The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame’s Woman Problem

This is the first in a series of articles about the various problems the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame has with its nomination and election processes. Focusing on the last decade of induction classes (but occasionally going back further), I’ll be documenting the four things the Hall of Fame electors keep exposing: An overall problem with Women; a problem with UK under-representation; a problem with California over-representation; and, an inability to move on from older acts to newer ones. A fifth article will address ways in which these problems can be dealt with so the Hall of Fame can properly represent the true scope and depth of this genre.

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In the last ten years, there have been 57 acts inducted into the main roster of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (RRHoF). Here are all of the female-oriented acts among those 57:

2010 – ABBA ( 2 of 4 members)
2011 – Darlene Love
2012 – Laura Nyro
2013 – Heart (2 of 6 members) and Donna Summer
2014 – Linda Ronstadt
2015 – Joan Jett & the Blackhearts (1 of 5 members)
2016 – NONE
2017 – Joan Baez
2018 – Nina Simone
2019 – Janet Jackson & Stevie Nicks

That’s eleven acts total. (Counting the sex of all the band members inducted, that actually works out to 10.03 acts.) While it is almost understandable that less than 20% of the acts that made it in were female (almost all forms of music that fit under the “rock & roll umbrella” have been dominated by men through the years), take a look at how many years it took after each of these acts were eligible for inclusion for them to finally be elected (one is eligible for induction 25 years after their recorded debut):

2010 – ABBA (10 years)
2011 – Darlene Love (26 years)
2012 – Laura Nyro (19 years)
2013 – Heart (12 years)
2013 – Donna Summer (13 years)
2014 – Linda Ronstadt (19 years)
2015 – Joan Jett & the Blackhearts (9 years)
2016 – NONE
2017 – Joan Baez (41 years)
2018 – Nina Simone (43 years)
2019 – Janet Jackson (11 years)
2019 – Stevie Nicks (12 years)

Only Joan Jett was able to get in less than a decade after becoming eligible. On the other side of things, both Joan Baez and Nina Simone were eligible from the very first RRHoF class in 1986–yet the years they were inducted were also the first times they were actually nominated. This means in the last five RRHoF induction classes, only four women got in, two of them were a folk singer and a jazz singer who technically had been eligible for 40 years but weren’t previously considered to be “rock & roll”, and one (Nicks) was someone who had already been previously inducted within a band being re-inducted for her solo career.

Meanwhile, over the same previous ten years, Nirvana, Guns ‘N Roses, Green Day and Tupac Shakur were elected in their first year of eligibility, Radiohead in their second, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers in their third.

This is not a case of there not being a big enough pool of female acts for RRHoF voters to nominate and elect. The following sixteen female acts, for instance, were also eligible last year. A number of them have been eligible for many years with hardly a nomination among them:
Tori Amos
The Bangles
Bjork
Mary J. Blige
Kate Bush
Sheryl Crow
The Go-Gos
Emmylou Harris
PJ Harvey
Grace Jones
Chaka Kahn (and Rufus)
k.d. lang
Salt n Pepa
Liz Phair
Carly Simon
Lucinda Williams

And then there are at least these five eligible bands led by women or with super-significant female members also shut out to date:
Hole
Pixies
Sade
Smashing Pumpkins
Sonic Youth

While there may be debate about the level of worthiness of the twenty-one acts that I have just listed, can you really say ALL of them were less worthy of inclusion than this year’s inductees Def Leppard, Roxy Music, and the Zombies? Or last year’s Bon Jovi, The Cars, and The Moody Blues?

Whoever are the individuals putting together nominating lists for the induction classes, it still appears being a female artist-even in 2019-is something that needs to be “overcome” by the voting body, whereas the masculine continues to be treated as a “normal” state in defining what “rock” is. Notice that even among the eleven acts in the last decade that have entered, only Heart and Jett play what traditionally could be called rock music. Of the other nine, only Laura Nyro and Stevie Nicks are usually seen as songwriters, while only Nyro, Joan Baez, and Nina Simone are known for playing instruments. The rest are singers, and singers alone.

