In a New DVD Set and Book, Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Celebrates 25 Years

"Thank fuck for not mentioning me!"

As great showbiz retorts go, it's up there with the "Well, nobody's perfect" that Joe E. Brown deadpanned at the end of Some Like It Hot, upon learning his sweetie was actually a cross-dressing Jack Lemmon.

But while that latter line was scripted, the first was completely adlibbed by Elton John, following the infamous acceptance speech Mike Love gave when the Beach Boys were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1988.

The rest of the tuxedoed group -- Brian and Carl Wilson and Al Jardine -- had given short speeches; Brian's had been carefully prepared and, while stiffly read, seemed sincere. So too, actually, did Love's for a minute or two as he talked about how much the Beach Boys loved harmony -- hey, who doesn't? And then he said something curious: "And we love all people, too." Huh?

With that, Love -- wearing a UCLA cap -- was off on a meandering and tentative speech, provoking and insulting others like a wrestler at some cheesy pro match. He knocked Paul McCartney and Diana Ross for not appearing at the inductions of the Beatles and the Supremes due to legal matters; challenged the "moptops" to match the Beach Boys' concert schedule (kind of cruel, considering John Lennon had been dead eight years); and baited Bruce Springsteen and Billy Joel before calling Mick Jagger "chickenshit."

It was after that when John -- who had done the group's induction -- came to the mike and said his now-immortal line.

This bizarre event has just been released as part of the nine-volume Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Live DVD set by Time Life, commemorating the institution's 2010 25th anniversary of holding induction ceremonies. This has hours of highlights. There's also a companion coffee-table book available, The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame: The First 25 Years. (And a condensed three-disc DVD set will be coming from Time Life on Nov. 3.)

The DVD set is loosely thematic rather than chronological, and it does not attempt to delve into the debates about the merits of various Hall of Fame inductees. It's clear from watching that the community of A-list record executives and rock stars have supported it from the beginning and lent their stardom and reputations to it. That makes for instant credibility, and you can watch how attendees like Bruce Springsteen, John Fogerty, Billy Joel, Keith Richards and Neil Young keep showing up as if it's the best high-school reunion ever.

For Boomers, there's a eulogistic quality to watching the entire set, because an increasing number of the inductees have started to pass on of age-related illnesses and accidents. At times, that makes for bittersweet viewing -- it's terribly sad when George Harrison bemoans "all that's left" of the Beatles at their 1988 induction, when McCartney didn't show and Lennon, of course, couldn't. (McCartney did induct Lennon as a solo performer in 1994; his fine speech is included.) But at other times it's triumphal, as when Aretha Franklin -- long considered to have her best days as a singer behind her -- so strongly sings "I Never Loved a Man" for the recently deceased Ahmet Ertugen, she seems to be channeling divine intelligence.

The set's commercial heart are the 125 performances either by inductees or in tribute to them -- from the first ceremony at the New York's Waldorf-Astoria in 1986 to Los Angeles to this year's in Cleveland's huge Public Hall, plus the 1995 Cleveland concert celebrating the museum's opening. Some are mundane or, occasionally, worse, as when a badly overtaxed Jonny Lang tries to belt out "Be-Bop-a-Lula" to honor Gene Vincent's 1998 induction.

But there are magnificent performances. Since the ceremony's early days were not televised, this gives a wide audience its first easy chance to see some long-talked about performances. Here, for instance, is a sizzling 1987 duet of "Pretty Woman" by inductee Roy Orbison and greatest fan Springsteen, that predates Orbison's comeback with the Traveling Wilburys and as a solo artist.

And there are plenty of the often-ragged but fun all-star jams that were an early hallmark of the event. These jams give "elders" like Jerry Lee Lewis, Chuck Berry, Bo Diddley and Little Richard a chance to shine. But the best (that's included in this set, at least) came in 1988, when Jagger, Springsteen and George Harrison share the "whooooo..." part in "I Saw Her Standing There." Their heads are so close together they look fused. Ringo, meanwhile, bangs away on the drums as a bevy of other superstars crowd the stage.

