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On August 12th, 2001 I arrived at the Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame Museum in Cleveland nice and early. I had done my research; I found free parking nearby and walked a few blocks to the waterfront.
I lingered outside to admire the architecture of the building. Designed by I M Pei, the Hall of Fame Museum is mostly pyramid-shaped, a glass and white-panel marvel that looks like it was made with spare parts from a bunch of other museums. There are round bits stuck here and square chunks added on there; it’s a weird design but it works, and you can certainly pick it out of a lineup.
I found my way to the box office in time to get my ticket (with CAA discount, of course) well before the doors opened at 11am. I had time to stroll the large foyer which held some of the museums more interesting articles, like the ZZ Top car, the giant hot dog that Phish rode to the stage on a New Year’s Eve or two, and Jerry Garcia’s guitars.
The rumour was that the museum could only display Jerry’s iconic instruments if they charged no fee to see them, and the placement of the guitars in a round kiosk just outside of the museum doors bears out that supposition. It was amazing to see all of his beautiful handmade guitars gathered together, they are artifacts worthy of a museum on any number of levels. I stared and ogled and thought of every time I saw the man play these fine instruments. This was going to be a heavy day.
And it was. Inside the museum they have…well…everything. Jimi’s guitars, Bonham’s drums, Keith’s amps, Janis’s rose-colored sunglasses, it was endless.
There were some serious relics from rock history in there. I gaped at a chunk of fuselage from the plane that Otis Redding and most of his band died in. I stood in awe in front of the couch and record player where Jimi Hendrix sat and learned to play guitar as a kid. They had every outfit, every guitar, every thing you could imagine. There was a film highlighting past inductees in the theatre and special exhibits around every oddly-shaped corner.
On the top floor the museum presents rotating exhibits and I was lucky enough to catch a special exhibit on John and Yoko. They had a handful of John’s famous guitars and suits, lots of hand-written lyrics and original art; they even had the bed from which John and Yoko hosted their famous Montreal Bed-in, and where Give Peace A Chance was recorded. Unfortunately by this time I was rushing to get the whole thing in, as closing time was imminent.
When the announcement came that the museum was shutting down for the day I took a few last looks at the world’s greatest rock and roll memorabilia collection before heading down to the extensive gift shop. I had spent the entire day in the museum, from opening bell to closing, and I could have stayed for hours longer.
Rock and roll is a powerful worldwide movement that isn’t going anywhere soon, and it’s history and the lives of those that thrust it upon the world is important. Say what you want about the Hall of Fame itself and its questionable selection process, but the very fact that this museum exists and continually brings droves of tourists to what is arguably the defining feature of Cleveland’s downtown core stands as testament to the power of those three great chords.
This was my first stop in a solo drive across America, with the Burning Man festival slated as my ultimate destination. There would be several shows and adventures along the way but spending a day revelling in the artifacts of the genre that changed my life was the perfect start to my journey. As I pointed my Honda south and drove three hours out of the city searching for a cheap roadside motel I kept going over the day and shaking my head in wonder at the things I had seen.
Todd Man Out 