Early Returns

 I do not have the opportunity to vote for DEVO this year. Try as I might, I was not able to singlehandedly drag the Spudboys from Akron over the finish line to the Promised Land of Cleveland. I am reasonably certain that the egos of these Beautiful Mutants were only vaguely affected by being passed over once again for a spot in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. The group that David Letterman once referred to as "The Fisher-Price of rock and roll" will sit this election cycle out while I cast my votes for nearly forgotten luminaries like Warren Zevon and Kate Bush. 

Such is the nature of online voting. I could attempt some sort of write-in frenzy to see if I could generate a groundswell of popular opinion, but I am imagining that there are still plenty of enraged and bitter fans of other artists who have been left off the list one too many times. Still, even though it took what could scientifically be observed as forever, Rush managed to find their way into the Hall. KISS made it. Dolly Parton? 

I have learned that it is probably best not to apply strict logic when it comes to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Each year as I type my misgivings about those who deserve the recognition and the criteria by which this band or that artist is elevated to those lofty heights, I begin to see other infuriated writers scribbling their issues about who was "snubbed" and who was "overlooked." 

And as a matter of course I am drawn back to my own world, in which I have to console boys and girls ever Friday: There can only be one student of the week from each class. There will be another chance next week. Start preparing yourself for your next chance to impress. No more tears. 

And yet, somehow I can't hide the feeling I have about George Michael being elevated more abruptly than New Wave pioneers like DEVO. It's not like I am expecting The Suburban Lawns to get their plaque ahead of Mister Michael. I am that clever. Or at least I have surrendered to the business end of the music business. But only to the degree that I feel the need to cite the influence of that first album, produced by Brian Eno and championed by none other than David Bowie. Both of these men have already been ensconced in those hallowed halls, why not their progeny? 

Well, there I go again trying to make a math problem out of it, when the reality is that the whole enterprise is a bit of a sham designed to keep us fans fanaticized. I allow myself to be swept up in the moment, and I forget that what really matters is the music. So you'll excuse me now while I go and drown my sorrows in a little bit of Duty Now For The Future.