Going back further, you’ll find the vast majority of female acts that have gotten in tend to be girl groups, or mixed-sex groups in which the female(s) usually take a singing-only role. The only women that both play and compose who get in are usually some undeniable force of nature (Aretha Franklin, Joni Mitchell, Patti Smith) that simply HAS to be in the Hall of Fame. Meanwhile eight members of Deep Purple were elected in 2016, and ten members of The Cure are on their plaque this year. Those two acts combined contain five more men (18) than the total number of women (13) who have gotten in during the last DECADE.

The fact is, simply put, whether measuring “worthiness” for RRHoF induction by sales and chart numbers, quality of music, or influence on other acts, there are a number of female acts which deserve priority over yet another 1970s-era stadium band “finally” getting in every single year….But we’ll get to that in a future article.

The Vinyl Diaries: Dylan and Kendrick

I am 48 years old, and my hero is a 19-year-old named Dylan. You may recall him from some of my previous entries on topics like his birthday, his one-time Justin Bieber fixation, and other happenings and circumstances in his life. We’ve known each other a long time.

Dylan struggles with things I find easy. He excels at other things that baffle and frustrate me. Our tastes in art and artistic expressions rarely intersect, but when they do – when a song moves us both in similar ways, or when we leave a cinema together having just been mutually entertained – there’s a connection between us that draws us closer, and certainly transcends the usual father-son banter in which we typically engage (“How was your day?” “Fine. How was yours?” “Fine.”).

He processes the world differently than I do, a combination of the usual generational contrasts and disparities, and the symptomatology inherent to his non-specific pervasive developmental disorder, a dot somewhere on the higher-functioning end of the autism spectrum. Over time, these circumstances have frustrated us both. As he grew up, I had to find a new way to communicate with him—one that provided me with space and some modicum of time (sometimes mere seconds, sometimes hours or days), to enable me to process him, his emotional fragility versus my impatience; his genuine anger or anxiety or confusion versus my own anger or anxiety or confusion. Many times, I failed to find that way; I snapped when I should have asked questions; I tried to leave my impression on a situation when I should have simply let it be; I wounded him verbally when I should have held my tongue.

But there were other times (more other times, I’d like to think) when we clicked and both walked away stronger. When I was for him what my father had been for me—a rock on which he could lean; an example he could use to model a correct response, or at least an appropriate one. I don’t know that I ever celebrated those moments as much as I mulled over and regretted those in which I did the wrong thing, leaving him to figure out the right way to proceed, in spite of my adding to his burden.

One thing I could not give him was the emotional and intellectual fortitude to persist. That, he found for himself. It’s probably the aspect of his person and personality of which I am proudest, in addition to his kind heart, his cheerful spirit and his propensity to give of himself to his friends, his family, even strangers in need.

High school can be hell for people like Dylan, but he made it through the social and academic gauntlets of that most questionably useful of institutions, with his humor and kindness and curiosity intact. The ignorant cretins who taunted and goaded him and made every attempt to embarrass him, all of them lost in the end—he got out wiser, with a thicker skin, and has proceeded to college and employment and other, better things in environments where their small-mindedness and cruelty hold no sway. They, in turn, have largely slithered back to their small lives under rocks he will one day trod over with greater confidence than even he could have ever before envisioned. They won’t even recognize him.

I was sent flying into this bit of reflection by the story of Kendrick Castillo—the student of STEM School Highlands Ranch in Colorado, who was killed when he rushed a gunman who had entered his classroom.

The first thing that struck me about Castillo was his appearance—he was a big kid, with a similarly built body to my boy’s, and his eyes had the same qualities of piercing intensity and kindness. Then I read about him—his classmates spoke of his genial nature, his sense of humor, his helpfulness; his teachers likewise lavished news stories with similar descriptions and remembrances.

They made me remember the times I saw Dylan helping teachers, carrying boxes or other ephemera, before or after a school event. They made me think of the fact that he carried extra pencils in his backpack and classmates up and down the social continuum knew he’d give them one if they needed one. They reminded me that he had some popular friends, but he was also the first to sit with an outcast at lunch, or to hang out with a physically disabled kid. 

Kendrick Castillo deserved better than the fate that was forced upon him. I admit I have become numb to stories of shootings in this country, my country; their frequency and the inability and/or unwillingness to do anything substantial about them are the numbing agents, as awful as that is and sounds. Castillo’s death – and his resemblance (physical and otherwise) to the person I love most in this world cut through the gauze and awakened me to a realization that I’d relegated to the back of my mind.

