Today's post is from our friend HIM. Note: BBG! is run by a devout vegetarian and no animals were harmed or eaten during the creation of this post.
Not to bludgeon a baby cow to death (then sauté him and eat him, to boot), but I am really tired of talking about the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame (RaRHoF). And yet, I do. Every year. Like clockwork.
Who got in? Who didn’t? Who showed up? Who didn’t? Why is NWA in while Judas Priest are not (they are too big to be singularized)? Why does Van Halen’s “Standing on Top of the World” sound too similar to the Scorpions’ “Falling in Love”? Wait, scratch the last one. I was on a roll.
My point all along has been simple. The RaRHoF doesn’t really matter. Sure, it sorta’ matters if you think it does. Bon Jovi, Bret Michaels, and Nikki Sixx are already lengthening their cummerbunds in anticipation. So good for them. And good for their fans if they think this makes a difference. Which, in some sense, I suppose it does. The fans will now have an HBO-edited version of something related to the band they like to watch, and perhaps some doodad from said band to look at when they finally get to the Paris of the United States, Cleveland.
But I think old people know better. Particularly old people with suspiciously pulled back hair. Even more particularly, old people who can bash a drum like Moon and swing like Bonham . . . while still breathing oxygen. Oh, and make Portnoy worry about his twenty side-projects (not sure if he has a non-side-project).
Ian Paice doesn’t need crap from Yawn Wenner and his Coven of Itches. While Gillan and Blackmore played “Well, maybe . . .” over the course of years with the whole idea of the RaRHoF, you could expect that Paice would, on cue, keep a measured beat regarding all the horse-merde that followed expectation, nomination, and inauguration.
Recently, Paice was interviewed by WMOS-FM 102.3 The Wolf (is any classic rock station named anything other than “The Wolf”?). In the interview, teenage DJ Miles "The Shoe" Schuman (see what he did there?), asked Paice about the whole RaRHoF thingamajigger. His reply:
"Rock and roll is not Hollywood. Hollywood's [about handing out] awards every year, slapping each other on the back for just doing a good job. It's a bit schmaltzy, really, isn't it? And rock and roll is everything that that's not. And just 'cause we've been around for a while and made some records that have been successful, I don't need a slap on the back from anybody. I know what we've done, I'm proud of a lot of it, and our fans let us know what we've done. So that's it; I can't put it any better than that."
Like I said, Paice speaks old truth to all ears. You can argue about which Mach is the best, which singer is better. You can box Morse’s ears all you want, while hoping that Blackmore doesn’t wig out and lute someone to death while struggling to keep his pale rainbow in order. But, as Paice goes on to suggest, age has a way of mellowing old grudges and imagined slights . . . if one is mature enough to let stupid things go. So Paice can have a shot of Fireball with Coverdale in the still of the night. No problem. He can wax rhapsodic with Hughes, a man who is no stranger to love or controversy. But he can also call out the RaRHoF for what it is: an exercise in celebration for only those who need it.
So if you need it, ask yourself why? Paice did. And his answer suffices for me.
Oh, one last note. This interview came to me via Blabbermouth:
But I made sure to go and actually check out what “The Shoe” was shopping. You see, Blabbermouth tends to involve itself in cut-and-paste click-bait for the attention-deficit set. Which, in turn, engenders the same sort of ADD response from its comments section. Thankfully, I can’t see the comments right now. So I came at this story with clear eyes, even if I already had a solid opinion to guide me.