Heirs to the Throne

“Elisha also took up the mantle of Elijah that had fallen from him … when the sons of the prophets who were from Jericho saw him, they said, ‘The spirit of Elijah rests on Elisha.’” (II Kings 2:13-15)

Now more than ever, it’s hip for musicians to be “under the influence.” Tribute albums abound, and you can’t go to a show without hearing an in-the-know cover version of Velvet Underground’s “European Son,” Spinal Tap’s “Big Bottom,” Big Star’s “You Can’t Have Me,” or whatever the en vogue influence happens to be.

However, claiming to be influenced by an artist and making music in that artist’s spirit are two completely different entities. U2 claims to be influenced by B.B. King, and maybe they are in some emotional, idealistic way. But U2’s music bears little resemblance to King’s and hiring one’s washed-up hero to play lead guitar on a couple tracks doesn’t make it so. Beyond technicality and musical genres, music itself is a vibe. It has a spiritual aspect that runs deeper than mere influence. As George Clinton (or Bootsy Collins or one of those cats) used to say, “You can’t fake the funk.”

Beyond the veneer of mere influence is a musical anointing, a mantle—an inheritance. In the Bible, a fiery chariot takes Elijah the prophet to heaven, and Elisha, his apprentice, picks up Elijah’s cloak and then does all the miracles Elijah did and more. Elisha didn’t just emulate the form and methods of Elijah; he had received the Elijah anointing, the Elijah inheritance, the Elijah vibe.

Many artists claim an influence, but far fewer have received a true inheritance. For example, Lenny Kravitz’s “I Build This Garden for Us” achieves moments of Stevie Wonder mojo, but those moments pass, and Kravitz winds up making a cameo appearance in a Ben Stiller comedy. To put it another way, I enjoy the occasional Bad Brains track as well as the next groover, but Funkadelic they ain’t.

Not all classic rock bands have an anointing to impart. The Strawberry Alarm Clock, Herman’s Hermits and the Monkees (excluding Head) come to mind as bands who left little in the way of legacies. Other classic rock bands have such a broad, genre-establishing anointing, that no single band can be said to have inherited it. Think of the Troggs, Iron Butterfly and even Lynyrd Skynyrd. To say the Ramones inherited the throne of the Troggs is like saying Thor inherited the throne of thunder itself. There is a difference between a unique musical mantle and a raw force of nature.

Inheriting a musical throne means more than imitating the sound of an earlier band—if it were that easy, thousands of Led Zeppelin crowns would be in current circulation. Similarly, inheriting a musical throne takes more than replacing an earlier popular band in a given demographic market. If that were the case, U2 would be sitting on The Beatles’ throne with Radiohead in their lap.

Actively seeking musical thrones rarely results in their acquisition. For example, the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion desperately covets the MC5 throne, but like Tantalus’ fabled fruit, it shall ever elude their grasp. More often than not, musical thrones are inherited accidentally—and sometimes to the total indifference of their inheritor. For example, amidst the Beastie Boys’ quest for hip-hop legitimacy, they stumbled upon Captain Beefheart’s throne. Who knew?

Some musicians carve out a throne and reign until they die. Neil Young is firmly seated on the Neil Young throne and shows no signs of abdicating. Steely Dan abdicated their throne 20 years ago, but nobody in pop music knew quite what to do with it, so Steely Dan came back and reassumed it without missing a beat.

But regal perpetuity is by no means guaranteed simply because the original artist is still breathing—numerous actively touring musicians no longer inhabit the very thrones they created. To name names: The Rolling Stones, ZZ Top, Sting, Eric Clapton, Bruce Cockburn, Bob Dylan and every member of King Crimson down to the last ephemeral percussionist. The artists formerly known as Led Zeppelin could hire Neil Peart himself to sit in on drums at their next reunion concert, but Rock & Roll has left the building.

Musical thrones are being inherited all the time—even at the more obscure, indie level. Roky Erickson’s throne was inherited by Daniel Johnston who passed it on to the Danielson Famile. Starflyer 59 got Tad’s throne, DJ Spooky skanked Cool Herc’s coveted throne, and Flying Saucer Attack accidentally wound up on the throne of Tangerine Dream. But all this is academic.

Some thrones are currently vacant and up for grabs. Didn’t Marilyn Manson assume Alice Cooper’s throne? Hardly. The Minutemen’s D. Boon inherited Credence Clearwater Revival’s throne, and it has remained vacant since his death (despite the reformation of fIREHOSE and John Fogerty’s entire solo career).

Some thrones will probably never be filled. John Coltrane’s throne? Bronze it and put it in Plexiglas. When Doc Watson dies, his throne will remain vacant. And who would presume to sneak into the dark woods, climb the barren hill and usurp the black throne of Johnny Cash?

But I digress. What follows is a list of four potent, highly coveted pop rock thrones that have only recently been reassumed. Presumptive bands have clamored over these thrones for decades, and hasty rock critics, mistaking the phenomenon of influence for the spiritual authority of inheritance, have thoughtlessly dispensed them. Fortunately, we now know better. The truth shall out, and here it is.