Poll Results - "Which artists are most worthy of 2018 Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction?

I did a post on this subject almost six years ago, related to the then-incoming 2012 group of Rock Hall of Fame inductees. I figured that since the latest honorees for the upcoming year will be selected imminently, now was a good time to run this poll once again.

My previous RRHOF poll was focused on groups that had up to that point never received serious consideration for induction, with the intention of "proving" how worthy these artists were of this honor, in the hopes that the selection committee would eventually see the error of its ways. But frankly, in the years that have passed, that "due consideration" for singers/bands that may have fallen through the cracks hasn't materialized. My record on this hasn't been good. Since 2012, Hall & Oates, Stevie Ray Vaughan, ELO and Yes are the only bands from my 2012 list that have subsequently been inducted. I still think that it's a crime that Los Lobos, Roxy Music and Todd Rundgren haven't so much as been considered for enshrinement... but I stand by my original assessment; in terms of quality and volume of output and related critical acclaim, these artists more than possess the bonafides to be legitimate RRHOF inductees.

For this latest poll, I figured I'd just use the announced list of artists under consideration, and let you all choose from it.  Here are the results of your selections:

8 votes: The Zombies
6 votes: The Cars, Link Wray
5 votes: Dire Straits, MC5, The Meters, Nina Simone
4 votes: Kate Bush, Depeche Mode, The J. Geils Band
3 votes: The Eurythmics, The Moody Blues, Sister Rosetta Tharpe
2 votes: Bon Jovi, Judas Priest, LL Cool J, Radiohead
1 vote: Rage Against The Machine, Rufus feat. Chaka Khan

To determine a objective 'solution' to such a highly subjective question as this, I once again turned to John Sellers' 2007 book Perfect From Now On: How Indie Rock Saved My Life. As I wrote back in 2012:

For me, the best part of the book came in the back, with a series of appendices added by the author. And in one of them, I believed that I found the solution to my problem. In this section. Sellers conducts a mock debate with himself, over the relative 'coolness' of one particular band over another. To resolve this question, he actually comes up with an obsessively detailed equation, involving many factors and variables, that measures "exactly how much your favorite band rocks". These variables include the quality of an artist's entire oeuvre, their 'image', and an "X" factor, with the music quality factor accounting for the majority (2/3rds) of the overall score.

Now, admittedly, a lot of the variables that Sellers comes up with are silly and/or tongue-in-cheek ("If the band members have costumes, -10 points, unless that band is Kiss, in which case, +75"; "Every lyric equal to or better than 'Her love’s a pony'?"). But the section regarding music quality was pretty straightforward. So, for lack of a better alternative, I decided to use this formula . . .

Once again utilizing album critiques/evaluations and band information found on the Web to fill out the equation, I came up with the following scores/rankings:

1. Depeche Mode (21,666,673,119.72)
2. The J. Geils Band (763,142,823.87)
3. Nina Simone (449,476,239.00)
4. Kate Bush (178,819.12)
5. Radiohead (178,689.19)
6. The Cars (7,543.01)
7. Link Wray (6,320.52)
8. Rufus feat. Chaka Khan (3,782.72)
9. The Zombies (3,457.49)
10. LL Cool J (3,397.41)
11. Eurythmics (3,335.00)
12. Sister Rosetta Tharpe (3,145.84)
13. The Moody Blues (3,042.90)
14. Rage Against The Machine (3,014.33)
15. Dire Straits (2,285.30)
16. Judas Priest (2,082.24)
17. MC5 (1,870.13)
18. Bon Jovi (1,561.35)
19. The Meters (1,292.95)

If you care to review it, the full scoring/evaluation spreadsheet I created is here. 

Again, from my 2012 post:

- The most important consideration driving this band quality formula, the factor that raised scores the most, is that the band/artist had to have put out a high percentage (of their overall output) of critically-acclaimed studio albums over an extended period of time. For example, Los Lobos has released a total of fourteen albums in their 36-year history; two-thirds of them are considered 'good' or better, with five ranked as 'brilliant'. On the other hand, all four of The Smiths' studio albums were acclaimed, with 3 considered 'brilliant' . . . but The Smiths were only together for four years total. In this equation, longevity counts.

