldn't be too much of a shock.)

By the early 1980s, Kiss took off its make-up and masqueraded as a commercial heavy metal band with echoes of its earlier wolf-whistle mentality ("Lick It Up," "Let's Put the 'X' in Sex"). In some senses a sharper band (superior drummer Eric Carr had replaced Criss), Kiss nevertheless had lost its shtick and was one of a string of glam-metal acts shilling for attention. No surprise that it returned to the make-up although it could still pull a trick or two ("Psycho Circus") from its bag. Still, Kiss remains an indelible image of 1970s rock.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? No. Kiss's gloriously garish theatrical presentation combined with an unrevolutionary hard-rock kick is the kind of crass commercialism that Hall voters will find unacceptable, a case of an act not meeting the standard of "musical excellence" the Hall holds in such high regard (even if it does not explain just what that "musical excellence" is).

Would I vote for the artist? Yes. However, in listening to those old tracks again, I was reminded of how unashamedly artless Kiss really was. For instance, "Hotter Than Hell" and even the later "Love Gun" are basic, almost crude, rock songs—which is saying a lot given the wide variance in quality over the decades—and even the fan favorite "Beth" is still a superficial sentiment. Still, it's the legacy Defining Factor that carries the decision here—Kiss is an essential component of the 1970s musical landscape that had a huge influence on subsequent rockers. Like it or not, Kiss is part of the story of the Rock and Soul Era and deserves its spot in Cleveland.

LL Cool J

Background: As one of several rappers who have gone into acting, LL Cool J (James Todd Smith) falls into the middle of a continuum with the Fresh Prince (Will Smith) and Marky Mark (Mark Wahlberg) at one end and Queen Latifah (Dana Owens), Ice-T (Tracy Marrow), and Ice Cube (O'Shea Jackson) at the other. In other words, his hip-hop career hasn't been as groundbreaking as the latter three, but neither is it merely a stepping stone to greater celebrity as the former two. Furthermore, LL's hip-hop success helped to bring the form into the mainstream, making him a significant, if not commanding, talent.

LL Cool J emerged in mid-1980s New York with a spare sound, underpinned by his DJ Cut Creator, inspired by rap pioneers Run-DMC—and, claimed another pioneering rapper, Kool Moe Dee, by him, but without any acknowledgement or attribution. This led to the famous feud between the two, expressed in the media and on various records (for instance, Kool's "How Ya Like Me Now?" and LL's "Jack the Ripper"), resolved more or less by LL Cool J's much greater commercial success (although Kool Moe Dee's supporters maintain that he is more incisive lyricist). LL's early high points were dexterous vignettes of urban lifestyle and adventures ("I Can't Live without My Radio," "Rock the Bells," "I'm Bad") that could be repetitive ("I Need a Beat") but that established his smooth confidence and easy flow.

And while he was no stranger to romantic and sexual boasts—LL Cool J does stand for "Ladies Love Cool James," after all—exemplified by the grooving "Jingling Baby" and the hilarious "Big Ole Butt," LL did help to introduce a love-ballad strategy to hip-hop with "I Need Love" and "Around the Way Girl." LL also explored record-making possibilities with "Goin' Back to Cali" (with a sample from be-bop trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie, no less), which became the highlight of the soundtrack to the rich-white-trash film Less Than Zero and gave him crossover appeal. His best album, 1990's Mama Said Knock You Out, found LL countering the challenge of gangsta rap with hard-hitting tracks ("Cheesy Rat Blues," the title track), attitude ("The Boomin' System"), and carnality ("Mr. Good Bar"), although he kept his seduction-ballad approach with "Around the Way Girl."

As the 1990s progressed, LL Cool J's acting career became prominent, and although he kept recording, it did not seem to be his focus: 14 Shots to the Dome cribbed from West Coast gangsta with unconvincing results, prompting a return to the ladies-love rapping of Mr. Smith including the steamy "Doin' It" and the inevitable duet with Boyz II Men, "Hey Lover." More duets followed, such as "All I Have" with Jennifer Lopez, by which time LL Cool J was a celebrity more so than simply a hip-hop artist. By this time, though, he had already helped to bring hip-hop into the mainstream, which is the culmination of his legacy.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? Yes. With a sufficient combination of talent, attitude, and success, LL Cool J represents the crossover appeal of hip-hop into the framework of the Rock and Soul Era that Hall voters will see as significant enough for enshrinement.

Would I vote for the artist? Yes. Based on the quality of his recorded output, LL Cool J is a borderline candidate—some outstanding examples of the form without making a definitive artistic statement—but his other Defining Factors, popularity and crossover appeal, make him an important component of the music.

