Rock on, Cleveland!

And the beat goes on at Cleveland’s Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

by David Menzies

In ancient Egypt, a pyramid was referred to as mer, literally translated as “place of ascendance.” Little wonder Cleveland’s Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum resembles a super-sized glass pyramid, paying homage to those modern-day musicians who have indeed ascended the summit of popular music. And much like those triangular Egyptian tombs, priceless treasure lurks beyond the walls of this shimmering structure set upon the frigid shores of Lake Erie.

Self-billed as “the ultimate place to learn about rock and roll and how it continues to shape our lives,” the Hall lives up to the hyperbole. Where else can music fans check out paraphernalia as diverse as Janis Joplin’s 1965 Porsche 356c (complete with multi-hued psychedelic paint job) or Marky Ramone’s star-spangled boxer shorts (emblazoned with the Ramones’ trademark lyric, “Hey, ho, let’s go!”) or the broken bass guitar of the Clash’s Paul Simonon (the very same one he can be seen smashing on the cover of London Calling)?

To keep things fresh, the Hall is also home to an everchanging lineup of temporary exhibits. During our recent visit, a comprehensive exhibit was devoted to the making of the 1965 Beatles movie, Help! and we saw a montage on The Doors. Guaranteed to bring back memories for many a baby boomer, and a good thing, too. As the saying goes, “If you can remember the ’60s, you probably weren’t there.”

As for Cleveland — long disparaged as the “Mistake by the Lake” (although definitely on the comeback trail these days, much like Elvis in 1969) — the city may seem an unlikely place for a hall devoted to rock music. But it was Cleveland deejay Alan Freed who coined the term “rock and roll” as a substitute for black “race” music. Freed, who died of uremic poisoning in 1965, is himself immortalized here: the brass urn containing Freed’s remains resides within.

Throughout the Hall, mini-shrines showcase the careers of various artists, always jam-packed with fascinating artifacts and memorabilia. A glass-encased display lauding Bob Seger contains the black cowboy boots he wore on the cover of his Greatest Hits album, as well as original handwritten lyrics for “Like a Rock” (scribbled in ink on yellow foolscap paper). Another Seger donation is his 1957 Gibson acoustic guitar. The instrument was given to Seger as a birthday present from Glenn Fry of the Eagles, proving that even rock stars aren’t above the practise of “re-gifting.”

As for the hundreds of unique knickknacks that fill the Hall, the question arises: where does all the stuff come from? Mostly, says Todd Mesek, VP of marketing and communications, fans can be thankful that many artists have packrat-like mothers. “Some of the artists’ moms just hang on to everything,” says Mesek. “They’re a great source when it comes to acquisitions.”

WHO’S WHO IN THE HALL?

It is fascinating to observe how some artists have stood the test of time, aging gracefully and remaining relevant through the decades. Madonna, a 2008 inductee, surely deserves a place simply for her uncanny ability to constantly reinvent herself.

Other artists haven’t fared nearly as well. Case in point: the Michael Jackson exhibit features everything from his Day-Glo polyester Jackson 5 duds to his iconic jewel-studded white glove. Perhaps the most interesting MJ item is the werewolf mask the self-proclaimed King of Pop wore for the 1983 video Thriller. A scary prop, to be sure.

The lion’s share of the Hall’s collection is in the basement level, where a listening area offers fans an opportunity to sample “500 Songs that Shaped Rock and Roll.” But gems can be found on upper levels, too.

For example, a display dedicated to Pink Floyd’s 1979 masterwork, The Wall, is not to be missed. White bricks the size of refrigerators support a 30-foot-tall sinister professor as well as other disturbing-looking characters. Graffitied on the bricks is a short essay by Roger Waters describing the epiphany that led to the album’s creation.

Waters recalls the 1977 Montreal concert where, frustrated by the entrapment of superstardom, he spat in the face of an overzealous fan. “Later that night … shocked by my behaviour, I was forced with a choice,” wrote Waters. “To deny my addiction and embrace that ‘comfortably numb’ but ‘magic-less’ existence or accept the burden of insight, take the road less traveled and embark on the often painful journey to discover who I was and where I fit. The Wall was the picture I drew for myself to help me make that choice.”

ODDBALL ITEMS

While much of the Hall ‘s memorabilia is fascinating, some items make for odd choices. A display of Jim Morrison paraphernalia features a reproduction of his 1944 baptism certificate. How such commonplace paperwork is remotely interesting to even hardcore Doors fans remains a mystery. And a drawing of a man rendered in purple, brown and black crayon, created by the five-year-old Morrison, is just what you’d expect a drawing by a five-year-old to look like.

Far more interesting is some of the correspondence on display, such as Mick Jagger’s 1981 letter to Jann Werner, editor/publisher of Rolling Stone. It reads: “Dear Jann: In return for my consent to allow you to register the name ‘Rolling Stone,’, what do you offer as far as cover stories, special small ad rates, and summer clothes coverage?”

The most gulp-inducing missive is surely the 1979 letter by Billy Lawrie, former A&R director for Arista Records. Lawrie’s letter begins, “Dear Friends” and goes on, “although this [demo tape] doesn’t meet our needs at present, we would like to thank you for thinking of us and encourage you to keep us posted on future endeavors.” The recipient of Lawrie’s letter? An obscure band out of Dublin, Ireland called U2.

Like most museums the world over, the vast majority of acquisitions (like Buddy Holly’s eyeglasses, a Bob Marley dreadlock and Prince’s jacket from Purple Rain) are not on display, but locked away in the Hall’s vault. Mesek says there’s simply not enough space to display everything at once, so many items are shown on a rotational basis (if at all).

“Ch-ch-ch-changes” (as Bowie might say) are on the way. This spring, for example, a new exhibit examines the connection between rock and baseball.

“We get a lot of baseball players coming here when they’re in town to play the Indians,” says Mesek. “The funny thing is, it seems that many baseball players want to be rock stars and many rock stars want to be baseball players.” On our next visit, we’d love to see homage paid to Disco Demolition Night, the 1979 promotion at Chicago’s Comiskey Park that erupted into such a wild fiasco that the White Sox had to forfeit the second half of a doubleheader to the Detroit Tigers.

Further down the road, a 15,000-square-foot library and archives are set to open in 2010.

If anything, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum is proof that this genre continues to thrive and evolve, despite considerable backlash from “the establishment” over the decades. Just consider the Hall’s “Don’t Knock the Rock” exhibit. This multimedia display features TV clips from the ’50s and ’60s wherein critics proclaim that rock music is responsible for a witch’s brew of societal ills, ranging from premarital sex to Satan worship. And in 1985, a San Antonio councilman opined that, “The First Amendment should not apply to rock and roll.” (So much for the constitution.)

Still, it’s hard to miss the irony inherent in the very idea of a museum dedicated to rock-and-roll fame. After all, rock music was once a piss-and-vinegar part of the counterculture movement; today, the genre has its own multi-million dollar, self-congratulatory temple (including a gift shop where souvenir T-shirts sell for as much as $47). Surely, such a flagrant embrace of capitalism is about as “establishment” as you can get. One can only ponder what the likes of Morrison, Hendrix and Vicious would have to say.

David Menzies is a freelance writer and thrill-seeker. Though a baby boomer himself, David is still a kid at heart. Learn more about his writing at www.davidmenzies.ca.