John B. Marek is a storyteller with dirt under his nails who weaves tales inspired by a lifetime immersed in nature. His insightful essays and award-winning fiction delve into the complexities of sustainable living, the heart of rural communities and the thrill of outdoor adventure. You can find more of his writing at johnbmarek.com.
The concept of a Hall of Fame seems straightforward: Identify the pinnacle of a field – be it sports, music or another cultural touchstone – and immortalize those who define its greatness. In sports, the criteria, while not without debate, often lean on measurable achievements. Baseball enshrines legends like Babe Ruth, Willie Mays and Hank Aaron for their home runs, batting averages and World Series rings. Football honors Bart Starr, Jim Brown and John Elway for touchdowns, Super Bowl victories and statistical dominance. These metrics, though occasionally clouded by generational biases, provide a framework for comparison. But when it comes to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the selection process feels less like a science and more like an art form – one that’s increasingly subjective, divisive and, for some, perplexing. The 2025 inductees – Bad Company, Chubby Checker, Cyndi Lauper, Soundgarden, OutKast, The White Stripes and Joe Cocker – spark a question: What does it mean to be a “Hall of Famer” in rock and roll, and are they getting it right?
Musical taste is highly subjective. I am personally not a fan of The Who. I don’t find their music particularly interesting or meaningful. There is no question, however, that they were one of the most influential acts of the 1960s and 1970s, and I accept they are Hall-worthy despite my lack of enthusiasm. Conversely, I am a fan of somewhat forgotten 1980s band Night Ranger, but accept that they are not good enough to be in the conversation.
The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame’s selection criteria – “an artist’s impact on other musicians, the scope and longevity of their career and body of work, as well as their innovation and excellence in style and technique” – sound reasonable but invite subjectivity. Unlike sports, where stats like home runs or touchdowns offer concrete benchmarks, music’s impact is harder to quantify. Is it about chart success? Cultural influence? Innovation? Longevity? The answer seems to be all of the above, but the weighting varies.
This subjectivity fuels debates, especially when fan-favorite bands like Styx and REO Speedwagon remain uninducted. Styx, with hits like “Come Sail Away” and “Renegade,” and REO Speedwagon, with anthems like “Keep on Loving You” and “Can’t Fight This Feeling,” defined AOR (album-oriented rock) in the 1970s and 1980s. Both bands have sold millions of albums – Styx’s “Paradise Theatre” and REO’s “Hi Infidelity” hit No. 1 on the Billboard 200 – and maintain loyal fanbases. Yet, neither has even been nominated, prompting accusations of snobbery or bias in the selection process.
The Hall’s omissions of bands like Styx, REO Speedwagon, Boston and Jethro Tull would be somewhat more defensible if only the greatest of the greatest were inducted. There is no reasonable argument that Styx is on the level of The Rolling Stones or Jethro Tull, the peers of Led Zeppelin. But Bad Company and Soundgarden? Cyndi Lauper and The White Stripes? I think a strong case can be made that Boston and REO Speedwagon are at least in the conversation with those bands.
The Hall’s voting process, involving more than 1,200 artists, historians and industry professionals, aims for inclusivity but can’t escape criticism. The fan vote, which only counts as one ballot, often diverges from the final selections – Phish won the 2025 fan vote but didn’t make the cut, while Bad Company and Cyndi Lauper, lower in fan rankings, were inducted. This disconnect suggests that industry insiders prioritize different criteria, perhaps valuing innovation or cultural impact over popularity.
The 2025 inductees reflect the Hall’s recent push for diversity across genres, eras and identities. OutKast’s induction marks the sixth consecutive year with rap representation, signaling hip-hop’s growing (and puzzling, in my opinion) centrality to rock’s legacy. Lauper and Meg White (of The White Stripes) ensure female inductees for the fourth year running.
Yet, the inclusion of acts like Cyndi Lauper and Soundgarden over Styx or REO Speedwagon raises eyebrows for some, me included. Lauper’s cultural footprint is undeniable, but her chart-topping years were concentrated in the mid-1980s, unlike Styx’s decades-long consistency. Soundgarden’s critical acclaim and genre-defining role in grunge may overshadow their relatively modest commercial output compared to REO Speedwagon’s string of multi-platinum albums. The Hall seems to favor artists who broke molds over those who perfected formulas, which feels like a slight to AOR stalwarts.
Bad Company’s induction, while deserved, also highlights inconsistencies. As Bad Company drummer Simon Kirke noted, the band’s multiple lineups may have delayed their recognition, yet other bands with similar issues, like Fleetwood Mac, were inducted sooner. The Hall’s consideration of a joint Free-Bad Company induction (akin to The Small Faces/Faces) suggests internal debates about how to frame legacies, which can confuse fans who expect clear-cut honors.
The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame has evolved beyond its name, embracing a broader definition of “rock” that includes hip-hop, pop and soul. This shift, while controversial, reflects the genre’s roots in diverse influences – Chuck Berry’s rhythm and blues, Elvis Presley’s country swagger and Little Richard’s gospel fervor. OutKast’s genre-bending innovation and Lauper’s eclectic pop align with this expansive view, even if they don’t scream “rock” to traditionalists like me.
Still, the omission of classic rock bands like Styx, Boston and REO Speedwagon fuels perceptions of elitism. These bands, often dismissed as “corporate rock,” embodied the working-class ethos of 1970s and 1980s America, filling arenas with anthems of resilience and romance. Their exclusion, alongside other snubbed acts like Kansas, suggests the Hall prioritizes critical darling status over mass appeal – a choice that alienates fans like me who see these bands as the soundtrack of their lives.