So, my interpretation of the above scores is as follows:

0 - 1,999: Better luck next time
2,000 - 2,999: Meh . . . with enough sympathetic judges, you might sneak in
3,000 - 4,999: The "Milton Berle Corollary" *
5,000 - 9,999: Fully deserving of induction
10,000 and higher: Should be mortal locks for the Hall

By this (mostly) objective analysis of artist output, I predict that Depeche Mode, J. Geils, Radiohead, Kate Bush and Nine Simone are all but certain to get Hall of Fame nods this year, with The Cars and Link Wray also having an excellent chance of being selected, based upon the number of bands the committee is willing to let in all at once this year.  On the other hand, The Meters, MC5 and Bon Jovi have next to NO chance, as their output can in no way be considered RRHOF caliber.

Those are my predictions, and I'm standing by them!

* * * * * * *

(Two months later...)

* * * * * * *

Wellsir... it appears that I was somewhat 'off' in my predictions... I guess it goes without saying that "objectivity" and "subjectivity" are two different things. My analysis above was a dispassionate assessment of each artist's "worthiness" for Rock Hall induction, based upon the scope and quality of their work as determined by independent consensus.

However, here's who actually made it in this year:

Performer Category:

• Bon Jovi
• The Cars
• Dire Straits
• The Moody Blues
• Nina Simone

Award for Early Influence:

• Sister Rosetta Tharpe

[Well, I DID call Nina Simone... and I kinda called The Cars. So I guess I got one and a half (out of five)...]

Overall, I'm not completely enthused with this year's honorees; as shown above, there were many, many more bands and artists who, from a quality and longevity measure, were WAY more deserving of induction than most of this lot.  With that being said, I really don't have much to complain about here; most of these artists were at least borderline cases, according to the

formula. The only selection I really have a problem with is Bon Jovi - in my opinion, this band shouldn't even be in the same league with most of the ones being considered this year. For them to get in before Kate Bush, before Radiohead, before even J. Geils, is a travesty. Needless to say, I'm not a big fan. And I'm hard-pressed to see what sort of indelible mark Bon Jovi has made on popular music... other than a skidmark.

And so much for that.

Anyway, in honor of this year's Rock Hall inductees, I offer to you all Just What I Needed: The Cars Anthology, a career-spanning two-disc compilation of the band's hits, jointly released by Electra Records and Rhino Records on November 7th, 1995.

I'm not offering up any hard-to-find Cars bootlegs here - just a straightforward "best of" collection. Yeah, I guess you could say I didn't put much effort into this post... just as the Rock Hall of Fame selection committee seemingly failed to put any effort into this year's selections. But at least by now you know that I'll make up for this lackluster post with my subsequent offerings; we'll see if the RRHOF will do the same in years to come, start to think outside of the box and consider artists solely on their merit and not on the Hall's potential to commercially exploit them.

'Nuff said, other than enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think.

Please use the email link below to contact me, and I will reply with the download link(s) ASAP:

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* - This is reportedly a true story about comedian Milton Berle and his reputed infamously huge penis, although the version below isn't verbatim: Berle and Jackie Gleason were sitting in a steam bath in downtown Hollywood one day, when a man walks in, confronts him and says, "Uncle Miltie, I've heard too much about your legendary Hollywood schlong. I think mine's bigger. I want to compare!" The man whips off his towel and reveals a substantial, impressive member. Berle takes a long glance at it, sighs, sets his cigar down, and proceeds to unwrap his towel. Jackie Gleason quickly interrupts and says, "Miltie, show only enough to win!" (Berle later said: "It was maybe the funniest spontaneous line I ever heard").

Ween - Pure Guava

On the evening of Wednesday, June 2nd, 1993, the Naval Antarctic Support Unit (NASU), Christchurch, New Zealand, held one of its periodic Hail and Farewell ceremonies after working hours at the Southern Lights Bar, located on the edge of U.S. Navy property close by Christchurch International Airport. The event on this particular evening marked the departure of the current base Supply Officer, Nan, and the arrival of the new SUPPO - me, a fresh-faced lieutenant, recently arrived from a duty station near Washington, DC.

