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Rock On, Readers

www.theatlantic.com › newsletters › archive › 2025 › 01 › rock-on-readers › 681287

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Last week, I pronounced unequivocal judgment—as I tend to do regarding many things—on the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. I think it’s a contrived and embarrassing idea driven by nostalgia and capitalism, and antithetical to the youthful rebelliousness that drives rock-and-roll music.

Usually, I make these pronouncements and then let the chips fall. This time, however, we asked The Daily’s readers for their views. And I was surprised: Many of you, far more than I expected, agreed with me. But your responses—and I regret that I could not include more of them here—also raised some good points of disagreement.

First, of course, a fist bump to the folks who agreed with my basic argument that the idea of the Rock Hall, not the building itself, is the problem. One reader, Brian, thought the degree to which the whole thing was “over-hyped” was “really quite sad and pathetic, actually.” Pamela wrote that the Rock Hall reminded her of the participation trophies given to her children years ago: “They, too, were unnecessary, and in my mind are a very similar notion as inducting random old rockers for random attributes into the random concept of a Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.”

Right on, Pamela, and I want you to know I made devil horns with my fingers and bobbed my head while reading your comment.

Ahem. Moving on. Some of you volunteered your ages, and many of you chided me for being churlish about nostalgia. Angie, 67, said that she looks back on her youth “fondly” and has no issue with reminders of some of “the best days of my life.” And many readers took offense at the fact that I have never actually been to the Rock Hall or to Cleveland: They thought I was attacking the museum and the city. M Anderson didn’t pull any punches: “Ah, Tom, to have such a low opinion of a place that you admit you have never visited—the deeply entertaining Rock and Roll Hall of Fame—is just wrong. Do yourself a favor and visit the place … Your narrow and uninformed opinion comes off as beneath you, and that is [a] sad fact of too many opinion pieces today.”

And a good day to you, sir or madam. Look, I’m sure I’d find the exhibits in Cleveland fascinating. I love pop-culture museums. I’ve been to the Louvre and seen the Mona Lisa, but it wasn’t nearly the thrill of gawking at Archie Bunker’s chair or at a costume the late Christopher Reeve once wore as the greatest movie Superman. I’m the guy, after all, who loves Las Vegas, and I read the plaques and labels on almost every bit of memorabilia plastered on the walls of its casinos and restaurants. But I don’t need a committee of music pooh-bahs to tell me that the Beatles were great while they also tell me that Mary J. Blige or Donovan are legendary “rock” stars. It’s not about Cleveland or the Hall itself, I promise.

As Anders, a reader from Minnesota, rightly notes, the word rock is now thrown around so loosely “that it doesn’t seem to have much real meaning in regard to the actual Hall of Fame these days. And while I’m sure any band would mostly be honored to be recognized by the Hall, I don’t begrudge those like Iron Maiden who laugh in its face.” Exactly. Although Iron Maiden isn’t my cup of grain alcohol, I get why they and other bands likely wouldn’t give a hoot about getting an attaboy from the suits in the music industry.

A Canadian reader, Laura, spoke for many of you when she suggested just having a general rock museum, especially if it could ensure that lesser-known works “don’t get lost among the big names.” But that’s the problem with a “hall of fame”: The museum aspect is lost in the spectacle of voting and the sometimes wince-inducing performances of the inductees.

Lee pointed out that the Rock Hall “is organized primarily around how much curatable material has been donated,” which means that the origins of rock in the Deep South and the Mississippi Delta are ignored, while there is an “abundance of space dedicated to midwestern bands that nobody has heard of that were inconsequential.” Lee is right that “when Elvis is celebrated as a bedrock of rock and roll, and the people he imitated [are] ignored[,] the whole thing is disingenuous.”

Jay from Washington State was also pretty blunt: “The problem for the hall is that rock is in fact essentially a dead art form. Trying to be really good at it today is a bit like trying to be an impressionist painter in the 1960s—it might be nice to look at or hear, but it’s been done (to death) by now.” I’m not sure rock is dead, but Jay is right that the period we normally associate with the rise of rock as a music form, a 20-year span that begins in the mid-’50s, was a cultural moment in time, not an ongoing revolution.

Let’s end on a more positive note. One thing the Rock Hall can do is keep reintroducing music to younger listeners. Sandra, 82, wrote: “I can attest the museum is an enjoyable visit to the past. However after going to a recent Billy Joel concert I realized nothing can replace youth or innocence.” True enough, but each generation can offer the music of its youth to the next generation. As Gael MacGregor, a recording artist who once sang backup for the legendary Dick Dale, warned us in her note: “Ageism in the arts has always been an issue—whether the claim is ‘You’re too young to know anything,’ or ‘You’re too old to be singing/playing this music.’”

