Oh how adorably punk rock of Johnny Rotten.

The Sex Pistol shunned the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and said his band wouldn’t attend the March 13 induction ceremony. In a handwritten (because typing is too mainstream) note posted on his Web site, the aging icon said, “rock and roll and that hall of fame is a piss stain” when compared to his band.

It’s cute, really, for a man – and band for that matter – which always has been a piece in a business puzzle, to carry out this anti-corporate act for so long.

The Sex Pistols started as a business venture of entrepreneur Malcom McLaren. From the beginning, the group was designed, recorded, dressed and packaged to cash in on a frantic UK underground bubbling with teen angst. Sure, Rotten and his mates had the fervor, but it took a business mind to channel it into legend.

The band’s seminal 1977 debut was on Warner Bro. – a major label. It’s hard to give a middle finger to big business with one hand, Johnny, when the other is busy endorsing its checks.

Since those manipulated days of “Anarchy in the UK,” the man has embraced his fame on the TV show “I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here” and even hosted his own program on VH1. I imagine it’s hard to feel smarmy when slotted between blocks of Babyface and Rod Stewart videos.

However, it still doesn’t change the fact the group’s denial to appear at the awards banquet is another hypocritically calculated maneuver to fulfill the punk image they helped coin. From the note’s shoddy grammar to the press that inevitably will follow, the 50-year-old Rotten knows what’s expected in his role as a troubled teen … err … troubled mid-lifer.

If the band truly wanted to stick it to the Hall, the members would refuse the award. As it stands, they only refused to attend the ceremony. This isn’t rebellious; it’s lazy. Snubbing the induction entirely would prove the band wants nothing to do with the establishment. Or better yet, showing up and smashing the award on the stage would be the ultimate “piss off” to what Rotten calls the “hall of shame.” (A witty and deliciously original pun by the way) But instead, they come across as a group of cranky, middle-aged men too stuck in their routines to fly to Cleveland for the weekend.

Despite Rotten’s poorly executed denial and transparent scheming, he has a legitimate complaint. The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is void of countless music pioneers. But it isn’t the “Hall of Great Acts,’ it’s the “Hall of Fame” and rewards just that – fame. Which is why a justifiable case can be made for 1999 inductee Billy Joel; certainly his music doesn’t merit the enshrinement.

But until Iggy Pop and The Cure are placed into the museum, all Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductees should have an asterisk by their names:
*Elected before the committee of voters began actually listening to music.

To become qualified for the Hall, it must be 25 years since an artist’s first release. By this standard, Iggy Pop has been eligible as a solo artist since 2002 and as a member of The Stooges since 1994. The Cure has been denied since 2004. The Hall’s official site lists the criteria considered as “the influence and significance of the artist’s contribution to the development and perpetuation of rock and roll.”

Obviously, some wording will need to be changed as we near the era of early hip-hop artists like Run-D.M.C. and Grandmaster Flash.

Regardless the specifics of the words “rock and roll,” the more important phrase in the Hall’s description is “influence and significance.”

David Bowie, inducted in 1996, would not exist the way he does if it weren’t for Pop. The two worked closely on each other’s projects throughout most of the 1970s and formed the type of kinship legends are made of.

As for Pop himself, he’s had 10 albums and nine singles crack the billboard charts, appeared in 17 films while his music has been featured in nearly three dozen more all while having such an identifiable body that Peter Jackson used his build as the inspiration for Golum in the “Lord of the Rings Trilogy.” (It’s the “Hall of Fame,” right?)

As a member of the Detroit proto punk act The Stooges, he was quintessential in forming the genre alongside peers the Velvet Underground and the MC5. His cerebral approach to performing – snaking around stage and flailing himself about – channeled the innermost turmoil of viewers while his music tapped into the adrenaline lurking beneath their surface. Sweat-fueled rock’n’roll owes its entire existence to the pour that is Iggy Pop.

He is one of the most aggressively sexual artists in history and should be enshrined for making marvelously brute music intelligent.

The Cure, on the other hand, is a stark cry from Pop’s brooding physicality. Whereas the Detroit rocker would slam you up against the proverbial bathroom stall and have his musical way with you, the English quintet balanced the razor’s edge on their wrists between cotton candy naivety and manic depression.

Just as compelling a front man as Pop, the Cure’s Robert Smith has been an icon for nocturnal romantics everywhere – his red lipstick, black attire and teased hair are images kissed upon the minds of every “Edward Scissorhands” fan. (Yes, I know Tim Burton had drawings of the character from long before The Cure’s existence, but the similarities between Smith and Johnny Depp’s portrayal are striking).

Smith’s lyrics and music touched a chord inside generations of outsiders more ready to shed a tear and caress the heart on their sleeve than to high-five their extrovert buddies. And today, from Hot Hot Heat to The Rapture, his influence is as prevalent as ever. There are dozens of bands that sound and look like Smith, but somehow at the same time, there aren’t any performers who sound and look like him.

But alas, until acts like The Cure and Iggy Pop are enshrined in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, – the first step in making it the “Hall of Great Acts” – cunning opportunists like Johnny Rotten will be able to skip the ceremony and cite ignorance on behalf of the election committee.

Brilliant. Bloody brilliant. Malcom McLaren couldn’t have planned it any better if he tried.

Daily Herald BEEP, Feb. 28, 2006