I had worked closely with my old friend Nan (we were friends back at the Naval Academy a few years earlier) for the past couple of weeks since I landed in NZ, meeting the people and learning the ropes related to my position. This day was our last joint stewardship of the office, and we spent the morning and early afternoon turning over responsibilities, with Nan providing me with the final bits of information and instruction needed to fully get into my new job at NASU. But she left the administration building earlier than usual that afternoon, ostensibly to run some errands out in town and to head home to prepare for the evening's festivities. I slogged away at paperwork for the rest of the day, then at five o'clock I quickly changed into civilian clothes, left the office and walked over to the Southern Lights (my car was still weeks away from arriving; I assumed it was on a container ship somewhere in the Eastern Pacific at that time). Some petty officers were already there, getting things ready along with the civilian bar staff. I was one of the early arrivals at the bar, so a grabbed a beer and tried to make myself useful, helping set up the stage and all for the ceremony and party that followed.

I was there working away diligently, hanging crepe paper and running microphone wires across the floor, and didn't really notice when Nan arrived about half an hour afterwards. I only realized she was there when she called my name.  I turned from my work to find that she had not arrived alone - next to her stood a girl . . . quite possibly the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen in my life. She was young, no older than 22, with a lovely face framed by long, flowing golden hair and a tight little body that you could break rocks on, one that was perfectly proportioned in all the right places.

To quote one of my favorite authors, Raymond Chandler, "Whatever you wanted, wherever you happened to be, she had it."

I'm sure at that moment I had a look of shock and awe on my face - that goofy look all guys get when they are suddenly faced with a smoking hot woman - but I quickly straightened out my features (at least, I thought I did) as I stepped towards my old friend and this angel that accompanied her. If Nan saw the look I had, she tactfully didn't mention it. What she DID do was introduce me to her friend - "I'd like for you to meet . . . " - well, for this story, let's call her 'Fiona'.

I have no idea what sort of noises stammered out of my mouth as I shook Fiona's hand - I can only hope that what I said was semi-coherent and not flecked with the spittle and marbles that suddenly seemed to fill my mouth. Yes - she was just THAT flabbergastingly beautiful. To cover my stuttering, self-conscious embarrassment at being so near to this vision's gorgeous presence, I quickly offered to get both her and Nan a drink from the bar - if only to get away from Fiona for a few seconds and gather myself together.  I only bumped into two people while making my strategic, hazy, hasty retreat.

While I stood waiting for their drinks, my mind racing and heart thudding against my ribs, I tried to suss out why Nan had brought Fiona along to this dreary Navy event in this rather dingy little military bar. I couldn't for a moment fathom that Fiona was there for my benefit, and Nan was making a conscious, calculated attempt to throw the two of us together to see what might occur. I just figured that Nan had decided to bring an old friend along to her final NASU function, and everything else was just a figment of my overactive (and hopeful) imagination.

But to my mild shock and utter joy, I discovered as the evening wore on that Nan had brought Fiona along for PRECISELY that reason - to introduce her to me and possibly play matchmaker between the two of us. Unbeknownst to me, Nan had been 'talking me up' to her unattached friend in the days after my arrival in country, and Fiona was eager to meet me. I brought their drinks over and sat with the two of them for a while, and found myself chatting at length with Fiona; I found that she was just as funny and charming as she was beautiful. In no time at all, we were laughing and chatting away like we had known one another for years. I was attracted to her immediately - the whole person, not just the package. I began thoroughly enjoying her company and presence near me - so much so that I didn't notice when Nan slipped away and left the two of us together alone (heh - that sly lady . . . what a friend!).

At one point during the Hail and Farewell, I had to get up on stage with the NASU Commanding Officer to be introduced and to say a few words. That briefly left Fiona by herself at our table. I was savvy enough to notice during the time we'd spent talking together the furtive, hungry glances directed at her by some of the other attendees, so I knew that the 'wolves' would be pouncing the moment I left her by her lonesome (I personally think that that's a cardinal violation of the unwritten "Code of the Guys" that men live under, but that's neither here nor there . . . ). As I stood and did my thing, I watched as the first would-be snake slithered over to make his move. In no time at all, Fiona had sent him scurrying away; she apparently was an expert at that sort of thing - not only putting the guy in his place, but also serving notice to the rest of the pack that she was there with me for that evening. After that, I couldn't help but like her more and more.

