The Ghost of Rock and Roll Past: Billy Joel

Billy Joel is one of the most polarizing figures in modern pop music. Hipsters think he's lame, squares think he's a one-man Beatles. A large segment of people older than 35 have at one time in their lives owned the double-disc 1985 best-of, while most people younger than that know him as that one-hit wonder ("Piano Man") who's always getting DUIs and ending up in the tabloids. 99.9 percent of his fanbase is white, but black people love him too because he's a vehicle for making fun of white people.

This polarization hinges on one year, 1986, and one album, coincidentally called "The Bridge."

Barry, as we'd like to remember him.

Because of that breaking off point, and that deflating, morbidly mediocre album, Joel should be the Barry Bonds of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame - everything he did up until that point (Bonds' career as a Pirate) definitely merits induction, but everything he did that year and after (Bonds' years as a Giant, a juicer, a woman abuser and a big-time asshole) should have kept him out, or at least get him booted (hmm ... another "Kicked Out" post is in motion).

BUT - let's just say Joel quits during that mysterious three-year gap between 1983's slammer-packed "An Innocent Man" and "The Bridge." He goes on an acid-dropping binge with Howard Jones and ends up like Brian Wilson, sparking the "Billy Joel Is A Genius Who Is Ahead of His Time" campaign.

Or - and this is totally macabre and in no way is meant to insinuate that I want Billy Joel dead - what if Joel went down in a plane crash after "Innocent Man" comes out and the videos for "Uptown Girl" and "Tell Her About It" and "The Longest Time" turn him into one of the world's biggest pop stars. Given that scenario, he becomes a modern-day Buddy Holly, right? His pre-death catalog instantly becomes spotless, and then the big "Greatest Hits Vols. 1-2" - the one every non-cool college freshman had from 1985 up through somewhere in the late 1990s - comes out, and it's easily the top-selling album of all time at that point.

If you're 35+, white and say you never owned this, you're lying.

Most of all, "The Bridge," with the putrid "A Matter of Trust," and the awful video that showcases the talents and mannerisms of jerk-off drummer Liberty DeVitto, and the embarrassing sap-fest "This Is The Time," never happens. Neither does the sickeningly corporate "Storm Front," with the pithy "End of The World As We Know It" rip "We Didn't Start The Fire" and the super-indulgent "Downeaster 'Alexa'" (why the f*cking quotes within quotes? WHAT?), where Joel all of the sudden decides he wants to be the Gorton's Fisherman. Neither does - holy Lord help me - "River of Dreams," which sounds like the bathrooms at the Wells Fargo Center during Wing Bowl and appeared to be his attempt to put out something whiter than Genesis' "I Can't Dance." I dare say he succeeded.

Bill is Hall-worthy just for pulling this off.

If we could just go back to July of 1986 - take Doc's DeLorean, summon the Ghost of Christmas Past, whatever - and stop the release of "The Bridge" and somehow end Joel's career, we would remember The Piano Man differently.

This would have been the guy who wrote "Allentown," which would be considered the folk-pop equivalent of Bruce's "Atlantic City" instead of over-scrutinized because Joel wrote it about another Pennsylvania town (Some well-researched background here). He would be the slick-ass motherf*cker who got down on "Tell Her About It" (my sister always thought Joel was black. That's how cool he SOUNDED). "Pressure" would be perceived as a psych-rock classic. "Goodnight Saigon" would be on the top shelf of Vietnam vet odes with "Born In The U.S.A." "Songs In The Attic" would be "Sgt. Pepper's," "Piano Man" would be "Like A Rolling Stone," Christie Brinkley would be Yoko Ono ... maybe I'm getting a little out of hand, but you see where I'm going here.

Instead of all of that, Joel's record will be scarred by stuff like this. And this. And this. And, well, this:

Balls to the Hall: Rock and roll can never die

Who the bleep is Demi Lovato?

Sure, I can Google until my heart's content. If she follows the pattern of all the other cookie-cutter, auto-tuned acts out there, I can be sure that turning off Google's "Safe Search" filter will most likely reveal some pictures of her getting out of a limo and Whoops! someone forgot to wear panties. But, seriously... who the hell is she?

