The Stooges
By Spencer Patterson
If the Stooges had recorded "I Wanna Be Your Dog" and nothing else, they would have a spot reserved for them in any self-respecting rock hall of fame. That ode to hedonism could grow arms and light a bonfire with everything released by Jackson Browne, Bob Seger, Aerosmith or a dozen other hall inductees. Of course, the Stooges were far from one-song wonders. Their trio of albums—their self-titled debut, Fun House and Raw Power—literally paved the way for punk rock, apparently a lesser accomplishment than the Lovin' Spoonful reaching No. 8 with "Do You Believe In Magic?" It's good to see the Clash, the Ramones and the Sex Pistols get in, but those bands wouldn't have existed without the sleazy ferocity of the Stooges. And to think, they pioneered their sound in the late-‘60s, at the height of peace, love and psychedelia. Listen to ""No Fun," "T.V. Eye" and "Search and Destroy" and then try to keep a straight face while you tell me that isn't a Hall of Fame resume. Besides, how can you have a rock hall without Iggy Pop? The guy rolled around bare-chested on glass. What more can you ask?
Grandmaster Flash
By Donnell Alexander
A listen to the current LL Cool J hit "Control Myself" shows the broad influence of Joseph Saddler, a.k.a. Grandmaster Flash. While the single's sampled melody takes from one hip-hop classic—"Looking for the Perfect Beat," by Afrika Bambatta—LL's delivery derives directly from Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five's anti-coke anthem "White Lines (Don't Do It)." More than just a turntable innovator, Flash oversees a CV indicative of a DJ/group leader who can't be held to a single category of influence.
Almost inarguably the first recorded artist to treat turntables as a musical instrument—Kool Herc was the pure original, but he failed to translate in the recorded realm—this non-Hall-member touched contemporary sounds in ways hardly yet quantified. "The Message" alone might be basis for election, but the cincher is how air guitar has been replaced by the mock scratch gesture. As much as anyone, Flash is responsible for that.
The Cars
By Andy Wang
Ric Ocasek probably cares less than he should about the Cars not being in the Hall of Fame. The fella's had one of the all-time charmed lives. Music geek turned music legend. Front man of a peerless band for more than a decade, who took new wave to places and record sales even Hall-of-Famers Blondie and the Talking Heads never visited. Married to a supermodel for two decades, with lovely children and what he's admitted is an enviable domestic life. All the while, he's produced Weezer, discovered Nada Surf, collaborated with No Doubt and started his own record label. He even approves of a Cars reunion that wouldn't involve him because he wants his former bandmates to be happy.
There's enough satisfaction to go around in Ocasek's life, but we shouldn't be satisfied until his band is inducted. With a dozen giddy singles that still get airplay, The Cars encapsulated bliss and pure possibility. To this day, the songs make you want to dance, laugh and love (and, one store hopes, buy iPods). Even when Ocasek was a smart-ass, he was tender. Even when the Cars pined, they knew the happy ending could come as soon as the next line. Magic, indeed.
Patti Smith
By Richard Abowitz
The entire tradition of female vocalists before her—Bessie Smith, Billie Holliday, Ella Fitzgerald, Janis Joplin, Grace Slick, Joan Baez, Joni Mitchell—was irrelevant to Patti Smith. Patti Smith didn't sing like a girl, she sang like a rock star. If Springsteen has the power to make the masses in a stadium feel united as a family, Smith's talent is to mesmerize a club and make every individual feel touched by her private blessing.
The reasons Patti Smith is not in the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame are the very reasons there should not be one. But no reason to feel outrage: Patti Smith will get in one day. Her influence is too pervasive and her supporters too dedicated. But, fundamentally, a Hall of Fame cannot handle the fringe, and dancing at the edge is where the honor will always be in rock. Yes, Patti Smith will get in. But when that day comes, she won't get in for her music—that moment has passed—but for her stature and the shame (as with Bowie and the Sex Pistols) of not having her in a club that long ago honored her inferiors. Yet, dwelling on this short-term snub of Smith makes you realize that many "cult artists"—such as Minor Threat and Husker Du—are not going to get invited to that banquet soon, either, and I'm guessing Patti Smith would rather dine with them, anyway.
Kiss
By Josh Bell
Dear Rock 'N' Roll Hall of Fame:
I know you like seriousness. Watching the induction ceremonies year after year, it's hard to believe that rock music is actually dangerous and fun. So I can see why you might not want to induct a band that wears makeup and breathes fire, once had their own comic book and made a movie in which they fought someone called the Phantom of the Park. But Kiss, for all their lunchboxes and dolls and koffins, are one of the most important and influential bands in the far-from-serious history of hard rock, and their over-the-top image is a big part of that.
Bands as diverse as Anthrax and the Smashing Pumpkins cite Kiss as an influence. Their overblown stage shows virtually defined the concept of arena rock, and any band with an elaborate live production is inevitably compared to Kiss. Lest you think that it's only for theatrics that the band deserves canonization, don't discount the fact that they've written some of the catchiest anthems in rock history, from the indelible "Rock N' Roll All Nite" to "Detroit Rock City" to essentially inventing the power ballad with "Beth." It's impossible not to sing along when these songs come on the radio. And, come on, wouldn't a little firebreathing liven up the ceremony a bit?
Sincerely ...