After the main events, everyone hung out at the Southern Lights for the after-party. Fiona and I mingled for a bit, then went back together to the bar's game room. We played shuffleboard as a team against two other NASU guys (I can't remember if we won or lost - frankly, it didn't really matter much to me at the time). And we shot pool on the base table, where I had occasion to execute a textbook "guy" move on a pretty girl, the "teaching-her-how-to-hold-the-cue-and-aim-at-the-ball" routine, with me standing behind her, holding her close in front of me.

After a while, the party at the Southern Lights began breaking up, so I threw caution to the wind and asked this lovely woman out to dinner with me that evening. She eagerly accepted, which pleased me to no end. We took her white station wagon down the main drag into downtown Christchurch, and ended up eating in the dining room of the Rydges Hotel, hard by the River Avon - the swankiest place I knew of in my limited access into the city. During our dinner, and in fact during that entire night, she was as sweet and delightful a person as I'd ever met in all my life.

After dinner, she drove me back to my temporary accommodations, a corner suite at the Airport Gateway Motel off of Memorial Avenue, and we said our good nights with a handshake and a quick peck - but not before I managed to wrangle her phone number and a promise of a second date out of her (I say 'wrangle' . . . but I don't recall her hesitating very much . . . !). I walked into my Spartan little room that night, giddy about my future in Christchurch, and completely head-over-heels for this amazing girl. You dream about things like this coming to pass, and they rarely if ever do. However, when the impossible happens and lightning does strike - wellsir . . .

Fiona and I had our second date that weekend, and in the days and weeks that followed spent more and more time together. Before the month was out, we were firmly established as a couple. She all but moved into my temporary lodgings with me; I'd make her pancakes some mornings, and in the evening sometimes we would just stay in, snuggling on the couch watching "Shortland Street" or something else on one of the four New Zealand TV channels that existed at the time. She was fascinated by everything

'American' - our accents, our customs and holidays (she attended her first Independence Day picnic at NASU on a wintery July afternoon - most of the activities took place in the base gym), and the foods from 'back home' that I could get at the small base commissary. Fiona became obsessed with things like Calistoga water, lima beans, Almond Roca and potato sticks (these especially!), things unfamiliar and unavailable in the world she'd grown up in.

And due to Fiona, I got my first full-scale immersion in this new land that was to be my home for the next couple of years. With her as my guide and driver, we went out and about. My first trips to Sumner, Lyttleton, the Banks Peninsula and Kaikoura were made with her. She showed me where to find the best local restaurants for Kiwi fare - from the extensive local wine selection at Saggio Di Vino to the steamed mussels at the Dux de Lux and the delicious desserts at Strawberry Faire. We did highbrow stuff - like attend a formal reception together for New Zealand military officers.  We did

lowbrow stuff - like race go-karts around a local track, and go to see cheesy dreck like Sommersby at the Hoyts 8 cinema. But mostly, we were just together, and had lots of fun with one another. And at that point in my life, it was all good.

My car finally arrived in late July (along with the rest of my household goods), and soon afterwards I moved into a little bungalow in Hoon Hay, a neighborhood near the southern edge of the city. Fiona was over a lot, and we'd spend time hanging out there enjoying one another's company, or she would go through my already voluminous music collection, playing whatever tickled her fancy.  I was working out at the NASU "Powerhouse" gym practically every day, hitting the weights or utilizing the recently-constructed glass-walled racquetball court. And most of the time Fiona would come along with me. We made quite a couple - arriving on base in my gleaming golden Porsche, and stepping out into the Powerhouse Gym parking lot, with her dressed in a form-fitting leotard. During some of our early visits there, she used the weights or stretched alongside me, and drew many a lustful eye in her direction. But soon she decided that she wanted to make use of the building's aerobics area, and asked if I could make her a mixtape of songs she selected from my collection to work out to.

