Everything is Everything

Hall of Famers: Pt. 1 feat. Aretha and Etc.

Posted 03/14/2007 at 1:53 AM  |  2 comment/s

I put on a dress and went to the Rock And Roll Hall of Fame 2007 Induction Ceremony/Show last night. Hub wore a suit. I swear ... maybe it's the fact that the event took place in an old-fashioned, schmancy hotel (NYC's Waldorf Astoria), maybe it's because there were a few people in ball gowns (lotta velvet; too much jersey-knit) and tuxedoes, but the atmosphere was kind of prom-like, or high school reunion-like--but in the best way. I mean it was prom like if you went to a mostly-white high school that you didn't hate. Reunion-like if you were a music nerd in high school who blew up somehow, and ended up half-cool and reasonably vindicated. The wine was good, but the scene, between performances, at the bar(s) was better. I had fun. It wasn't dancing to D-Nice at an airy club in Hollywood (recent VIBE and VIBE VIXEN party), or wilding out dancing like a fool under the stars and in a misty rain to Kid Capri on a yacht in NYC's Chelsea Piers (longago Boyz II Men record release party; first time I ever heard Busta's "Put Your Hands Where My Eyes Can See," and Capri played it, in my memory, like twelve times in a row), but it was all right. Got my rock 'n' roll on, last night, such as it was.

My little stream-of-consciousness memories go like this: Jann Wenner of Rolling Stone started the night off. Who knew he's also Chairman of the Rock Hall? Not I, but then, I guess it's expected. Wenner's facial hair is getting real ivory these days. He had on a tux (not shawl-collared, though; and I like shawl-collared which has no indentation on the lapels). He talked about Atlantic Records impressario/producer/talent-enricher Ahmet Ertegun. Beyond that, I paid no attention to what he was saying. Then I realized he was crying or about to cry. I tried to care. But then I started caring, because if it was me, talking about, say, Quincy Jones, in the year after Jones had died (which he has not; long live QJ), I'd be weeping myself. In all the old photos and video clips of Ertegun, he reminded me of nothing so much as a bit Quincy-ish...surrounded by talent, twinkle-eyed, seemingly forever young (or at least forever not-that-old), and spreading guidance and drama and biz-sense and cut-throatedness over decade after decade. But Wenner's still talking. He dedicates the evening to the memory of Ertegun. Then, like at Grammys, there's a video presentation of music people who've died since last year at this time. Some names I know, some I don't. Music publicists are included. Sound techs are included. That part of it is cool. Gerald Levert is up there. Nikki Sudden. June Pointer. Proof. Freddie Fender. Billy Preston. Joseph Hill. Way more than that, really.

Clive Davis is in the house, alive and well. I see Kid Rock. Atlantic Records' Julie Greenwald. Gwen Quinn (scroll down). I see Grandmaster Flash at his table, looking beatific, hugging someone. I see Tim Robbins. Someone from the stage is saying that Ertegun "knew what black was in America." I go, um, really?. A picture is shown of of Ertegun with Mary J. Blige. Ooooops, no: it's young Aretha Franklin. Franklin fresh-faced with poofy hair, and all the hope in the world in her shy posture and small smile. In another photo, Jerry Wexler, who produced so much of Franklin's work, looks like a white Ed Bradley (RIP). Stephen Stills comes to the stage. Yawn. There are square bowls of black and white M&M's on the table. Stills says, "Black culture is American culture. And is our greatest export. He's quoting Ertegun? Dunno. I have a moment of Where am I? Who's talking? And why. But Stills sounds earnest. I've never been into Crosby, Stills or Nash--or Young, but, there's no accounting for taste.

Aretha's introduced. Bright scarlet floor-length skirt. Modest black top. Two strands of pearls. I've seen a lot of people live in concert. But not Aretha. Come to think of it, not Whitney, either. Aretha has on what looks like a huge square-cut emerald ring. She sings, "Don't Play That Song (You Lied)." Written by Ertegun and Betty Nelson. Recorded By Franklin in 1970. Mariah Carey recorded it, I think, in 1991. Kelly Clarkson sang it on American Idol. But I digress.

Aretha's singing. Dave Letterman's Paul Schaffer is the bandleader. He looks happy as a clam in wet sand. As Franklin keeps singing, it's like when I was reviewing shows for the New York Times, and the show was good: I'm trying to be professional and sophisticated, but it's hard not to get caught up in the music. After the song, Franklin points at Clive Davis, and says she's "acknowledging his presence." She says she's going to sing her "first million-selling record," and goes into "Never Loved A Man." I'm clapping my hands over my head. The album, 1967's (I'm guessing here re dates) I Never Loved A Man The Way I Loved You, was Franklin's first with Wexler or first with Ertegun, or first with them both. I cant remember, but there's a book about the making of the album if you're into it like that. In any case: the band was tight. The horns? So strong and hard--but elastic, the way horns should sound. I'm looking at the people around me, and even though they were getting their various kinds of grooves on, in my head I was like, YOU don't know nuthin' 'bout them horns. Franklin sang with so much confidence. And she sang the whole song; she stretched out the song. She didn't do a medley (I hate medleys). She didn't sing what was a huge hit for her like she was tired of singing it (I hate when artists do that). Aretha asked us all to lift a glass in honor of Ahmet Ertegun. She asked his wife to stand, which she did, with a trembly grace. I was ready for the Ronettes to come up, though. I like REM, but on the playlist I saw they had no plans to do "Losing My Religion,"so I was a bit bitter about that. Of course the main reason I was at the Waldorf in my dress was to applaud for Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five (act like you know) when they were officially inducted.

But: more on that tomorrow. Yep. Later.

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