“We’re going somewhere,” Kiedis said. “How can we stop and take an award when really we’re just halfway there? But it is nice to be together with people that we spent some incredible years along the way writing songs and playing shows in little theaters and sweaty little transvestite clubs and having the time of our lives.”
Cleveland rocked without Rose.
Green Day, which was scheduled to induct Guns N’ Roses, got things started by tearing into “Letterbomb” with Billie Joe Armstrong leading the sold-out room of fans and celebrities in a sing-a-along chorus.
The first mention of Rose’s name drew a smattering of boos that were soon drowned out by the music.
Rose, the screeching frontman and ringmaster of the G N’ R traveling circus of dysfunction for decades, said earlier this week that he didn’t want to be part of the ceremony because it “doesn’t appear to be somewhere I’m actually wanted or respected.”
He cited a continuing rift with his former band mates as the main reason for not attending. His decision disappointed fans and ended months of speculation about whether the original Guns N’ Roses lineup would unite for the first time since 1993 and perform any of their classic hits like “Welcome to the Jungle” or “Sweet Child O’ Mine.”
As the ceremony approached, fans gathered on the sidewalks outside the historic venue, which hosted the Beatles in 1964, for a peek at some of rock’s royalty.
Alice Cooper was the fan favorite on the red carpet, signing autographs, telling printable stories and waving in response to cheers of “Alice, Alice!”
“New York is glitz, Cleveland is the nuts and bolts,” said Cooper, comparing the cities that share the rock hall induction ceremonies, which are held at New York’s Waldorf-Astoria and come to Cleveland every third year.
Funk icon George Clinton made a splashy entrance, arriving in a silver bullet-shaped vehicle familiar to amusement park thrill riders. Wearing a gray herringbone coat and black fedora, he stood and waved from the back seat.
Like Guns N’ Roses, the Red Hot Chili Peppers emerged from Los Angeles during the 1980s when Sunset Strip’s rock scene was dominated by “hair” bands more concerned with their tight lycra pants and eyeliner than their sound. Not the Chili Peppers, who found their unique groove by blending funky hooks and a punk ethos.
While their lineup has undergone some changes — founding guitarist Hillel Slovak died of a heroin overdose in 1988 — Kiedis and bassist Flea have survived personal highs and lows and the band remains one of music’s top live acts.
Kiedis said Slovak would have loved the honor.
“I think that he would have a good laugh,” Kiedis said. “Yeah, it would certainly mean something to him as he cared deeply about music and the love of the brotherhood of being in a band and being a creative force in the universe, which he is and always will be a brother in everything we do.”