One of the first songs she selected for me to tape for her was a tune I'd introduced her to a few weeks earlier, "Push Th' Little Daisies" by Ween. She loved this song so much, that it was usually one of the first things she'd put on the stereo when she came over my place; she'd bounce around the house while the band belted out their insanely, annoyingly catchy tune:

Ween was formed in New Hope, Pennsylvania in 1984 by two misfit junior high school students, Aaron Freeman and Michael "Mickey" Melchiondo, Jr., who met in 8th grade typing class. They initially didn't like each other, but soon found that they had a lot in common, socially and musically. They began jamming together (both were multi-talented instrumentalist, with a penchant for the absurd), and soon formed the band Ween, an abbreviated version of the common schoolyard portmanteau rank-out word "weenis" (combining "wussy" and "penis"), adopting the respective personas of "Gene Ween" and "Dean Ween". During their remaining years in junior high and high school, Ween produced a series of self-released home recordings on cassette (with names like The Crucial Squeegie Lip and Erica Peterson's Flaming Crib Death). They also gained a loyal audience playing shows at local New Hope bars.

Soon after their high school graduation in 1989, Ween was signed to Twin/Tone Records, and released their first album, GodWeenSatan: The Oneness, the following year. Their second long-player, The Pod, quickly followed in 1991.  Both albums were eclectic, quirky, musically adventurous - and virulently non-commercial. Yet somehow, they sold. Ween was part of that strange early-90s alternative 'avant-garde', almost comedy-rock genre, which included bands like King Missile and The Dead Milkmen, whose music featured vocal distortion, humorous lyrics and excellent musicianship. Like those other groups, Ween became a semi-popular cult band . . . so much so that label giant Elektra Records came calling. Elektra actively courted them, and ended up wooing them away from Twin/Tone in the summer of 1992.

    

Pure Guava, Ween's major label debut, was released in the late fall of 1992.  The local alternative station, WHFS, began playing "Push Th' Little Daisies" to death, and I thought it was so great that I ran out to buy the album. It took me a while to work up to exploring Pure Guava in depth, beyond the hit single - I found most of the first few songs I heard just too weird, even for me; full of high- or low-pitched vocals and highly manipulated, out-of-tune sounds.  But with a little persistence, I delved deeper, and discovered that as 'weird' as it was, practically the entire album was excellent. Songs I especially liked included "Little Birdy", "Big Jilm" and "Poop Ship Destroyer". But the standout tune on Pure Guava, for me, was "Sarah", a rare moment of restraint and seriousness on the album. Gene croons a soulful paean of love for the aforementioned girl, accompanied only by Dean on slide guitar: 

"When I find you in your sleep, Sarah

I will tell you what you mean to me,Sarah

I know this big world ain't always what it seems, Sarah

Forever may I love you, and forever may you dream, Sarah

When I find you in your sleep, Sarah

I will tell you what you mean to me, Sarah"

The result was an effective, emotive, authentic country song - not something that anyone would expect from this group in 1992, but a foretaste of Ween's later forays into the country genre, the high point of which being their 1996 album 12 Golden Country Greats, recorded in Nashville with a bevy of celebrated C&W veterans.

In addition to "Push Th' Little Daisies", I put a lot of other HI-NRG dance-type stuff onto Fiona's workout tape. But the Ween song was the tune she loved and played the most. Ween put out a total of eleven studio albums during their lifetime, along with six live albums and numerous singles. But frankly my interest in the band waned considerably after Pure Guava - not for any particular reason, mind you. I just moved on musically to other sounds, and after a while stopped paying attention to what they were up to. Their final album was La Cucaracha, released in 2007.  The band broke up only just last year, after nearly thirty years together. 

