||[Oct. 11th, 2003|10:17 pm]
|||||Elton John - Saturday Night's All Right for Fighting||]|
Went to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame for the first time today. Could have spent a week in the place. What a lot of stuff, what a view of the music that's accompanied this country through its changes in the last 50 years.
What a difference it makes in how seriously we take stuff when we build it an edifice and call it an artifact. Even my beloved Bobby Sherman was enshrined in the "Teen Idol" section. Does this mean that Bobby Sherman genuinely influenced the course of rock and roll?
(Notably absent, however, was Neil Diamond, who, despite spiraling into schlock later, was an influential Tin Pan Alley writer in his early days. The tragedy of being neither such candy as to get the odd backlash respect that The Monkees enjoy, nor edgy enough to be considered "important" on your own.)
My only complaint about the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame is that the clips of songs they play are way too short, and that the crowd seems remarkably reluctant to start dancing or sing along.
I kept getting strange looks. Because I of course have no self control. I'm bobbing, I'm snapping my fingers, I'm humming along. Okay, I'll admit it: at times I'm dancin'. How can you stand still with this music playing?
And there is a very dangerous portion of the building, one that really should have orange cones and barrels and signs. Big signs: WARNING! Checkbook speedbump ahead. Use caution to avoid bouncing. Albums I never dreamed I would see again with the death of vinyl have resurfaced on CD. And they have them.
They have them all.
My stepmom bought me the Emerson, Lake & Palmer box set, I replaced the early Bette Midler (back when she was one hell of a torch singer) I'd left behind with my last record player, and (by gum) the Best of the Monkees, and of Elton John. It's happy music. I'm bopping at my computer with no one around to give me strange looks.