You're reading this from a guy who had no clue who Britney Spears was until well after her Baby Hit Me One More Time (which I still say is a thinly-veiled ode to relationship abuse) phase. When it comes to my likes and dislikes, I am firmly in the camp of rock, hard rock, and anything that makes the majority of the socially-acceptable turn up their collective noses and pray for some Michael Bolton.

I bring up that Lavato chick only because if The Hall continues to allow people in who have no cause to be associated with rock, we're going to see inductees such as The New Kids on the Block, The Backstreet Boys, N'Sync, Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, and all of those other pre-fabricated, paint-by-numbers acts that have permeated the cultural landscape since television came on the scene.

When they was Fab.

Don't believe me? Let's talk The Beatles. For my money, Paul & John were THE best songwriting duo of the latter 20th century. Period. No one will argue about George's talent, and, what people fail to realize is that Ringo is extremely talented in his own right. Unfortunately, even a bright star gets dimmed when it's surrounded by brighter ones. In any case, The Beatles, capturing a phrase from their day, were dubbed "The Fab Four" because, well, there were four of them and they had that "fabbo" way about them. Right after The Beatles were just gods among men, television created The Monkees... or, as a lot of news outlets dubbed them, "The Pre-Fab Four".

The Monkees, in their heyday, were huge... impossibly so, making them a good example of what happens when you get lucky. Don't get me wrong... I love The Monkees. They were actually my very first concert (the 1987 reunion tour featuring one "Weird" Al Yankovic as the opening act in The Mann Music Center in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania), but I would never consider them Hall-worthy like The Beatles.

No matter which era of music you look at, you'll see an innovative look or sound or act hit, and then a slew of imposters, pretenders, and just plain losers will flood the market. Can I argue that The New Kids weren't huge? Christ, no. I have a little sister, and when NKOTB (for those "in the know", ya know) hit the scene, it was unreal. They were the grandfathers of the boy-band craze of the 1990s and beyond (of course, we can also blame Menudo, but the only reason a lot of white people remember them was the guest stint on Silver Spoons, right? Don't lie... you know know I'm right), but that doesn't make them inductee-worthy.

What I'm worried about is the dearth of true acts in 20 years. Sure, you have solid bands like Puddle of Mudd and a lot of other nu-rock acts, but they are so niche that, unless their big hit is a little salacious or adopted by some car company, no one hears of them. God forbid I take my son to Cleveland in 2025 to see Nickleback get in.

shudder

So, I reiterate: Who the bleep is Demi Lovato? Why should I care? Who are these teeny-bopper pretty people whose voices get auto-tuned to all hell? Can't we just start over and hopefully get some really awesome garage bands out into the world? I mean, truly, if I hear Justin Beiber one more time, I may just have to find a bell-tower.

Kickin' Em Out: 1988

Sadly, The Drifters have to go.

The only criticism that can be made of the Class of 1988 is How The Hell Did It Take Two Years to Induct The Beatles and Bob Dylan. I get the early influence thing. I get the chronological thinking that says you have to put Chuck Berry, Elvis Presley and Little Richard in before you put in the guys who had their minds blown by them.

But the Hall is about the best. And there really aren't too many people on the planet who would argue that Dylan and The Beatles are the two greatest, revolutionary and, frankly, most important figures in rock history. How could they not be inductees Nos. 1 and 2, or at the very least in the first class?

Back to the 1988 crop. This one is really, really hard. Big props to the judges for finally getting it right and paring down the number of artists who got in.

But in our effort to clean up the Hall and make it more prestigious, we committed to kicking one artist out per year. My first target is The Supremes, because I suspect one Michael Jackson had some sway over the judges and nudged them to shove the group (which includes his obsession, Diana Ross) in as soon as possible. However, I can't do it. Instead, I'm going for The Drifters, who were a fine Motown group but no better than, say, Journey or Duran Duran in terms of hits in their respective genres. With "Save The Last Dance For Me," "There Goes My Baby" and "This Magic Moment," but I'm thinking the residual effect of the smasher flick "Stand By Me" in 1986 had more to do with this pick than anything. Plus who is even in this group? They had 30 lead singers, and so far 564 members by my count to date.

Maybe they get in someday, but for now The Drifters are out.

The Beach Boys
The Beatles
The Drifters
Bob Dylan
Berry Gordy Jr.
Woody Guthrie
Lead Belly
Les Paul
The Supremes