Cleveland Rocks!
Damn right it does. Not only is the heart of rock and roll in Cleveland, but so is the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum. Some critics will call the concept of the rock hall lame, but the unique building is a time capsule that provides a portal to something that we've lost in this country's obsession with pop music.
The rock hall has one of the most complete collections of history-making music in the world. I don't know of another place that a rock fan could sit for hours and listen to every song from every hall of fame artist from the 20th century.
Music is interactive, felt in both heart and soul. And it's not just the notes and lyrics -it's the attitude and showmanship. At the rock hall, costumes, memorabilia and original scores are on display, opening a window into the life and times of music's most influential characters. If the concept of a history in rock class isn't considered lame, then why is an interactive piece of music history?
There are few better ways to bridge the generation gap between a parent and child or even grandchild than through the music that shaped their generation. Being able to sit and watch clips of Elvis, the Beatles' first appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show and the real Woodstock are opportunities the rock hall provides that would otherwise be lost.
Then there are those who question why the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is in Cleveland. All Ohioans that love rock should take pride in the fact that one of their own, Alan Freed, coined the term and his show helped rock 'n' roll reach a wide audience.
If sports fans can drive to the middle of Cooperstown, N.Y., to see baseball history, the 43 percent of the U.S. population that is within 500 miles of Cleveland can do the same.
-Matt Hutton is The Post's editor. Send him an e-mail at matthew.hutton@ohiou.edu.
It's only the Hall of Fame, but I don't like it
The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum institutionalizes rebelliousness and commercializes creativity. By claiming to be comprehensive and definitive, it lends its stamp of officialdom to artists or artifacts that belong nowhere near an exhibition of great rock music -Britney Spears' outfits are included in its collections.
It charges $20 to get in, despite assets of almost $89 million, according to its IRS form 990 reports.
Little about the hall is appealing, from its passé early '90s design to its intellectually sloppy, let-it-all-hang-out definitions of rock -which, for its curators, includes essentially every pop music movement after 1940 -to its incomprehensible induction choices (AC/DC is a member; Black Sabbath is not).
I am a great devotee of rock music, partly for its irrepressible middle-finger-to-authority message. When a bored family from North Olmstead frowns blankly at Paul Simonon's wrecked bass in its display case -the one he's immortally smashing on the cover of The Clash's London Calling -the appeal is lost.
And, c'mon, Cleveland? The hall's ostensible link with the City of Industry is that local DJ Alan Freed coined the term rock and roll there. But many writers, including blues historian Bill Wyman and Irish novelist Roddy Doyle, have said rockin' and rollin' is a Yazoo Delta euphemism for, well, you know. If Freed used it, he picked it up someplace else.
For its strained attempts at inoffensiveness and the way it saps rock of its rebellious power, they ought to call it the Rock and Roll Hall of Lame.
-Phil Ewing is The Post's managing editor. Send him an e-mail at philip.ewing@ohiou.edu.
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Phil Ewing
