The 2013 Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame Induction Ceremony

I don’t need to rehash the obvious: the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame is a sham, devoid of credibility and of questionable character.

It’s one thing to bitch and complain about it on a blog, or even to publicly challenge the Hall like Eddie Trunk does at every opportunity, correctly questioning why the RRHOF continually ignores progressive and metal acts in their yearly inductions.

But it’s another thing when Quincy Motherfucking Jones publicly challenges the Hall, right on its stage and on the same night that he is being inducted.

If you’re pissed enough to completely tune out any marketing event that the Hall creates-like HBO’s 2013 Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony-then you have more will than I. In my mind, it’s worth watching, if not for the live performances then at least for the speeches, some of which are surely bound to create a stir.

Quincy Jones doesn’t create “stirs,” he initiates changes. More to the point, are we about to see a shift in the Rock Hall’s future inductions based on Mr. Jones’ very clear points about honoring the vast number of pre-rock artists that our responsible for nearly every level of what the Hall is supposed to represent.

Will we now see some of these artists lining the hallowed halls of…wait…who the fuck cares?

Which is exactly the point Jones was trying to make. Instead of being this yearly masturbatory event, what if the Hall was actually attempting to support the recognition of how vital our indigenous music is to this nation.

The words of Quincy Jones, as was his induction speech by Oprah Winfrey, was the evening’s most poignant moment-and most important. It was a challenge to Jann Wenner to raise the bar beyond the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame™ brand name, and we’ll see if he heeds the very clear Mission Statement that Mr. Jones was suggesting.

Because when you take a long look at the path that the Hall is on, there will become a point where music loses its ability to touch those that may need it the most. Quincy recalled his own moment of clarity and how that moment was a life and death decision for him. The promotion of music should be a priority for the Hall, if only for the recognition of its own self-interest.

The HBO broadcast unfortunately showed us how much our heroes and stars have aged. Jones is frail, Harry Belafonte used a cane to approach the podium to help induct Public Enemy, and even Randy Newman suggested that the rock and roll stage was filled with artists of “gray hair and width.” It would have resonated better if he hadn’t brought his friend Don Henley on stage to sing the old-and-in-the-way anthem “I’m Dead (But I Don’t Know It).”

Hell, even Jackson Browne is beginning to show signs of aging.

But I guess being “indicted” as everyone kept referring to it throughout the evening as an aging contributor is better than being inducted after you’re dead, which was the case of two performers.

Out of those two posthumous entries-Albert King and Donna Summer-only Summer seemed like a charity case, with the disco diva’s induction coming only after not making the cut when she was still alive.

As much as I appreciate her talents and material, I still have a hard time accepting members of a genre that was once viewed as the antithesis of rock and roll. Admittedly, the over-the-top hyperbole of Steve Dahl’s “Disco Demolition Night” on a warm Chicago night in July of ’79 is a bad thermometer of actual evidence, you have to appreciate that Comiskey Park was overflowing with people (during a time when the White Sox couldn’t get more than 15,000 fans on a traditional evening) who clearly felt enough hatred towards disco music to disrupt a night of America’s pastime.

But in 2013, we now admit the genre’s most successful artist into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, while only one album-Bad Girls-qualifies as anything remotely similar to rock and roll.

To Quincy Jones’ point, I’m totally cool with cats like Count Basie getting inducted over Donna Summer. At least it’s justifiable.

“Albert King is the reason that guitarists break high E strings” is how John Mayer described the legendary guitarist Albert King, who finally got his induction. While I’m not a follower of Mayer’s music, I appreciated his history lesson during the induction speech and got a kick out of Gary Clark Jr’s performance of King’s material, even though the solo dual between him and Mayer ended up becoming an exercise of what not to do, particularly after you’ve seen that video footage of King and Stevie Ray Vaughn duking it out in a friendly spar of solos.

Mayer is spot-on in his assessment, as a guitar player of extremely limited skill, I can admit to housing a few extra E strings in the guitar case for this exact reason.

