None of them is named Linda Ronstadt.

Surprised? I sure was. I just assumed that at some point along the line, the best, most accomplished, most amazing interpreter of rock’s greatest composers would have received recognition from the Hall. It just stands to reason; other worthies whose gifts simply do not measure up are there. Bonnie Raitt, say? Jackson Browne? Tom Waits? Their talents are amazing, but Ronstadt’s vocal range and interpretive aptitude are beyond compare. And given that this is a Hall of Fame, after all, it seems that an organization that finds room for anonymous record producers and unnamed Crickets and Miracles just might find space for someone who has amassed 11 Grammy Awards and a score of magazine covers and stacks of gold and platinum records. But bringing up these distinctions seems crass, and vain, as though they might merit her induction when all that it really would take, should take, is to hear her recordings. Linda Ronstadt could–can–just flat out sing: an impeccable performer, a peerless interpreter, with amazing taste. If all she had recorded was her early hit Long, Long Time, and she would be remembered for having sung one of the four or five
best torch songs ever, but she of course has given us so much more. She helped define country rock (and did Silver Threads and Golden Needles ever rock!), establish California rock (Desperado), interpret Motown with great versions of Tracks of My Tears and Heat Wave, reintroduce audiences to Buddy Holly, Roy Orbison, Doris Troy, The Everly Brothers and The Exciters, showcase songwriters like Warren Zevon (Carmelita, Poor Poor Pitiful Me) J.D. Souther (Prisoner in Disguise), Lowell George (Willin’), Randy Newman (Sail Away), Neil Young (Birds) and The McGarrigle Sisters (Heart Like a Wheel).

It’s true that the Hall of Fame has a bias in favor of artists who wrote their own material, or who at least recorded the best known versions of the material they picked (it’s also true that rock in general has a bias against women.) Taking ownership of material wasn’t really Ronstadt’s game. She has not written a great deal, and it’s not like her version of say, Tracks of My Tears makes you forget that Smokey Robinson and the Miracles made a hit version of it (although her late ballads, the great Cry Like a Windstorm and her duet with Aaron Neville Don’t Know Much will never be identified with anyone else.) But it’s wrong to diminish Ronstadt for this; instead, she should be appreciated for being an incredible curator, a peerless interpreter. If singing perfect songs is an impediment to induction in the Hall of Fame, then indeed, she is guilty.

At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if Ronstadt will kiss off the Hall of Fame when it finally gets around to come calling (hey, she might already have.) What does she need them for? And really, at this point, her absence says more about the Hall’s blockheadedness than any shortcoming on her part. And if she has a need to review the history of rock, she can listen to her records, where she’ll find British Invasion groups, Motown, Stax, the Brill Building, the Club Troubador, Nashville, the New Wave. She is the Hall of Fame.

David had assembled a band of about ten musicians to perform behind the singers. I am told that this is kind of unusual these days–on these demo records, it’s often just a piano backing the singers. I heard at three songs in total, and a part of another. I liked the music. It’s very jazzy; one romantic number was described, I think accurately, as “very Billy Strayhorn.” Paul’s lyrics are intelligent and witty. The difference between reading them and hearing them performed is amazing; they take on a whole life of their own.

The singers were very good. I only heard Bill Nolte sing in an ensemble piece, so I really didn’t get a good idea of his voice. But Bruce Warren and Jessica Molaskey were very strong. It was impressive to hear how they progressed from take to take. The first take was usually a very straight rendition of the song. Then with each take, they began adding little inflections and variation; by the fourth take, they were really performing the numbers, really acting the lyrics. It’s really incredible how talented these people are.

We should finish the recording this week, followed by another week or so to mix the record. Then the script, the songs and the demo record will go to various people up the food chain–to some producers, who regularly invest and raise money, and to some directors, whose interest would attract investors.

And then we’ll see. . .

(Top photo: Bruce, Bill, Jessica, Paul, me’ Middle left: David, through a glass and darkly, conducts the band; middle right: David and the producer Glenn discuss a take.)

The fifth season of Mad Men got off to a fast start, and although a lot was happening, the episode will likely go down as the `Zoo Be Zoo Be Zoo’ episode, after the song that Jessica, Don’s young wife, performed for him at the birthday party she threw for him.

As Lauren Streib reports in The Daily Beast, the song is actually called `Zou Bisou Bisou’. “The original version was recorded by Gillian Hills, a Brigitte Bardot lookalike who found fame as a French yé-yé girl—one of a handful of young, female European singers who catapulted yé-yé music into an international movement, popular among teens during the era. (“Yé-yé” refers to exclamations of “yeah yeah!” during rock and roll.) Roughly translated, “zou” is a casual exclamation and “bisou” is a sweet kiss—a peck on the cheek to say hello and goodbye. So the lyrics hash out to: Oh! Kiss kiss / My God, they are sweet! / …Oh! Kiss kiss / the sound of kisses /…Oh! Kiss kiss /…That means, I confess / But yes, I love only you!”

The song was performed by Sophia Loren in the 1960 film The Millionairess, co-starring Peter Sellers. “Loren sang an English version, Zoo Be Zoo Be Zoo. Loren’s version uses the same tune, but the lyrics and delivery swell with a bit more sophistication. The movie was a hit in the U.K., though the American response was lukewarm.”