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If I Had a Ballot for the 2016 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Nominations

If I Had a Ballot for the 2016 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Nominations
09 Dec
2015
Not in Hall of Fame

Index



N.W.A.

Background: Sometimes the history of the Rock and Soul Era is punctuated by artists whose moment was brief but enduring, altering the course of the music irrevocably even though the artist's presence was fleeting. Bill Haley, the Sex Pistols, and Grandmaster Flash were such artists, and so was the hip-hop group N.W.A. Short for Niggaz wit Attitudes, N.W.A. wasn't the first gangsta-rap act—Schoolly D delivered the first truly graphic street-level vignettes (such as "PSK—What Does It Mean?"), although Hall of Fame recognition for him is non-existent; first is not always lasting—but N.W.A. did deliver the definitive tract for the genre, Straight Outta Compton (Ruthless/Priority/EMI, 1988), N.W.A.'s second album, which has influenced countless acts while spawning the solo careers of Dr. Dre, Eazy-E, and Ice Cube. "Straight Outta Compton" is a gripping statement of purpose while "Gangsta Gangsta" details inner-city life in ambiguous terms and the notorious "Fuck tha Police" is a landmark challenge to authority that eerily presaged the 1991 Rodney King beating in Los Angeles and the subsequent rioting following the acquittal of the four L.A. police officers charged with the beating.

And that was it for N.W.A. Its first album was a tepid exercise that could hardly predict the impact Compton would have, and its releases subsequent to that quickly became uninspired and parodic. Furthermore, internal disputes ensured that N.W.A. would not last long, with Dr. Dre and Ice Cube embarking on substantial careers while Eazy-E, who also went solo, died in 1995. By that time, gangsta rap had become the dominant hip-hop genre while exerting a fascination throughout contemporary music and pop culture in general. N.W.A. had ratcheted up the stark storytelling of Grandmaster Flash and Run-D.M.C. while echoing the bluntness of rock's hardcore underground, and it pushed the Rock and Soul Era into a graphic, profane existence. Like it or lump it, you cannot ignore it.

NWA Straight Outta Compton Cover
Is N.W.A.'s landmark album Straight Outta Compton enough to land them in the Hall of Fame?

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? Yes. With a commercially and critically successful biopic, Straight Outta Compton, hitting theaters earlier in 2015, N.W.A.'s legacy has received a heady dose of Hollywood legitimacy that might convince those voters who have seen this definitive hip-hop act on their ballots for the last three years in a row that there may be something worthwhile here after all.

Would I vote for the artist? Yes. Although N.W.A.'s legacy amounts to only one album, its impact is what matters, and the band redirected the course of hip-hop, with a corresponding ripple effect on other musical and cultural forms, as a result of it. N.W.A. is the hip-hop equivalent of the Sex Pistols, and it will be interesting to see, if it is elected, if the group regards its election as a "piss stain" as well.

The Smiths

Background: Hugely popular in Great Britain, the Smiths straddled the mainstream and the underground, the former through a shimmering, gorgeous jangle-pop approach that glided on ball bearings, and the latter through the singular, idiosyncratic, immediately distinctive voice and lyrics of lead singer Morrissey (first name Steven), whose keening, vulnerable persona and mannered air make Brian Ferry look and sound like Wilson Pickett. The Smiths' atmospheric mopery initially brooked comparisons with the romantic gloom of acts such as Depeche Mode and Spandau Ballet, although the Smiths parted company right away starting with their ordinary-sounding name—a direct repudiation of such pretentious appellations as Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark—to their shunning of synthesizers; instead, the band wedded the chiming, melodic, often multi-tracked guitars of Johnny Marr and the sturdy rhythm team of bassist Andy Rourke and drummer Mike Joyce to Morrissey's warbling, winsomely self-absorbed ruminations and rode them to post-punk glory.

Amazingly, the Smiths accomplished all this in the space of about five years in the mid-1980s, the band's output totaling four full-length studio albums and a passel of non-album singles. The first single, "Hand in Glove," memorably told us that the sun shines out of our behinds but made little initial impact; however, the follow-up "This Charming Man" struck gold while introducing the coy, teasing themes of homosexuality that helped to inform Morrissey's outlook, which came to encompass asexuality, celibacy, and the effects of child abuse among other deliberately non-commercial subjects. The Smiths' 1983 self-titled debut album for Rough Trade elaborated further with a remixed version of "Hand in Glove" while "Reel around the Fountain" was a lovely if ravaged ballad, and the elliptical, equivocal "What Difference Does It Make?" became another hit. The engaging single-only "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now" sharpened the Smiths' appeal as it became one of the band's signature songs (reference to Caligula notwithstanding); another non-album single, the compulsive, gently propulsive "How Soon Is Now?" made inroads in the United States. However, the band's second album Meat Is Murder (Rough Trade, 1985), although overtly political and bravely confrontational, seemed too strident despite—or because of—its condemnation of corporal punishment ("The Headmaster Ritual") and its support for depressives ("That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore") and vegetarianism (the title song).