I can also admit that I’ve attempted to use the “Albert King tuning” on a few attempts, thinking that it would assist in bettering my guitar abilities as a player who plays a right-handed instrument with their left hand.

It made me sound worse.

To hear Albert King’s playing is to understand how powerful the instrument can be, as it turned a big, six-foot-four, two-hundred and sixty pound giant into an emotional bundle of bent notes and heart-wrenching solos. He is missed, and now he is recognized.

The Lou Adler induction was a hoot.

The Heart induction wasn’t.

While my feelings on disco run one way, I’m totally cool with rap artists being inducted. It is a genre that is a part of the same origin as rock and roll music and it has become a critical element in youth culture, often cross-pollinating with the genre to where the walls between them are paper-thin anyway.

I can remember the moment when I heard Public Enemy’s “Sophisticated Bitch” in college, and then, not more than a year later, I heard It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back and became frightened of them.

Not frightened in a bad way, but frightened in the same way that I saw punk music in my early teenage years. Music can reflect scary things, and not just in an Alice Cooper way. They can reflect things that don’t shed a very positive light on society, and we can ultimately become better people as a result of listening to their discord.

Public Enemy’s discord served as much as a wake up call to white America as it did in channeling the anger and frustration of African Americans. To hear Chuck D’s speech was special, but for me, the most awesome moment was hearing him utter, “Elvis was a hero to most, but he never meant shit to me!” on the same platform where Presley is ground zero of the genre that is rock and roll.

The progressive rock collective was granted its second entry, thanks to the tireless support of their fans and the fact that the band has now been around so long that you can help but admit, “Rush is pretty fucking awesome.”

Dave Grohl was right when he said that “Rush has always been cool” but there were moments when their material was certainly far from it. That’s no excuse for the fact that it should not have taken the Hall this long to acknowledge their influence.

Grohl and his wife Taylor Hawkins were the perfect fit for Rush’s speech, channeling the band’s penchant for humor and self-deprecation in a completely appropriate manner.

Rush then admitted that getting into the Hall was kind of a big deal for them with Neil Peart using his talents to pen a very heartfelt speech, while providing little explanation for why his nose was a completely different color than the rest of his face.

Meanwhile, Geddy Lee also failed to acknowledge why his nose was actually bigger than the rest of his face. He did correctly (and admirably) determine that it was the fans who were probably the biggest reason the band was even on the stage that evening.

And then guitarist Alex Lifeson gave what was probably seen as the most bizarre acceptance speech in Hall history, while anyone familiar with the band understands that humor is a big part of the trio’s longevity.

 

"Blah Blah Blah"

Lifeson gave a speech without even saying a word, removing language and replacing it with “blah blah blah” while acting out the emotions of the story of their journey into the Rock Hall that evening.

The Grohl-led Rush cover band (complete with 1975 era kimonos) was hilarious and the Rush suite of “Tom Sawyer” and “Spirit of the Radio” probably accounted for the closest thing that actually resembled “rocking” during the entire evening.

Rush’s induction was probably the most anticipated part of the evening, even the all star jam at the end of the evening (complete with more Flavor Flav vamping and an obligatory Tom Morello guitar solo-the dude seems to really gunning for Rage’s first year induction) seemed tepid compared to Rush’s by-the-numbers arena bombast.

The evening ended just like most other induction ceremonies: with a very tentative jam of everyone trying to make something transcendent in an impossible situation.

Regardless, at least Rush is in the dump and at least Q gave Wenner a much needed run over the coals. Whether or not he has the moral compass to actually heed those words is another matter, but one thing is for certain: Deep Fucking Purple better be in the place next year.

Revolution Through The Speakers: Regarding The Death Of Gil Scott-Heron

Gil Scott-Heron approached death several times during his life.

It’s just a shame that the time it actually did do him in was during a period of creative growth and renewed activity.

Who’s the Godfather of Rap music?

Probably Scott-Heron.

I’m not going to get into a long-winded debate of why or why he wasn’t; I just want to tell a story that’s the antithesis of everything Gil Scott-Heron spoke about.

