Beatles, Beach Boys Headline Hall of Blame

Weird Vibes at the third R&R Hall of Fame Induction, 1988

Before the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame was a museum in Cleveland, it existed as an idea. Annual induction galas began at New York's Waldorf-Astoria in 1986. You ask now, why weren't the Beatles in the first or second year? There was already a line, and for a short time, the Rock Hall parsed out inductions prudently.

The foundational artists were inducted in 1986: Elvis Presley, James Brown, Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, Everly Brothers, Little Richard, many others. At that inaugural event, Chuck Berry was sitting alone, so I approached him and asked: "Mr. Berry, when you were writing all those great songs, did you ever imagine all this?" He looked at me with that Chuck Berry squint and said, "I have no imagination." I scurried away.

The next year, 1987, enshrined Muddy Waters, Big Joe Turner, Smokey Robinson, Jackie Wilson, Roy Orbison, Bo Diddley, the Coasters, Aretha Franklin, Marvin Gaye, and others. Ahmet Ertegun, Atlantic Records co-founder and, with Jann Wenner and Jon Landau, the essential influencers of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, made sure his Atlantic artists got their due. Not undeserved, but the wielding of power was palpable.

By 1988, it was time for the sixties generation to be inducted, the Beatles, Beach Boys, the Supremes, Bob Dylan, and the Drifters. But all was not harmonious. I have adapted the news feature that ran in Newsday Jan. 22, 1988, to reflect my perspective, as well as my contemporaneous notes. Also, there are plenty of videos on You Tube of this event.  

Mick Jagger was all around, because it was his honor to introduce the Beatles, and lend extra power to the all-star jam session at the end. (The Rolling Stones were inducted the following year, in 1989.) Bob Dylan was not only there to accept the award: He was gracious during his brief acceptance speech, and happily played and sang during the post-induction jam session, the not-so-secret-sauce in the early Rock Hall ceremonies.

But there was an unmistakable undercurrent of bitterness among members of the Beatles, and the Beach Boys, and a sadness that Diana Ross did not come, leaving Mary Wilson to represent the Supremes. The turbulence and disagreements among members and former members had not been resolved. Each group was missing key members at the ceremony.

Most missed was Paul McCartney, whose press representative released a cold statement before the ceremony, one alluding to "business differences." McCartney added: "I would feel like a complete hypocrite waving and smiling with them" [George Harrison and Ringo Starr] at a fake reunion." 

Later in the evening, when they were inducted, Harrison at first jibed good-naturedly at McCartney's absence. "I don't have too much to say, because I'm the quiet Beatle," Harrison joked. "It's too bad Paul's not here, because he's the one who had the speech in his pocket."

But then he got serious. "We all know why John's not here; we know he'd be here," Harrison said. It had only been eight years since Lennon's murder, and feelings were still raw. "It's really hard to stand here, representing the Beatles. It's what's left, I'm afraid. We all loved John very much, and we love Paul very much."

Accepting the award for her late husband, Yoko Ono said, with certainty: "He would have been here, you know; he would have come."

But who could have been sure? There were a number of legal matters gnawing at the Beatles, individually and as a group, that were still dragging through both the U.S. and UK court systems. On various court calendars: The assets of their defunct label Apple; suing Capitol Records in the U.S.and EMI in England over allegations of underpaid royalties; Nike (over the use of "Revolution") in a sports shoe advertisement; and lawyers vs. lawyers. Lennon, had he lived, may have felt like McCartney had, that he was dedicated to a solo career, and perhaps agonized over the emotional weight of any so-called "Beatles reunion."

Mary Wilson, the only surviving member of the original Supremes not named Diana Ross, took a philosphical tone towards their leader's absence. (Florence Ballard died in 1976 at age 32.) "Many times in our lives we have to assess the importance of things," Wilson said when I spoke to her before the ceremony. "She just had a child, she's just remarried, she may think those things are important now. And I say, 'right on.'" For once, Wilson was the Supreme in the spotlight.

From the Beach Boys, there was good news, and bad news, and all sorts of uncategorizable news, as often happens with this band of permanently conflicted family members, friends, and hangers-on. The often-troubled and reticent Brian Wilson was talkative in conversation before the ceremony. The not-so-good part was that he was talking up his forthcoming solo album (Brian Wilson), co-written and co-produced by his controversial and evidently manipulative live-in psychiatrist, Dr. Eugene Landy. Landy had insinuated himself into Brian's life and earned many hundreds of thousands of dollars a year from his "client."

"Some of it is rock 'n' roll, some it's 'pop music,' easier listening music," Wilson said of the solo album. Asked whether he regretted destroying the session tapes in 1967 for the conceptual, never released [at that time] Smile, Brian's attempt to top the Beatles' Sgt. Pepper, Wilson said: "It was too weird. It was a weird album." A bowdlerized relation to that album, Capitol Records' 1967 Smiley Smile, Wilson said, was his least favorite Beach Boys release. (Everything being relative, Smiley Smile was historically incomplete, but it did have "Good Vibrations" and "Heroes and Villains.")

Inside the banquet, when the Beach Boys were inducted, Wilson said: "I wanted to make joyful music that made other people feel good." But his good vibrations were obliterated by the nasty rant of his cousin, bandmate, and then the world's worst advocate for the calming powers of Transcendental Meditation, Mike Love.