The Smiths 1984
The Smiths take a sullen break before resuming a career that could land them in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

The band rebounded with The Queen Is Dead (Rough Trade, 1986), which sharpened Morrissey's mordant wit into sardonic humor—if you believe that, in "Bigmouth Strikes Again," he is pulling our leg about knowing how Joan of Arc felt—and also sharpened Marr's guitar-driven hooks into sonic candy. "Cemetery Gates" and the unabashed "Never Had No One Ever" dared you not to cherish them as bruised and vulnerable plaints, as did the ethereal "The Boy with the Thorn in His Side," while the driving, U2-like title track was an oblique, fascinating rail covering personal and social politics, and "There Is a Light That Never Goes Out" is the wryly winsome ballad that should have conquered America. It didn't, but Louder Than Bombs (Rough Trade/Sire, 1987), a compilation aimed at the US market, came fairly close with its lode of choice singles ("William, It Was Really Nothing," "Sheila Take a Bow," "Shoplifters of the World Unite"). The Smiths' final studio album, Strangeways, Here We Come (Rough Trade, 1987), tried to broaden the band's musical attack, but despite a standout or two ("Girlfriend in a Coma," "Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before") it ended the Smiths' career on a disappointing note. Morrissey went on to a substantial solo career; the other Smiths, not so much.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? No. The Hall loves British bands, but with its American bias, it all but demands that those bands have had significant success in the States—how else to explain the induction of the Dave Clark Five? Unfortunately, the Smiths' American success amounts to a strong cult following and a couple of singles (particularly "How Soon Is Now?") that somehow stumbled onto the American dance chart.

Would I vote for the artist? Yes. Not only did the Smiths encapsulate bracing 1980s attitudes with an appealing, accessible sound topped by a truly distinctive frontman in Morrissey, but those yearning, mournful emotions, spiked with an acid wit, proved to be influential on the next wave of alternative navel-gazers and social misfits, echoed in the emo movement and elsewhere. The Smiths carried the banner for latchkey kids, secondary school outcasts, the sexually confused, and the socially awkward everywhere.

The Spinners

Background: You may be forgiven for thinking, "Wait a minute—aren't the Spinners already in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?" With a career that stretches back to the early 1960s, this soul singing group has been a fixture of the classic rock and soul period, and, with lead singer Philippé Wynne and songwriter-producer Thom Bell, a hit-making machine in the 1970s, the group's heyday; thus, their inclusion in the Hall seems a foregone conclusion. Yet the Spinners may have been too polite to attract serious attention: Lacking the brooding melodrama of the Four Tops, or the lean, sharp moods of the O'Jays, or even the histrionics of Percy Sledge, the Spinners, particularly during the Wynne-Bell years, made their sentiments seem too effortless, as if they came too easily and thus eluded appreciation.

The Spinners tasted their first singles success in 1961 with the doo-wop-inflected "That's What Girls Are Made For," recorded with lead singer Bobby Smith for Harvey Fuqua's Tri-Phi Records. The group failed to chart a follow-up, but the Fuqua connection got them a spot on the Motown roster, where their 1965 single "I'll Always Love You" snuck into the lower reaches of the Top 40, but the pleasant if unexceptional plaint was easily overshadowed by the label's heavyweights (a fate similar to the Isley Brothers), and it took another five years for another hit, writer-producer Stevie Wonder's "It's a Shame," which featured the game falsetto of lead singer G.C. Cameron.

The Spinners on Stage
Just as they sang "I'll Be Around," the Spinners haven't given up waiting for their call to the Hall.