That could have been my kid.

I am not the first to make that realization about a shooting, of course, but seeing Castillo’s face accompanying the story of his murder was as close as I’ve ever come to seeing Dylan’s face next to such a story, and it rattled me to my core. Kendrick Castillo lived his last moments in fear, in yet another damnable scene of senseless violence in another town in America, and he nevertheless decided to fight back, to put himself, his life, on the line to save his friends. He was a hero.

That could have been my kid.

The thing is, Castillo should have never been put in that position, in that situation, should have never had to make the decision he made. He should have been left to finish watching The Princess Bride with his classmates; he should have been left to deal with his senioritis (he was three days from graduation); he should have been allowed to leave high school behind and go on with his life. A year from now, he should have been celebrating the end of his freshman year of college, as my son just did.

This has to stop.

But he will not. He is gone, like so many others, and almost certainly so many more to come. I am grateful for him, for waking me up, and for helping me recognize my good fortune, to still be able to hold a conversation with my boy, to still be able to watch him grow up into a young man, to still have days with him, however many more there are.

But I also mourn for Castillo, as should we all. One can only hope that after being exited from this life, he shattered through whatever barrier that keeps us – our spirits, our beings – stuck in place here. If there’s anything peaceful or beautiful that awaits our consciousness beyond this life, may he have found it; may it surround him and buoy him and carry him on.

Nestled in your wings, my little one
This special morning brings another sun
Tomorrow, see the things that never come today

When you see me
Fly away without you
Shadow on the things you know
Feathers fall around you
And show you the way to go

It’s over …

Soul Serenade: The 8th Day, “She’s Not Just Another Woman”

After nine years and well over 400 columns, I’ve decided to change Soul Serenade from a weekly to an occasional column. Obviously, there are more than enough classic soul records to fuel a column like this for a lifetime but the truth is that while the column’s title mentions a specific song what I’ve really been doing is telling the stories of the artists behind the songs. And while many artists had multiple hits, how many times can you tell the same story? Are there artists who I’ve never covered? Of course. The 8th Day is one such group and I’ll certainly find more. But the fact is they’re harder to come by on a weekly basis. I hope you’ll continue to join me on this journey albeit on a bit more infrequent basis.

In 1967, the songwriting and production team of Brian Holland, Lamont Dozier, and Eddie Holland left Motown in an acrimonious dispute with Motown owner Berry Gordy, Jr. The trio formed their own family of record labels that included the Hotwax, Music Merchant, and Invictus imprints. The roster of these labels was mostly made up of groups that were assembled for the occasion. They were either supergroups or lineups that were pieced together for a specific record. Often the members of the groups didn’t even know each other or hadn’t worked together before being called on to record for one of the labels.

The story of the 8th Day begins with another group that was recording for Holland-Dozier-Holland, 100 Proof (Aged in Soul). 100 Proof itself had been assembled by Holland-Dozier-Holland and the lineup included Steve Mancha, Eddie Holiday, and Joe Stubbs (brother of Levi Stubbs). The group had scored an R&B hit with “Too Many Cooks Spoil the Soup” but then scored really big with a crossover smash called “Somebody’s Been Sleeping In My Bed” which reached #8 on the pop chart and sold a million copies of the Hotwax release. The label decided it would be a good idea to release a 100 Proof album to capitalize on the success of the single.

The 8th Day

“She’s Not Just Another Woman” was a cut on the album and anyone with ears could tell that it was a hit. The song was written by Holland-Dozier-Holland but because of their ongoing dispute with Gordy, it was credited to C. Wilson and Ronald Dunbar. DJs started playing the track off the album. The problem was that “Somebody’s Been Sleeping” was still rolling up the charts and the label didn’t want anything, such as a new single by the same group, to get in the way. That’s where the 8th Day came in. It was simply a matter of changing the group’s name on the label of the single and releasing it on Invictus instead of Hotwax. That is 100 Proof’s Steve Mancha singing lead on “She Not Just Another Woman.” Sure enough, it was a hit, reaching #11 on the pop chart in 1971.