So let’s celebrate the one thing the Rock Hall does well: start arguments about music. That’s a good thing, because then we all have to be aware of the acts we’re talking about. Ralph, a 77-year old reader, recently lost his wife of 52 years. (Our condolences, Ralph.) “The songs of lost love I listened to in my teens,” he wrote, “have a painful new resonance now.” But Ralph also saw these older songs as a bridge: “Maybe the Hall of Fame will inspire some new listeners to experience these old artists,” he said, “but will it light their fire”?

Perhaps the Rock Hall isn’t a great idea, but if it gets us to listen to the music, then long may it stand on the shores of Lake Erie.

Here are three new stories from The Atlantic:

Trump’s sentencing made no one happy. Trump is right that Pax Americana is over, Charles A. Kupchan argues. These bizarre theories about the L.A. wildfires endanger everyone.

Today’s News

President-Elect Donald Trump was sentenced to unconditional discharge in his New York criminal hush-money case. He will avoid jail time, fines, and probation for his conviction, but he became the first president to be sentenced as a felon. The Supreme Court heard arguments in the TikTok case. The justices seem likely to uphold the law that could ban the app. Meta is ending major DEI programs at the company, including for “hiring, development and procurement practices,” according to Axios.

Dispatches

Atlantic Intelligence: Scientists have collected troves of DNA and microscopic imaging data from human cells—and now they have a tool that might make sense of all that information, Matteo Wong writes. The Books Briefing: Boris Kachka explains why The Atlantic’s Books department likes to make an extra toast on January 1 for a concurrent holiday: Public Domain Day.

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Evening Read

Credit: Illustration by The Atlantic. Source: Yamil Lage / AFP via Getty.

The Return of Havana Syndrome

By Shane Harris

Two years ago, U.S. intelligence analysts concluded, in unusually emphatic language, that a mysterious and debilitating ailment known as “Havana syndrome” was not the handiwork of a foreign adversary wielding some kind of energy weapon. That long-awaited finding shattered an alternative theory embraced by American diplomats and intelligence officers, who said they had been victims of a deliberate, clandestine campaign by a U.S. adversary, probably Russia, that left them disabled, struggling with chronic pain, and drowning in medical bills. The intelligence report, written chiefly by the CIA, appeared to close the book on Havana syndrome.

Turns out, it didn’t.

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The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Should Not Exist

found 2 Jan The Atlantic

www.theatlantic.com › newsletters › archive › 2025 › 01 › the-rock-roll-hall-of-fame-should-not-exist › 681201

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On New Year’s Day, while looking for something to watch, I came across a channel with a loud, gray-haired British guy in a nice suit and a scarf bellowing about something or other. I assumed that I had turned to CNN and was watching its ebullient, occasionally shouty business and aviation correspondent, Richard Quest. I wasn’t even close: It was Roger Daltrey of the Who, and he was excitedly introducing the new Rock & Roll Hall of Fame inductee Peter Frampton in a condensed version of the October ceremony.

Frampton’s music was, for a moment in the 1970s, the soundtrack to my misspent teenage nights; on the broadcast, Keith Urban joined him to perform his megahit “Do You Feel Like We Do,” and I remembered every word. And Frampton seems like a man who is genuinely loved by his peers. It was a nice moment. But when 80-year-old Daltrey—who, at 21, famously sang, “Hope I die before I get old”—is introducing a man whose biggest hits were produced nearly 50 years ago, it’s a reminder that the entire Rock & Roll Hall of Fame concept is utterly wrongheaded.

As the saying goes, good writers borrow, and great writers steal. I was once a professor, however, and professors give attribution, so let me rely on John Strausbaugh, who wrote a wonderful 2001 jeremiad against Boomer music nostalgia, Rock ’Til You Drop, to explain why the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame shouldn’t exist: Because it’s “as true to the spirit of rock’n’roll as a Hard Rock Cafe—one in which there are way too many children and you can’t get a drink.”

The Hall of Fame is about old and dead people; rock’n’roll is about the young and living. The Hall of Fame tries to reform rock’n’roll, tame it, reduce it to bland, middle-American family entertainment; it drains all the sexiness and danger and rebelliousness out of it …

Strasbaugh winces especially hard at the Rock Hall tradition of “honoring” classic acts by “dragging their old butts out onto a stage” and then making them “go through the motions one more time” as they pretend to feel the music the same way they did when they were kids. Writing almost 25 years ago, he said that the Rolling Stones were way past their retirement clock, and that Cher in her late-1990s performances “was so stiff in her makeup and outfits, that she looked like a wax effigy of herself.”

Last year, the Rolling Stones went on tour again and were sponsored by—I am serious—the AARP.