It’s a story about a clueless white dude moving in on black culture, which is pretty much what us crackers did with rap music anyway.

Let me back up to the night when Scott-Heron was on Saturday Night Live doing “Johannesburg.” I’m not going to suggest that I liked what I saw, but I will admit that this was the first time I’d ever heard of Gil Scott-Heron and I was a bit intrigued.

It would have been a Public Enemy album where I’d heard about him next, during one of their landmark releases where everyone tried to identify what samples they used afterwards. Those records were like encyclopedias, prompting fanatics to seek out the source material.

Gil Scott-Heron was right there on page one.

There would be no Public Enemy without Gil Scott-Heron, as I later discovered, and it’s at that point when I started to hear things like “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised” that I began to consider that his influence was much bigger than just a sample off some Public Enemy record.

From him, and from others as well, I began to formula a clear understanding of the racism that was apparent in my own family.

My grandfather was from Alabama. One of sixteen children. Every year there’s a family gathering in the stifling heat of July where everyone comes in from all parts of the country. I went once when I was about 10 years old.

On one day, we were driving around the back roads of the Alabama countryside looking for what would have been my great-grandparents’ farmstead. I was in the backseat with my granddad and a bunch of relatives that I didn’t know. As we traveled, they pointed out familiar landmarks to them. I quietly listened, overwhelmed by all of the information that I’d surely forget on the plane ride home.

As we got closer, some of the people in the car pointed out a farmhouse that was owned by someone and some point in time. At the time, however, one of the people in the car mentioned that the house was now owned by “a bunch of them niggers.”

Even that age, that word made me feel uncomfortable. We didn’t talk that way in my house. And as white bread as my hometown was, we did have a few people of color in my classroom and we didn’t talk in that manner there either.

I’m not naïve to the fact that I’m sure people encountered racism in my town more than I’d care to admit, but back then everybody got hit during dodgeball, anyone could share in the crayons, and everyone was called by their given names-not by some derogatory slur.

I wanted to go home after hearing that. I didn’t feel like being in a car full of racists that, oh, just happened to be related to me.

And I looked at my grandfather differently too.

He was no longer this southern gentleman who liked to bullshit with everyone. Instead, he became this racist southern caricature, spoiling my ideal notion of what my family history was supposed to be.

As I got older, I began to ask more questions about why my southern side of the family was raised with such disdain towards their black neighbors. There’s no answer to that, of course, but my opinion of my grandfather had changed forever. I also learned that after all the years of being married to him, my grandmother shared a lot of his skewed view of race.

I was able to figure out my grandmother’s racism a lot more than my grandfather. She talked about it. My grandfather didn’t. Come to think about it, my grandfather didn’t talk much to anyone, except the people that were on his potato chip route at work.

“Nuts to you from Guy’s!” read his delivery van.

My grandmother was a strangely neurotic stay-at-home mom who had an opinion of everything, but would seldom voice her opinion in public because she wasn’t the most social of creatures. During World War II she worked in Denver-that’s where she eventually met my grandfather at a USO dance-but it seemed that she left her independence behind the moment she married my grandfather and began having children.

Richard Pryor was my favorite comedian during the 70’s-admittedly a little too risqué for a boy of my age-and I remember telling her how funny Silver Streak was. My grandmother immediately voiced how “awful” he was and, later on when he got sick, she told me that he “deserved” his illness.

It was almost the same story with Mohammed Ali, so it was becoming obvious that my grandmother had real issues with African Americans who possessed any amount of pride and independence.

Strangely though, I do remember her liking Patti LaBelle.

She would have hated Gil Scott-Heron.

I began to take an interest in black culture, thanks to those Public Enemy records. I began to learn more about Malcolm X, Marcus Garvey, and yes, Gil Scott-Heron, in an obvious rebellion towards my father’s side of the family and their inherent racism. To this day, I still associate more towards my Swedish ancestors than my southern ones and I haven’t been to that aforementioned family reunion since 1977, despite numerous attempts at trying to get me to attend.