There was one little problem: there was no 8th Day. When the second 8th Day single, “You Got to Crawl (Before You Walk)” began to find some chart success, that problem had to be resolved, and quickly. Holland-Dozier-Holland did what they had done so well before and simply assembled a group for the occasion. The lineup included Melvin Davis, Tony Newsome, Lyman Woodard, Larry Hutchison, Ron Bykowski, Michael Anthony, Bruce Nazarian, Jerry Paul, Lynn Harter, Carol Stallings, and Anita Sherman. Now that there was an actual band, 8th Day recorded two more singles for Invictus but while “Eeny-Meeny-Miny-Mo (Three’s a Crowd)” and “If I Could See the Light” both reached the R&B Top 30, it wasn’t enough to keep the band together.

Holland-Dozier-Holland are often credited for their brilliant songwriting and production but it seems that they were also pretty adept at assembling talent and providing songs for their put-together groups to take up the charts.

 

(Not So) Famous Firsts – Terry Zwigoff’s Louie Bluie

In a career spanning 34 years, director Terry Zwigoff has only directed four major films. His 1994 feature Crumb may be the greatest American documentary ever made. He followed that up with the Oscar nominated Ghost World, which was the first coming of age film for millennials. Then he directed Bad Santa, a film so brutally dark humored that even Harmony Korine would find the characters and the plot unwieldy. Yet it still became a holiday classic and revived Billy Bob Thornton as the ultimate misanthropic actor. (Zwigoff had nothing to do with the belated sequel and called it “beyond-my-wildest-dreams awful.”) His last feature to date was Art School Confidential, which if I can recall correctly, featured hallmarks of a film like a cast, a script, and scenes that were shot using a camera.

After Art School Confidential failed at the box office and failed to garner a positive response from his critics and fans, he seemingly disappeared from the industry, only re-emerging to direct a TV pilot for Amazon.

Part of his disappearance has to do with the same struggles even independent filmmaker increasingly faces. But a lot of it can be explained by the people he’s interested in, like Robert Crumb and Ghost World’s Seymour. Zwigoff is an eternal outsider – someone that all but a few members of society look past. Even when he was younger, he was out of place in the San Francisco counterculture movement he found himself living in. Robert Crumb was the only person who shared his interest in old blues music, and they started a band together. But Zwigoff, even when he was surrounded by people who had changed American culture to match their unique tastes, was never really interested in doing the same. He wanted to follow the rejects – those who may get noticed by a dozen people but for the mostly fade into the background.

That’s what Crumb was about. The documentary focuses less on the impact of Robert Crumb’s comic work than it did on his childhood, his sexual obsessions, his family, and his world view that still seemed weird and out of sync with everyone around him. Crumb had been highly successful, but he didn’t seem to acknowledge it. He was still the same man he was in the 1960s, using his art as a form of self-therapy and not wishing to acknowledge any attention it gave him. The same applies to Seymour, who is as devoted to old blues records as Crumb and to Willie in Bad Santa, who uses his Santa persona as a sort of mask to ignore his alcoholism and the fact that he’s a criminal. The only reason anyone likes him and talks to him is because they recognize the impact Santa has on their world.

And all of this is predicted in Zwigoff’s first film, a 60-minute documentary called Louie Bluie. It follows a musician named Howard Armstrong (“You’re not Louis Armstrong. You’re just a regular Louie Bluie,” Howard explains as he discusses where the nickname came from). Armstrong is a member of the last black string band in America.  His band had released some records in the 1930s, but he eventually quit music and moved to Detroit to work in the auto industry. Zwigoff tracked him down and followed him for five years to make this documentary.

Once again, this not-so famous debut is a sort of practice film for what the filmmaker really wanted to do. So much of Louie Bluie is reminiscent of Crumb that it almost feels like a deleted scene on a DVD release. Louie Bluie has the same typography in the credits as Crumb, roughly the same structure, the same aesthetic look – almost the same everything. Zwigoff spent nine years on Crumb and I have no doubt he showed this film to potential investors and interview subjects as proof he could effectively make the film.

But Louie Bluie is still required viewing. Armstrong represents a forgotten part of Americana and hearing him play sounds like music from another world that picked up ancient Earth radio broadcasts and decided to recreate them. His music is a sort of fusion between blues and country. Picture him as the equivalent of seeing Tiny Tim in 1994, and you have some idea of how out of time Armstrong and the other musicians sounded to a 1980s audience.