Ween lasted a lot longer than Fiona and I did. Within a year, we had gone our separate ways. I'll spare you the details . . . other than to say that the fault for our breakup was entirely my own. I behaved abominably, and did things that hurt her feelings and drove her away from me. It's not something I'm especially proud of; in fact, to this day, it embarrasses and hurts me to think about it. Through my own fault, I lost the affection of a wonderful girl. After years of estrangement and bitterness between us, Fiona finally forgave me and I made amends. We have both left New Zealand and live on opposite sides of the world, and although I haven't been in her immediate presence in over fifteen years, we still speak with each other regularly and have become good long-distance friends.

I try not to dwell too much on the "what might have been" with Fiona - that's a fool's game. I am happy with the way my life has turned out up to this point, and would happily retain the certainty of my current position and happiness for the more unknown life I might have had with her, had we stayed together.  Sometimes, however, thoughts along those lines do creep into my mind . . . but I quickly try to think about something else. With that being said, I did enjoy the time I had with her.

When I look back and recall those wonderful golden days with my beautiful girlfriend in that faraway country, a romance which began twenty years ago this very day, I don't think much about the places we travelled or the grand things Fiona and I did together. I think about the more private, personal times we shared - sitting side by side on the couch, eating potato sticks and watching TV movies at her place; going out for pizza at Winnebago's downtown; sitting on Sumner Beach, just watching the waves; driving out to Akaroa with the sunroof open . . . and of course, watching her joyfully jump around the living room while Ween played through the speakers at top volume. Nowadays, I can't help but think of her, every time I play that stupid, annoying . . . and utterly joyous song.

Here it is for you to bounce around to, too: Ween's Pure Guava, released by Elektra Records on November 15th, 1992.  Enjoy - and as always, let me know what you think. 

Please use the email link below to contact me, and I will reply with the download link(s) ASAP:  
   

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Fortran 5 - Heart On The Line EP

Lordy . . . sometimes I look back through my music collection and shake my head. I was into some very odd stuff way back when.

Here's one I picked up during the late summer of 1991: Fortran 5's Heart On The Line EP, consisting of four remixes of said song. I took a two-week vacation in the spring of that year, and flew over to Madrid, Spain on one of those cheap student tickets (the kind where you can only take what you can put in the overhead compartment or under your seat, as the company who sold you the ticket has the rights to your cargo space) to visit my youngest sister. My sis had graduated from college in Virginia the summer before, and had headed overseas to bicycle around Europe for a couple of weeks before planning to head back to the U.S. to start work. Well, that two weeks in Europe turned into a year and a half, and she ended up in Madrid after finding a job teaching English to Spaniards there. Mind you, at the time, she couldn't speak Word One (or is that "Una Palabra"?) of Spanish . . . but by the time I got over there to see her six months later, she spoke the local language like a native. I guess that shows you what total immersion in a country can do for you.

Anyway, I showed up, and we had a high old time. I was relatively flush with cash at the time, while she was living on her meager wages in a semi-hovel in downtown Madrid with her roommates, two Irish sisters who were constantly at one another's throats. So I tried to get her out to see and do things she hadn't had the opportunity to partake in before, due to her penury, stuff that I took for granted - like going out for pizza and hitting some of the local clubs. This was in addition to the touristy stuff I wanted to see, like the Prado Museum.

It was at one of those city clubs where I first heard "Heart On The Line". That dark, thumping electro-techno tune was perfect for the place where we were, and it tickled my ears enough to have me take note of it for when I went back to the States. Yes, as I've mentioned before, I used to like the whole dance/house thing - so shoot me; I was young and having fun!

When I got back the the States, I found the EP, released by Elektra Entertainment earlier that year, at the old Tower Records near George Washington University in DC. Fortran 5, formed in London in 1989, was basically two guys, David Barker and Simon Leonard, assisted by a bevy of guest artists. They cranked out several singles and albums worth of sample-heavy techno during the early 1990s, with the assistance of members from bands such as Can, Orb, and Sly & The Family Stone. Vocals on the Heart On The Line EP ware provided by members of Miranda Sex Garden.

After their final release as Fortran 5 in 1995, the band added Jane Brereton and morphed into Komputer, which began as a veritable Kraftwerk tribute band before modifying their sound in the late '00s more into electronic sample manipulation. As far as I know, they're still at it.

So here - harken back to the early '90s, and relive those old techno club days with me! Enjoy:

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