Signing to Atlantic but losing Cameron, the Spinners picked up singer Wynne and producer Bell, and under Bell's tutelage the group released the low-key, heavily arranged "How Could I Let You Get Away" in 1972. It failed to dent the Top 40, but then Bell and the group, with a pair of charismatic leads in Smith and Wynne, sharpened their approach—and the floodgates opened: the engaging "Could It Be I'm Falling in Love," "One of a Kind (Love Affair)," "Mighty Love," the funky "I'm Coming Home," "Love Don't Love Nobody," and the relaxed, swinging confidence of "I'll Be Around" were unabashed ear candy that all made the Top 20 between 1972 and 1974, culminating with their chart-topper recorded with Dionne Warwick, the swirling, incandescent "Then Came You." Even the de rigueur social commentary of "Ghetto Child" was appealing enough to chart. By the mid-1970s, Bell's formula was losing its luster—"Sadie," "Wake up Susan," "You're Throwing Good Love Away," and "Heaven on Earth (So Fine)" all missed the Top 40—although the instant charm of "Games People Play" and the hilarious funk of "The Rubberband Man" were both undisputed hits. Moreover, the Spinners' albums Spinners (Atlantic, 1973), Mighty Love (Atlantic, 1974), and Pick of the Litter (Atlantic, 1975) were substantial works in and of themselves—not merely hits-plus-filler packages.

Wynne left the Spinners in 1977, and the group parted company with Bell by 1979; the Spinners managed a pair of hits at the turn of the decade with the disco-inflected medleys "Cupid"/"I've Loved You for a Long Time" and especially "Working My Way Back to You"/"Forgive Me, Girl" before they moved onto the oldies and nostalgia circuit, their legacy already established.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? Yes. Although this could be wishful thinking on my part. The Spinners have been eligible since 1986—the same year of the first Hall of Fame elections—but never got onto a ballot until 26 years later. At least they returned last year and are back again this year, this after Bill Withers was elected last year and the Spinners were not.

Would I vote for the artist? Yes. Percy Sledge is in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame—and the Spinners are not. In case that needs elaboration, the Spinners were among the top hitmakers of the 1970s, with an irresistibly engaging ensemble sound that helped to define the period. The Spinners have been long overdue for the Hall. Hell, even Bill Withers got in last year—do Hall voters need to elect the JBs this year before they consider the Spinners? God, I hope not.

(By the way, I have nothing against Bill Withers personally or professionally although I do not consider him to be a Hall of Fame talent, as I noted last year when I examined his case.)

Yes

Background: There is no doubt that Yes epitomizes progressive rock: big ideas, even bigger musical execution of those ideas, the instrumental firepower to drive that musical execution, and, every now and then, the accessibility to appeal to listeners beyond the band's fervent fan base. And don't forget those Roger Dean album covers, evoking Narnia, The Lord of the Rings, and Heavy Metal magazine to illustrate the mythical, mystical, science-fiction thrust of Yes's best-known material. Yes was truly the band whose albums were ideal to play Dungeons and Dragons by—and given the length of the band's greatest conceits, those albums could sustain a long night's worth of abstract treasure hunting and Orc slaying.

It would take a couple of albums for the band's formula to coalesce. Late-1960s psychedelic folk informs the eponymous first album (Atlantic/WEA, 1969), which features covers of the Beatles and the Byrds, but orchestral backing on much of the second album, Time and a Word, (Atlantic, 1970) signaled the band's elaborate constructions to come in the 1970s. The Yes Album (Atlantic, 1971) featured lengthy, multipart songs drawing from Lewis Carroll ("I've Seen All Good People") and Robert Heinlein ("Starship Trooper"); this set the stage for the keynote set Fragile (Atlantic, 1971), which saw keyboardist Rick Wakeman join singer Jon Anderson, guitarist Steve Howe, bassist Chris Squire, and drummer Bill Bruford to form the most instrumentally accomplished version of Yes. Yet despite some notably accessible moments ("Long Distance Runaround," "Roundabout"), the album began to make a fetish of virtuosity at the expense of emotional connection, a trait that mushroomed on the next album, Close to the Edge (Atlantic, 1972) and prompted Bruford's departure to King Crimson—an eyebrow-raising move as Yes was now a commercial success and Crimson definitely was not; Alan White replaced Bruford.

Tales from Topographic Oceans (Atlantic, 1973), a double album with just four side-long songs, exemplified the elephantiasis that gripped the band for the next few years (Wakeman too left Yes—only to make his own overblown series of solo albums before returning to the fold), and while the later 1970s found Yes with occasional accessibility (the cheerfully chaotic "Going for the One," the wistful "Wondrous Stories"), individual divisiveness and a fading audience spelled the end of the band. Or did it? Having weathered personnel conflicts, Anderson, Squire, and White regrouped with original keyboardist Tony Kaye, guitarist Trevor Rabin, and producer Trevor Horn for the 1983 album 90125 (Atlantic, 1983), which spawned a pair of power-pop hits, "Leave It" and the chart-topping "Owner of a Lonely Heart," that really reflected the influence of Horn and Rabin more so than the "classic" Yes.