First, Love launched a belligerent attack on those who didn't show up. "Paul McCartney couldn't be here tonight because he's in a lawsuit with Ringo and Yoko. He sent a telegram to some high-priced attorney who's sitting out there. It's a bummer when Ms. Ross [sarcasm intended] can't make it." Then, turning back to attacking the Beatles, Love said: "The Beach Boys did 180 performances last year; I'd like to see the mop tops top that."

The Beatles probably played 180 sets a month when they did their long residency in Hamburg, Germany, but never mind: Mike Love was on a bloviating rampage, and he turned to the Rolling Stones, whose Mick Jagger had the honor of offering the induction introduction for the Beatles. He challenged Mick and the Stones to a battle of the bands in Wembley Stadium in London; he challenged Springsteen to get onstage and jam. "I want to see Billy Joel to see if he can still tickle the ivories." Since the great attraction of having all of these stellar musicians on hand is the post-ceremonial jam session, all these musicians indeed got on stage.

The house group, the Paul Shaffer Band, eventually cut Love off. Elton John, who must have been mortified that he had introduced the Beach Boys for their Hall of Fame honors, quickly quipped: "Thank God he didn't include me!"

Muhammad Ali, who had been diagnosed with Parkinson's disease in 1984, was asked who he was looking forward to meeting. "Beatles," he whispered. Ali was also asked who he preferred in an upcoming Larry Holmes/Mike Tyson fight. A bodyguard stepped in and said, "he doesn't have an opinion." But everyone wanted to meet Ali, including boxing aficionado Dylan.

Little Richard was there to give his imprimatur to inducting the Supremes, and I'm sure he was sorry not to hang with Ms. Ross. But he lost his mind (in a good way) when he spotted Ali. "How you doin', Muhammad Ali!" Little Richard said in his signature squeal. "I love him, because he loves me so much. Thank you for loving me, Muhammad. Whoooo!"

Springsteen, there to honor Bob Dylan; Billy Joel, carrying the torch for the Drifters; and Jagger, in praise of the Beatles, offered insightful and moving speeches. 

"The first time I heard Bob Dylan, I was in the car with my mother listening to [New York top 40 station] WMCA," Springsteen said. "The snare shot from 'Like a Rolling Stone' sounded like somebody kicked open the door to your mind. . . the way that Elvis freed your body, Bob Dylan freed your mind. Just because the music was innately physical didn't mean that it was anti-intellectual. Without Bob Dylan, the Beatles wouldn't have made 'Sgt. Pepper,' the Beach Boys Pet Sounds, the Sex Pistols' "God Save the Queen," U2 'Pride in the Name of Love' and the Count Five wouldn't have made 'Psychotic Reaction.'"   

Billy Joel gave sensitive, metaphorical talk about his personal relationship with the music of the Drifters, from his days hanging out in Levittown, L.I., to his adaptation of the Drifters' style for his song "An Innocent Man." He spoke of going "Up On the Roof" of his house in Levittown, dreaming of some place better. Proving his forever fealty to his native Long Island, Joel said something you have to be from around here to fully understand: "Levittown looked good from up there. It looked like Syosset."

Jagger got the general idea, ad libbing on behalf of the Beatles, laying on the London in his voice. "Everybody talks about Syosset and Levittown," Jagger said. "But let me tell you, Liverpool!" His voice trailed off, as if still astonished that four provincial rubes could transform the wasteland that had been British music, and then change the world.

The evening left its controversies behind in the show-closing jam session. Dylan singing "All Along the Watchtower," supported by Harrison and Neil Young on guitar and Jagger on vocals. "I Saw Her Standing There," with Joel on first verse, Jagger the second, and Harrison and Springsteen on harmonies. Mary Wilson got to sing lead on "Stop! In the Name of Love," with Dylan on guitar; Dylan singing "Like a Rolling Stone," with Springsteen and Jagger on tight vocal harmony. How do you top that? Jagger, in the jam, singing "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction," with such joy and delight, as if to say that anyone that has written him off during this unproductive period for the Rolling Stones, was making a mistake.

And then, surprisingly, everyone was upstaged by John Fogerty, singing his Creedence Clearwater Revival hit "Born on the Bayou" with such incisiveness and passion that it deserved its own place in the hall of fame.

But five years later, John Fogerty would pull a stunt that would make the ranting of Mike Love seem like a love-in. In one of the lowest moments of Rock Hall history, Creedence was admitted in 1993, but Fogerty refused to play with his bandmates. Tom Fogerty, the fourth member, died in 1990, and the Fogerty brothers, as appears to be the rule among the fraternal in high-stakes rock bands, had been estranged. But Stu Cook (bass) and Doug Clifford (drums), who played on every CCR hit with Fogerty, were at the event but not allowed on stage. Instead, in 1993, Fogerty performed backed by Springsteen and Robbie Robertson, among others. The CCR quartet, whose Chronicle: Twenty Greatest Hits remains in the top 40 on the Billboard top 200 album charts to this day, had started under various names in El Cerrito, Ca., since 1959. The rocking never stops, and the resentments never end.

Bob Dylan, in his concise 77-second acceptance in 1988, said hello to Ali, then saluted Little Richard. "I don't think I'd have ever started out without listening to Little Richard," Dylan said. Then, without changing tone, "I want to thank Mike Love for not mentioning me. I play a lot of dates every year too, and peace, love, and harmony is greatly important. But there's also forgiveness, and we've got to have that, too."