And Cher was also just inducted into the Rock Hall in October, at 78 years old. When you’re asking Cher to suit up so that she can be lauded by the young-enough-to-be-her-granddaughter Dua Lipa, you may be trying to honor the artist, but you’re mostly just reminding everyone about the brutal march of time.

I am sometimes blistered on social media for my bad music takes, and I will confess that with some exceptions, I didn’t really develop much of a taste in music beyond the Beatles, Billy Joel, and Top 40 ear candy until I was in college. (My musical soul was saved, or at least improved, by the old WBCN in Boston and by my freshman-dorm neighbor at Boston University, who introduced me to Steely Dan.) But you don’t need a refined taste in music to cringe when a bunch of worthies from the music industry assemble each year to make often nonsensical choices about what constitutes “rock and roll” and who did it well enough to be lionized for the ages. Look, I sort of like some of those old Cher hits from the ’70s—“Train of Thought” is an underrated little pop gem, in my view—but Cher as an inductee into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame? If she, and Bobby Darin, and the Lovin’ Spoonful, and Woody Guthrie, and Willie Nelson are all “rock,” what isn’t?

This is where I must also admit that I’ve never been to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, or even to Cleveland, for that matter. But I’d argue that seeing it all up close—as Strausbaugh notes in his book, it’s full of this rock artist once wore this shirt and that rock artist once touched this mic stand—isn’t the point. Trying to trap the energy and spirit of youthful greatness behind the ice in some sort of Fortress of Rock Solitude is nothing more than a monument to nostalgia. Worse, it’s an ongoing tribute not to music, but to capitalism. Perhaps the music business was always a business, but most rock and roll was about opposing the establishment, not asking for a nice table at its Chamber of Commerce ceremonies.

Don’t get me wrong: I love both rock music and capitalism. I am also prone to a fair amount of my own nostalgia, and I will pay to see some of my favorite elderly stars get up onstage, wink at the audience, and pull out a few of their famous moves—as long as they do it with the kind of self-awareness that makes it more like a visit with an old friend than a soul-crushing pastiche of days gone by.

But even when a return to the stage is done with taste, age can still take its toll on both the performer and the audience: I’m now in my 60s, and as much as I liked seeing Peter Frampton get a big round of applause, I didn’t feel warm or happy; I just felt old, because he was obviously old. (Frampton has an autoimmune disease that causes muscle weakness, so he had to sit to perform his arena anthem.) And when Keith Urban is playing along as the representative of the younger generation at 56 years old, it makes me feel a certain kind of pity for people who gave me the musical landscape of my youth.

Maybe America doesn’t need to commercialize every Boomer memory. Artists become eligible for the Rock Hall 25 years from the release date of their first commercial recording, but rock can’t be distilled in 25-year batches like some sort of rare whiskey. Rock is more like … well, sex. Each generation has to experience it for themselves; later, each generation thinks they invented it; eventually, we all realize that no generation can fully explain their feelings about it to the next one.

Speaking of sex and rebellion, one of the best arguments against the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame is that Warren Zevon isn’t in it. His continuing exclusion is one of the great ongoing controversies of the selection process, but the point is not that Zevon should be in it; rather, the question is whether Zevon would ever want to be honored in such a place. The man who wrote “Play It All Night Long” and “Mr. Bad Example” simply doesn’t belong on a pedestal next to Mary J. Blige and Buffalo Springfield. And that’s reason enough that the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame should not exist at all.

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Today’s News

The FBI said that the attacker who killed 14 people in New Orleans on New Year’s Day appears to have acted alone. Military officials said that the driver of a Cybertruck that exploded in front of the Trump International Hotel in Las Vegas yesterday was an Army master sergeant who was on leave from active duty. Federal agents searched the home of former NYPD Chief of Department Jeffrey Maddrey, who was accused of sexual misconduct last year. Maddrey has denied the allegations.

Dispatches

Time-Travel Thursdays: The poet Julia Ward Howe wrote an anthem of fervent patriotism in 1861—and it’s remained the soundtrack to American conflict ever since, Spencer Kornhaber writes.

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Evening Read

Illustration by Giacomo Bagnara

We’re All in “Dark Mode” Now

By Ian Bogost

Dark mode has its touted benefits: Dimmer screens mean less eye strain, some assert; and on certain displays (including most smartphones), showing more black pixels prolongs battery life. Dark mode also has its drawbacks: Reading lots of text is more difficult to do in white-on-black. But even if these tradeoffs might be used to justify the use of inverted-color settings, they offer little insight into those settings’ true appeal. They don’t tell us why so many people suddenly want their screens, which had glowed bright for years, to go dark. And they’re tangential to the story of how, in a fairly short period of time, we all became creatures of the night mode.

Read the full article.