The Meters

Background: Think of them as Cajun cousins of Booker T. and the MGs: The Meters concocted a bare-bones bayou blend of funk and R&B that served both as the backing for artists from Dr. John to Labelle and, like the MGs, as announcements for their own artistry; the Meters scored instrumental hits with "Cissy Strut" and "Sophisticated Cissy." Keyboardist Art Neville and guitarist Leo Nocentelli spearheaded the Meters' sound, anchored by the loose-limbed rhythm section of bassist George Porter, Jr., and drummer Zig Modeliste (Art's brother Cyril later joined as percussionist); together, they crafted compact instrumental exercises such as "Look-Ka Py Py," "Pungee," and "Live Wire," which bore a strong MGs influence.

From their New Orleans beginnings in the late 1960s, the Meters continued to cut records through the mid-1970s. They added vocal numbers to their repertoire, including "Cabbage Alley," "Hey Pocky A-Way," the percolating "Fire on the Bayou," and "Jungle Man," which suggested where Little Feat got its laid-back groove and attitude from. In fact, listening to the Meters is almost like playing Name That Tune, or at least Name That Artist, because the accents and arrangements are so familiar from the various acts the band has backed. It's no surprise that the Meters have been an influence on 1970s funk and on 1980s hip-hop, although the band struggled to break through commercially during its initial stretch, leading to shameless 1970s pandering such as "Disco Is the Thing Today."

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? No. At least voters won't elect the Meters as performers, although the Hall might consider them to be prime candidates for the Award for Musical Excellence (formerly the Sidemen category). A couple of modest instrumental hits and a strong professional reputation won't be enough to convince voters.

Would I vote for the artist? No. The Meters certainly pioneered a blend of funk that proved to be influential—the problem is that no one outside of industry professionals and knowledgeable fans knew about it. Maybe Booker T. and the MGs had better press, but at least they got recognized while the Meters never supplied that one moment of genuine glory.

Nirvana

Background: There have been few schisms in the development of rock music, moments when the course of the music—and indeed the culture—became irrevocably changed. Nirvana provided one of those in 1991. With one album, Nevermind, and its biggest single, "Smells Like Teen Spirit," Nirvana single-handedly brought the 1980s hardcore underground into suburban living rooms and minivans—and kept it there. And although Nirvana's heyday proved to be short-lived, closer to the schism produced by the Sex Pistols rather than those produced by the Beatles and Elvis Presley, it has so far been the last schism rock music has seen—and given the continuing diffusion of the music, it may remain so.

Like the Sex Pistols and their genre, punk, Nirvana might not have been the first or most original grunge act—detractors claim that the band's sound and approach is too derivative of the Pixies—but it did what the Sex Pistols did: Nirvana captured its zeitgeist, the spirit of its age, and forced that age to adapt to its message. That might not have been apparent from the band's first album, Bleach, and its hard buzz of metallic punk although "Blew" and "Negative Creep" contained the seeds of singer, guitarist, and songwriter Kurt Cobain's insightful alienation. With drummer Dave Grohl now aboard, those seeds reached full-flower on Nevermind, Nirvana's first major-label release, which slammed out roaring riffs with a driving beat but, more crucially, with melodic hooks in songs like "In Bloom," "Come As You Are," the combustible "Breed," and of course "Smells Like Teen Spirit," which became not just a slacker anthem but one for all of Generation X. Sweetening the propulsive pot were Cobain's inchoate lyrics, shards of largely disjointed but often perceptive observation that became Rorschach blots for listeners of all stripes.

Nevermind's runaway success must have prompted a reappraisal by Cobain and the band for the follow-up In Utero, which lacked its predecessor's momentum—and many of its pop hooks—but which was more adventurous lyrically and musically. The band's new-found fame gets a veiled, sarcastic rebuttal in "Serve the Servants" and especially in "Rape Me," almost a parody of "Smells Like Teen Spirit," while the hard edge of "Radio Friendly Unit Shifter" ironically sanded off the gloss while informing "Scentless Apprentice" and the fine "Heart-Shaped Box," which indicated the care Cobain was now taking with his lyrics. Indeed, both "All Apologies," a hit ballad, and "Pennyroyal Tea," which name-checked Leonard Cohen, suggested Cobain's ambition to be a singer-songwriter. That became apparent with the band's appearance on MTV's Unplugged, released as a hit live album, which revealed Cobain's fondness for the Beatles ("About a Girl"), but, in the band's continuing diffidence to its success, it played a number of cover songs (ranging from David Bowie to Lead Belly) while giving a spotlight to alternative icons the Meat Puppets ("Lake of Fire").

Then in 1994 Kurt Cobain committed suicide (although conspiracy theories exist to claim that he had been murdered), and that was it for Nirvana. Posthumous albums dug up the inevitable unreleased material, but Nirvana's actual released output, although small, made a huge impact. In fact, that impact is the last great schism in rock history.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? Yes. This might be the last unequivocal selection for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame for some time to come. In the last 25 years, no rock band not yet inducted into the Hall has had as big an impact and influence, and has left as big a legacy, than has Nirvana.

Would I vote for the artist? Yes. Given the diffuse environment of the Rock and Soul Era in the last quarter-century, Nirvana ranks highly in all the Defining Factors.