Beyond the jams, there's a heart-rending moment when Carlos Santana gives the shy, Buddha-like Peter Green room to solo on "Black Magic Woman" and feel the spotlight he retreated from so long ago. (It's a Green song first recorded when he was in Fleetwood Mac.) This is from 1998, when both Santana and Fleetwood Mac were inducted.

And, in perhaps their greatest accomplishment, the induction ceremonies allow certain pop, rock and R&B vocal acts to reclaim their hits from the often-demeaning oldies circuit and sing them with the grandeur, glory and romanticism they deserve.

Several times, the Hall of Fame band -- especially music supervisor Paul Shaffer -- puts together spectacular Wall of Sound arrangements for Phil Spector-related acts. The Righteous Brothers--Bill Medley and Bobby Hatfield--respond with 100% soulfulness, totally stripped of show-biz affectation, on "You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'" from 2003. Ronnie Spector and Nedra Talley of the Ronettes are at total ease with the orchestral arrangement on "Be My Baby" from the 2007 ceremony. (Third Ronette Estelle Bennett, who attended the ceremony, chose not to sing.) And Tina Turner is blissful at how good the operatic "River Deep Mountain High" sounds live as the band finds its strength. She gets deeper into it with every enunciated syllable, pulling back her hair as if to better hear how good this sounds.

The biggest surprise of this set is just how enjoyable and entertaining so many of the 52 featured induction/acceptance speeches are. Few are as hostile as Love's, although some are very eccentric. For instance, Pete Townshend seems to confuse the event with a Friar's Club Roast when inducting the Rolling Stones (from 1989). He uses the occasion for a barrage of put-downs, a rarity in Hall of Fame speeches. But he does it very well, truth be told, keeping the audience constantly off-guard. After a heartfelt tribute to Brian Jones, Townshend quips, "Mick gave me something, too -- a bad case of VD."

Many of the speeches are eloquent; the pressure to be so gains as the ceremonies took on a more professional look with being broadcast. When 2009 inductee Bobby Womack gave his acceptance speech, he "talks" to his mentor, Sam Cooke, to tell him that a change has come to America -- an African-American is president. "Sam, let all of the soul singers know and give them the news," he pleads.

In doing so, Womack thus reminds his audience that the soul singers of the 1960s, including him, weren't just entertainers but also civil-rights activists. He also obliquely references "Good Rockin' Tonight," a song by proto-soul singer Roy Brown that many consider the first rock ‘n' roll song, as well as Chuck Berry's "Roll Over Beethoven."

While most of those giving induction speeches are musicians, themselves, a wonderful exception comes when Tom Hanks inducts the Dave Clark Five (in 2008). His speech is so colorful, so redolent in detail and outright love for the British Invasion and so beautifully delivered, that it compares well with many of his acting performances. If anybody ever makes a monologue-oriented stage play out of Hall of Fame speeches, and here's hoping someone does, this is the one to bring down the house.

But then, everyone knows Hanks is an actor -- he'd better be great. But when Miami Steve Van Zandt in 1997 inducted the (Young) Rascals, he was still just a rock ‘n' roller. But his droll speech, delivered in the finest Joisey-ese accent with all sorts of funny asides, is so good it leaves anyone who sees it thinking, "This guy should be an actor." And not long afterward, he was cast in The Sopranos.

Overall, what emerges over all the volumes and years is that an induction carries real weight and speaks to the shared history of rock ‘n' rollers even while making its own. For the older performers, especially, it can be a destination arrived after a long hard trip.

There's a fine moment to that effect tucked into the special features. George Clinton, backstage in 1997 preparing for P-Funk's induction, meets an old friend, singer Larry Vernieri of Joey Dee & the Starliters ("Peppermint Twist"). As they kid each other and sing a little a cappella with other P-Funksters, someone says the two used to sing together on the streets of Newark.

For a few moments, they are back there, and we can see where all this came from.

By Steven Rosen
From SonicBoomers.com, 11-6-09