In Iowa City, Iowa, there’s a section in the downtown area called “The Ped(estrian) Mall” and within that is a second-floor area of start-up retail stores called “The Hall Mall.” It’s mainly stores like comics, head shops, and whatever whim a hippie with a dream has for a retail start-up.

As you may imagine, stores come and go in the Hall Mall, and I haven’t been there in years. In fact, the last time I was there was when I was in the middle of my “black culture appreciation” period.

Within the Hall Mall was a new store directly next to the hippie clothing joint. I didn’t pay attention to the hand-written store sign when I went in to browse, but I was immediately smitten with one item in particular: a long sleeve black shirt with a collage of Malcolm X.

At the time, I was completely oblivious at how utterly ridiculous this entire scene was: a white Midwestern man contemplating a shirt celebrating a black activist in a store designed for and started by African-Americans.

Ignoring the very notion of a Malcolm X t-shirt and the issues that it presents, I want to focus on the sheer audacity of my purchase. It wasn’t until later that I completely understood the ridiculousness of the event. I even added a wonderful wooden necklace with bright African colors to my purchase before asking, “Do you take credit cards?”

The wonderfully tolerant sales clerk offered to take my credit card to another hippie store to run it through their machine, an arrangement that I’m not entirely sure how they worked out between them. The clerk did indicate that the store she befriended wasn’t too thrilled with her quick thinking, but all I cared about was getting my purchase home so that I could wear my solidarity with African-American culture proudly in front of my white friends.

It wasn’t too long before I understood that my purchase was completely wrong and that I looked ridiculous wearing it. I feel the need to mention that this was before Spike Lee’s movie Malcolm X in a feeble attempt to restore some sense of legitimacy to my purchase.

There’s no excuse, obviously, but I can tell you that the shirt did manage to provide a moment of rebellion when I wore it in front of my grandmother one year during Christmas. I wanted to show them how the future generation of our family wouldn’t be stymied by silly racist beliefs and be fearful of free-thinking independents who challenge society’s norms.

I’m pretty sure that my message wasn’t received by my grandparents, which of course, makes the entire shirt purchase a continued source of embarrassment. I say “continued” because, yes, I still have that shirt. I remains in decent shape after two decades, mainly because I probably wore it less than a dozen times and it’s spent most of its existence in a storage bag next to old R.E.M. tour shirts and a t-shirt of Kramer from Seinfeld, which is pretty ironic given Michael Richard’s race-baiting “comedy” act if you think about it.

But what’s even more ironic is how this story wouldn’t have been possible without Gil Scott-Heron. If not for his groundbreaking work that help forge the building blocks of rap music, we probably wouldn’t have had a band like Public Enemy changing the public perceptions of African Americans and other aspects of black culture.

It may not have been intended for people like me-a white, Midwestern young man with no real perception of black or urban culture to begin with-but it certainly transcended race and influenced everyone.

Because the best way to curtail and end racism itself is to have a better understanding of the variety of cultures and people who inhabit this country. And without him, I may have bought into the same weak-minded beliefs that my relatives attached themselves to.

So Godspeed, Gil Scott-Heron. The revolution wasn’t necessarily televised, but it ended up being broadcasted loud and clear throughout speakers and headphones across the country.

Flavor Flav Chicken

To be honest, I had no idea before today’s announcement that Flavor Flav was teaming up for a fast food franchise that opened its first restaurant here in Iowa.

To be honest again, I have no idea why Flavor Flav would even want to start up a fast food franchise in what he himself referred to as “out here in the middle of some place.”

That “some place” is Clinton, Iowa-a dirty river town that, like other small Mississippi river town, was founded on manufacturing jobs that have since been made redundant. There are many river towns that have changed course and begun a small rebirth, but there are many others that have not, and they have been losing ground in trying to stay afloat with a crumbling work force.

Clinton is one of those towns.