The band continued in the commercial vein with diminishing returns before affecting a transition back to its roots in the 1990s, with Howe, Wakeman, and even for a time Bruford returning. But Yes's legacy remains centered on its prominence as a progressive-rock icon of the 1970s, and that is where evaluation of its inclusion in the Hall of Fame will remain focused.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? No. Yes has made the ballot in alternate years since 2014, suggesting that as far as progressive-rock acts go, this is the horse favored to cross the finish line. On the other hand, Yes, with celebrated excess marking much of its output, makes for a suitable prog-rock straw man to illustrate how bombastic the genre had become—and thus why it does not deserve a spot in the Hall.

Would I vote for the artist? No. Yes embodies too many of the negative traits of progressive rock, which is one of the most promising genres in rock but which is also the most prone to excess in pursuit of that promise. In Yes's case, intellectual pretense and obfuscation overwhelm lyrical inquisitiveness, and instrumental indulgence overpowers musical invention.

Voting Summary

The table below summarizes the 15 nominees for 2016 by how I think the Hall voters will vote and by how I would vote were I eligible to do so.

2016 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Nominees

Nominee

Hall Vote

My Vote

Yes

No

Yes

No

The Cars



X



X

Chic

X



X



Chicago



X



X

Cheap Trick



X



X

Deep Purple

X





X

Janet Jackson

X



X



The JBs



X



X

Chaka Khan



X



X

Los Lobos



X

X



Steve Miller



X



X

Nine Inch Nails

X



X



N.W.A.

X



X



The Smiths



X

X



The Spinners

X



X



Yes



X



X



6

9

7

8


Compared to Hall voters, or at least what I think Hall voters will do, I'm a bit more optimistic with my own hypothetical votes, selecting seven nominees instead of the six I think will get the nod. Of course, of the six candidates last year that Hall voters actually chose, I picked one right—and Green Day was hardly a difficult pick.

What is interesting this year is that time is truly marching on. For 2016, the "deep historical" candidate is the Spinners, whose career began in the early 1960s but who didn't hit their prime until a decade later. Chicago, Deep Purple, Steve Miller, and Yes all began later in the 1960s before they too hit their prime in the 1970s, with the JBs just a tick behind them. The Cars, Cheap Trick, Chic, and Chaka Khan got their starts in the 1970s, as did Los Lobos although unlike the other four they didn't attain recognition until the 1980s. Entering the 1980s, Janet Jackson and the Smiths found their initial fame, with Nine Inch Nails and N.W.A. getting launched at the end of the 1980s.

This ticket is still heavily weighted with acts from the classic rock and soul period, a period that began to yield to newer styles and genres by the late 1970s though of course the earlier acts continued on while some—Chaka Khan and to an extent Chicago and Yes—even adapted those styles and genres. Conversely, Los Lobos thrived in the modern period by building much of their sound on those earlier styles and genres.

With no common baseline or criteria to evaluate candidates for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, who will be elected in any given year is a crapshoot, and observers can be forgiven, if not quite excused, for thinking that the dice used to shoot those craps are loaded—many times, the selections do not feel random, done with an equal probability of selection, as much as they feel arbitrary, that there is an unseen judge or arbiter who is exercising discretion upon the final result. Granted, music carries with it intense emotional involvement, and adverse results affecting those whom we like and dislike feel as if they are not "fair"—how can the artist I like be snubbed while the artist I do not like gets inducted into the Hall of Fame?

In the past, I have written about this extensively, for instance, for the 2015 Hall of Fame ballot and for the 2014 Hall of Fame Ballot, and as the weary cynicism at the start of this article may suggest, I'm getting tired of writing about it. But to paraphrase what Winston Churchill is reputed to have said about democracy, it is the most ineffective and inefficient form of government ever devised. Except for all the others. Similarly, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame may suck, but what would suck more is not having one in the first place. It is a museum that celebrates legacy, and if you accept that the Rock and Soul Era began sometime in the mid-1950s, then that Era is entering its seventh decade and shows no sign of disappearing. Therefore, there is a lot of legacy to celebrate—and to debate and declaim and despair over too.

The Class of 2016 will not be a great class but it can be a diverse class with a broad range of genres and periods from which to choose. I've made my choices, and I've hazarded a foolish guess as to what the many voters will chose. Who are your choices for the 2016 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame? Or do you not give a fat rat's ass any more?


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Last modified on Thursday, 10 December 2015 17:52

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