Strange obsessions with the past are the most important themes in Crumb and Ghost World. It was necessary for Zwigoff to explore what he was comfortable with in his first film. And another component of Zwigoff’s later films can be seen – the way he treats nostalgia. Crumb and Ghost World feature some unquestionably racist images, but they’re images that used to be a part of every day American life. Armstrong is treated the same way as that sign. If you want to pine for a simpler time in American history, like the music Armstrong plays, you have to accept the warts associated with it.

One of the biggest differences between Louie Bluie and Zwigoff’s later works is Howard Armstrong. He’s a much more vibrant character that Robert Crumb and seemingly more eager to talk about his past. In fact, we even see some of the cartoons Armstrong drew from his memories on the road, in scenes that are tonally identical to Crumb examining his work.

But while Crumb was still very much an introvert and his cartoons are the only way to understand his mind, Armstrong is eager for attention. He laughs as he recalls his youth and he enjoys the opportunity to tell his story.

The film also does a better job of explaining how people like Howard Armstrong fit into American history. As Crumb walked the streets of Haight-Ashbury, shaking his head at the loud hip hop music, Howard gives us an opportunity to explore not just his career, but the genre he worked in. There are all sorts of references to classic blues music, including scenes where Howard wanders around Chicago’s Maxwell Street, an important location in blues history. (It’s also the home of Aretha Franklin’s Soul Food Café in The Blues Brothers.)

One flaw with Louie Bluie is its length. The film is far too short to make the maximum impact. We end up not with a complete story about Louie, but only a glimpse of a fascinating man. Armstrong’s memories are too fragmented, and, unlike Crumb, we don’t hear from any music historians to talk about Armstrong in a larger context – or to react to Armstrong’s background. This led to some of the best moments in the later documentary, as art critics react with disbelief when they’re told Robert Crumb masturbates to his own cartoons. Also, unlike Ghost World, it doesn’t really address the racism that Armstrong faced in his career. Yes, he mentions it, but it’s buried and not thematically explored. One of the most interesting stories in the film is about how Armstrong’s band performed as an opening for a traveling medicine show. It’s a great story, but the film never tries to contextualize what those shows meant. There’s even a fascinating music video of an old blues show as Armstrong describes his band’s performances. But where does this video come from? And is this footage saying about the popular culture of the past?

These problems were corrected in Zwigoff’s later films and Armstrong is still such a fascinating subject that audiences likely would not have noticed these lapses. Zwigoff knew exactly what he wanted to do with his films – find someone society has forgotten about or who never fit in and examine why they’re still important. Every character in a Zwigoff movie can be traced back to the people we meet in Louie Bluie. The world may no longer pay attention to them, if it ever did, but they’re still important to our history.

Radio City With Jon Grayson & Rob Ross: Episode One Hundred Nine

Radio City With Jon Grayson & Rob Ross:  Episode One Hundred Nine

The more the world spins out of control, the more Jon and Rob try to make some sense out of the irrational and, at times, ponderous.  Episode 109 of Radio City… is no exception and it’s a very full conversation.  Settle in as the boys analyze and dissect the redacted Muller Report; the Notre Dame fire; 
the parole for the getaway driver in the 1981 Brink’s armored car robbery/murder of 2 police officers; the hockey playoffs and the burning question of “why does there have to be a useless anniversary mention for every single album nowadays?”  All that, plus this week, Rob drives the “In Our Heads” segment – all in all, an outstanding show.

So do what you need to and get comfortable – and please allow these two friends to entertain and make you think.  You’ll be glad you let them in… 

 
Radio City With Jon Grayson & Rob Ross: Episode One Hundred Nine
 
 
The podcast will be on the site as well as for subscription via iTunes and other podcast aggregators. Subscribe and let people know about Radio City, as well as Popdose’s other great podcasts David Medsker’s Dizzy Heights and In:Sound with Michael Parr and Zack Stiegler.

Radio City With Jon Grayson & Rob Ross Episode One Hundred Eight

Radio City With Jon Grayson & Rob Ross:  Episode One Hundred Eight

In another throwback to “freeform” radio, Jon and Rob abandon an agenda for topics to discuss and instead have a “conversation between two friends” – except it’s for broadcast!

