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In 1986, Jerry Lee Lewis was elected to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, alongside Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Buddy Holly and other seminal rockers from the 1950s. They were part of the new Hall's first class. I was at a Boston rock club where Lewis was playing not long after that, covering him for the Boston Globe. We knew each other some, and we were backstage after the set, talking and drinking whiskey (no doubt). I asked him about his Hall of Fame induction. "Well, when I was indicted...," he began, with a wry smile. He used the word a couple of times, just so I didn't miss it. Interpretation: Ambivalence - at the least. He didn't get into this line of work to be in some future hall of fame down the road. He got into it to have a better shot of finding sweet little 16. Still probably why he does it at age 71. He wasn't the only one that thought this "hall of fame" concept might be a bit dodgy for rock music. Ray Davies expressed similar thoughts to me in New York when the Kinks were inducted in 1990. And though the Sex Pistols were voted in 2006, they pissed and moaned, issuing a statement saying, "We're not coming. We're not your monkeys and so what?" Somehow, institutionalized rock and roll didn't jibe with the rebellious nature of what they'd done. Of course, you'd fully expect Johnny Rotten not to want to join that or any club.  Madona But most of the early resistance or conflict has abated: The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is there to stay. Get used to it. Hey, if you're in it, enjoy the honor, bask in your glory, join in the massive jam session at the induction ceremony, And most do. The basic criteria: An artist has to have released their first single or album 25 years before nomination. That means 1982, now. Each year, five acts get in. The annual list of nominees always produces some sage nods, some winces and, often, the (once again) realization that this thing called "rock and roll" encompasses a very wide range of musical styles and tastes. No one owns it. The nominees this year were announced at the end of September: Madonna, Afrika Bambaataa, the Beastie Boys, Leonard Cohen, Donna Summer, the Ventures, Chic, the Dave Clark Five and John Mellencamp. (It's the third year Chic and the DC5 have been nominated; the second for the artist formerly known as John Cougar.) Controversy has emerged in the blogosphere because, once again, certain hard rock/heavy metal bands were snubbed – only four of the like are in the Hall (Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith, AC/DC and Black Sabbath) – and Harp magazine calls this year's the "lamest list" yet. Here's one rock critic's take: Madonna. An absolute shoe-in, even if her stylized theatrical pop-disco seems light years away from, say, Jerry Lee's kick-ass rock and roll. The shock factor: She's been doing this a quarter-century? Yes, she has, and we are that much older. I remember thinking, early on, that she was a canny Deborah (Blondie) Harry rip-off. Then, I came around to the idea that she was taking her sexy blonde-ness to another plateau. To the dance floor, to that whole female empowerment thing, to more explicit sexual areas, to elaborate stage shows-as-spectacles. She teased, she flirted, she dated, married and divorced celebs. She set her designs on becoming an icon and became one. And, even as wife to British director Guy Ritchie and a mum, she can put on one helluva show for the ADD age in which we live. Afrika Bambaataa. An innovator of early hip-hop in the late 1970s, Bambaataa was not just a DJ, but a leader who tried turn young gang members to music. (He did this again in the '90s with another generation.) Musically, with Soul Sonic Force, Bamaattaa brought the robotic space-rock of Kraftwerk to rap in "Looking for the Perfect Beat" and "Planet Rock" – definitive (and progressive) songs of 1982, He was influential and cool – and remains a well-respected man. Musically he was an innovator for a short spell. The Hall? Not quite.
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