Will it succeed? Probably not, I just don’t see the connection. Iowa is predominately white and there is very little evidence of a sustainable urban culture in these parts. In other words, I don’t see a lot of Public Enemy fans around these parts, or enough to seek out a chicken joint. To be fair, I understand that most of Flav’s fans nowadays are because of his reality show, and even with that notoriety, I just don’t see a lot of interest.

The few pictures that I’ve seen of the restaurant don’t appear to have any real forethought into future expansion. It looks like some local artist just drew up some amateurish caricatures of Flavor Flav and none of them look to be anything that can be mass-produced.

And is it just me, or does the connection between Flavor Flav and the restaurant seem suspect? So this is his recipe that he developed or is this just an arrangement with his likeness? I mean, sure, he claims to drop in from time to time to prep, cook, and sell the fixins’, but why am I feeling that Flav won’t feel a pinch when this weirdly devised pairing finally hits a dead end.



Full story over at the Clinton Herald.

2009 80/35 Recap

Last summer, my wife and I stumbled across the 80/35 Music Festival in Des Moines and got comped a pair of tickets at the last minute.
Free tickets?
The Flaming Lips?
You bet!
Full account of the show here.
But the biggest beef what how little we knew about the event until, literally, a week before the actually took place. Call it first year mistakes, the Des Moines event coordinators being selfish, or the inability of a Midwestern city to figure out how to adequately promote in the age of new media. Whatever the excuse, it what poorly executed event that ran the risk of ending just a quickly as it was put together.
Apparently, last year’s festival was successful enough to grab some additional money from the city and get another reprieve.
The extra money did get 80/35 some additional press-I actually ran across a few articles that focused on the event well before it happened-but it didn’t do much (for me) in terms of attracting enough bands for me to fork over the money for tickets.
And yes, the festival organizers decided to increase ticket prices this year, apparently oblivious that people are still hurting in today’s economy.
Maybe they’ll figure it out-if they manage to get a third year-as attendance was reportedly well below expectations and the figure needed to break even. And perhaps future organizers will learn to schedule their shit at different times instead of directly competing with KGGO’s Geezerfest.
Don’t laugh. I actually liked the line-up from the classic rot festival a grey hair more than this year’s 80-35.
So while I missed 80-35, James Wilson from CR/IC legends The Douglas Four recently located to Des Moines went to the festival and buzzed back what he thought of the show(s) and of the scene there in general.
Actually, we’re probably too old to refer to things like a “scene” anymore, but apparently, there’s a few fucksticks in DM that still think our capitol city is better than your place. Reality check: it’s Des Moines. A band with a misspelled rodent name who haven’t had a hit in twenty years doubled the attendance of your indiefest. And no matter how hard you try, 80-35 will never be on par with Pitchfork, Rothbury, or whoever you’d eventually like to turn into.
You know what I’d like? A festival that has the balls to have Ratt, the replacement singer of Bad Company, April Wine, Pat Travers on the same bill as Cymbals Eat Guitars, the dude from Pavement, Public Enemy, and House of Large Sizes joining Head East on stage for a medley of “Never Been Any Reason” and “Two Liter Man.”
Now there’s a line-up I’d pay $100 to see!
Here’s the skinny with Wilson’s take on the 2009 edition of 80-35, begining with a dream that I had how Japandroids were at the festival:

Glam-Racket: Japandroids were one of the bands I wanted to see this year at 80-35…
Wilson: Were Japandroids scheduled to play 80-35? They’re playing here July 20th…
Glam-Racket: Never mind…you’re right…I’m confused
Wilson: 80-35 was fun...
Glam-Racket: How big were the crowds?
Wilson: Definitely bigger on Saturday. I think Ben Harper headlining on sat was a big draw for the hippie contingent. I saw in the paper that they estimated approx 30k for attendance.
Glam-Racket: Actually, that area downtown probably couldn’t handle that many people and I think the promoters are now saying the paid attendance is more like 12,000 total for the entire event.
Wilson: I had to work until 6 on Friday so by the time I got there it was raining and I missed Tilly and The Wall, but I could hear their set from my office...so that was kind of cool. That being said, I didn't have any problem getting to the front for anyone I wanted to see.
Glam-Racket: Top 5 bands?
Wilson: Malkmus, Cymbals Eat Guitars, the House of Large Sizes reunion, the Tilly set I heard from work, and the 4 songs we heard from Margot and The Nuclear So and So's before we got annoyed by the Des Moines Social Club hipster faction and left.
Glam-Racket: Who the fuck are they and why do they think they’re important enough to kill the vibe for other paying attendees?
Wilson: The first encounter at the social club was when we stopped in to their bar for 2 dollar Grainbelts about a month ago. I had seen some advertisements about it being a non profit organization supporting local arts and music. They also boast the slogan "you are a member," so we go in and order drinks. Two bartenders working at the time must have decided that we were not cool enough for them to waste time waiting on us, so after that night we decided never to go back.
On Saturday, we’re waiting to for Margot and the Nuclear So and So's to take the stage and people are packing in pretty tight. Guess who comes up? Those same two shitty bartenders and four others pushing through the crowd to the front. They and hop the barrier for the press and stand in there like self-important pieces of shit. My wife actually asked if they were press or something? And their response was a smug "or something." That was bad enough but then once the band started playing they were flailing around drunk as fuck almost burning everyone in the front row with lit cigarettes. We got pissed and left.
So fuck them and fuck that place. Actually i wrote an email to the director of the organization and told him what went on both at the bar and at the show and told him that we didn't "want" to be members of that shitty club. He apologized and said he would chastise those responsible but I'm still gun-shy about going back.
Glam-Racket: Other than doucheness at a music festival-which is to be expected-what’s your take on the Des Moines music scene so far?
Wilson: There really hasn't been much worth seeing before 80-35. Seems like terrible emo or terrible metal...or worse a bunch of Slipknot imitators. I'm excited for Fall as it seems the Vaudeville Mews is getting some shows. Hope it gets better.
Glam-Racket: What was the biggest disappointment of the weekend?
Wilson: Probably that the weather wasn't nicer...but if it wasn't raining it would've been super hot so I guess it could be worse in the long run. Flava Flav was a no show as well so that was a bummer for my wife who was in the front row for Public Enemy. Even got on the cover of the Des Moines Register on Saturday!
Glam-Racket: Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t believe the hype!
Wilson: I was in the back when they announced that Flava was not going to show due to being in the hospital! There was just this mass exodus from the front after that announcement. I got the feeling most folks were there to see him. There was no mention of that hospital visit on any national news sites, by the way. In an interview Chuck D did that morning, he was blasting Flav for his lack of professionalism by being a no show...seemed like a cover.
Glam-Racket: Any signs of Bob Nastanovich? How close to a Pavement reunion were we?
Wilson: Bob didn't grace the stage. I was hoping for it, though. I thought I might have seen him milling around back stage during the set. Malkmus did give him a shout out in the form of "so does everyone know Bob? Figured everyone would by now." I found out Thursday night-way too late-that he was going to be at the Mewes with Poison Control Center for a kickoff party. Still kicking myself for not going to that.
Glam-Racket: What the fuck does Nastanovich do there in Des Moines?
Wilson: From what I saw on the news when they interviewed him about the Kentucky Derby. He is the odds maker at Prairie Meadows racetrack.
Glam-Racket: Got the song list for Malkmus’ set? What was the highlight?
Wilson:
Gardenia
Baby C'mon
Senator (New Song)
Jenny and The Ess Dogg
Baltimore
Out Of Reaches
Tigers (New Song)
Bill Fay (New Song)
Pencil Rot
Water And A Seat
Cribz (New Song)
Ret (Think this is new that's all that was on the set list)
The new stuff was great...reminded me of CRCR-era Pavement. I always liked “Jenny and the Ess Dogg” so it was cool to hear that one.
Glam-Racket: Loudest band?
Wilson: Cymbals Eat Guitars. Man, those guys are good with great 90's era noise guitar solos!
Thanks to our man for braving the pricks and giving us the low down on the 80-35 Festival.

Photo lifted from the 80-35 website.