So enjoy this fun and always-informative installment of Radio City…  You know you’re going to enjoy it!

Radio City With Jon Grayson & Rob Ross: Episode One Hundred Eight

The podcast will be on the site as well as for subscription via iTunes and other podcast aggregators. Subscribe and let people know about Radio City, as well as Popdose’s other great podcasts David Medsker’s Dizzy Heights and In:Sound with Michael Parr and Zack Stiegler.

Dizzy Heights #55: They Will Never Find Me Here — The Sun and the Moon, Vol. I

I called an audible. Originally, the plan was to do a show about kids and children, after hearing a great show by Mixclouder The Show About… on the same subject, but one that left enough room for me to do a similar show without copying too much off of his paper.

 

Then he did a show about stars, and that reminded me of another idea that I had been flirting with for a while. This month, the sun and the moon. The Seeds of Love-era Tears for Fears fans know what the next show will be. Assuming I have enough material, that is.

 

Bands/artists making their Dizzy Heights debut: Aqualung, The Beloved, Matthew Sweet, Paul McCartney (solo), The Waterboys, Eggstone, The Merrymakers, Love & Rockets, Len, and somehow, I’m just now playing The Police for the first time.

 

Thank you, as always, for listening.

Soul Serenade: Roberta Flack And Donny Hathaway, “The Closer I Get To You”

When an artist dies too young it is always tempting to mourn not only the loss of his or her spirit but also the loss of the great work they might have done had they lived. Such is the case with Donny Hathaway whose premature loss robbed the world of what would have undoubtedly been the great music he would have made. If there can be said to be a silver lining it is that Hathaway left us with some wonderful work including a magnificent series of duets with Roberta Flack that will endure forever.

“The Closer I Get to You” wasn’t supposed to be a duet. The song was written by Reggie Lucas and James Mtume, both of whom were members of Flack’s touring band. They offered it to producer Joe Ferla, who produced the track along with Flack and Gene McDaniel, for inclusion on Flack’s album Blue Lights in the Basement. David Franklin was Flack’s manager and it was his idea to re-write the song to include Hathaway. Five years earlier, Flack and Hathaway, friends since they attended Howard University together, had collaborated on an acclaimed self-titled album of duets.

Unfortunately, Hathaway had spent the intervening years battling clinical depression and it often required him to be hospitalized. In fact, but when the time came to record “The Closer I Get to You” Hathaway was too ill to travel from his home in Chicago to New York for the session. As a result, Flack had to record the vocals with a stand-in session singer. The track was then sent to Chicago where Hathaway added his part before sending the track back to New York to be mixed.

“The Closer I Get to You” was released as a single by Atlantic Records in February 1978. It climbed to the top spot on the R&B chart while reaching #2 on the Billboard 100. Hathaway and Flack were nominated for a Grammy Award for the duet. Among the many accolades that the track received was one from the BBC‘s Lewis Dene who called it a “soul masterpiece.”

Roberta Flack and Donny Hathaway

Less than a year later, Donny Hathaway was dead. At the time of his death, he had just begun work with Flack on another album of duets. While his voice was reportedly in fine shape, he began acting irrationally in the studio. The recording session for the day and Hathaway returned to his hotel where he apparently leaped to his death from his 15th-floor room. His death was ruled a suicide although some friends were troubled by the conclusion since Hathaway’s career was just being resurrected.

A devastated Roberta Flack included a few of the duets that had been finished on her next album which was called Roberta Flack Featuring Donny Hathaway. Flack also vowed that “The Closer I Get to You” would always be dedicated to Hathaway and that all proceeds from the single would go to Hathaway’s widow and two children.

After Hathaway’s death, Flack spoke to Jet Magazine:

I tried to reach out to Donny. That’s how we managed to do the song we did last year. I felt this need because I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t save him, I knew he was sick. But I knew when he sat down at that piano and sang for me it was like it was eight or nine years ago because he sang and played his ass off.

The video for “The Closer I Get to You” was made after Hathaway was gone. The quality here isn’t great but you can see that his absence was handled by having the camera focus on a photo of Hathaway that is on a table behind Flack as she sits at the piano.