Vox Populi

There's a stunning woman ahead as I'm heading into the Wildwoods Convention Center. Time started standing still at this South Jersey resort town around 1962, but this gal looks straight out of 70s blaxploitation. I'm not sure what kind of crowd I'm expecting at the induction ceremony and concert for the Vocal Group Hall of Fame, but things have suddenly become more promising.

Not surprisingly, she strolls right into the area reserved for performers. I have to fill out the sign-in sheet right after Lou Reed. I skip the buffet full of collard greens. I'm running late, and the event is already starting. I turn the corner into the hall, and promptly become even more baffled.

It feels more like I'm at a convention than a concert. The expensive tables up near the stage are full, so at least the performers will feel like they're in a packed club-unless they make the mistake of looking up, in which case they'll feel like they're in an abandoned airplane hangar.

Or maybe it's more like a warehouse for old ladies and men, since that's the primary cargo scattered sparsely amongst the massive seating arrangements. I'm underwhelmed, enough that I'm expecting the worst when one old guy introduces the evening's "first big giant act." But, you know, to hell with me because a perfectly legit line-up of The Impressions take the stage. They sound great, too, knocking out a medley of hits to the taped backing they probably carry to corporate gigs.

Mary Wilson-"one of the Supremes," as she explains, in passing, to the audience-then comes out to introduce the Clovers. There are enough ancient-looking members to once again vouch for authenticity, and the red-suited brigade starts with an amazing voodoo-wop take on "Love Potion No. 9." There's now a full band onstage, too, which would be good news if that didn't also mark the beginning of acts being restricted to two songs-which, in The Clovers' case, leads to an excellent take on "Devil or Angel."

This is one of those evenings that make NYC seem pretty square. The Jammies can conceivably turn a profit from booking Madison Square Garden, and yet this kind of talent is exiled to the land of the Philbillies. The Dixie Hummingbirds come out to kick the ass of any jam-band, and that's followed with The Ink Spots-representing with sole survivor Harold Jackson.

That stunning lady back at the entrance turns out to be Florence LaRue of The 5th Dimension. She's part of the weird parade of hosts and/or performers, which eventually collides into a massive mingling onstage. Terry Johnson from The Flamingos has some nerve performing a new single-which sounds straight from 74- but Russell Thompkins, Jr. steals the evening by hitting all the notes on The Stylistics' "Betcha By Golly Wow."

It's probably historic to see The Lettermen coming out to back up Al Jardine on some old Beach Boys tunes. Christopher Guest would feel like he was watching some old outtakes, though. It's also pleasant to see Ray Walker of The Jordanaires making a joke about women's lib while introducing The Modernaires.

I'm not sure if I'm expecting Lou Reed to show up onstage, but he couldn't get a better reception than when John "Bowzer" Bauman hits. The former legend of Sha Na Na now looks more like Morton Downey Jr., but the crowd instantly recognizes him. He's properly self-deprecating about how he's now made a living for over 35 years as an idiot greaser ("God Bless America!"), and he gets to make the case for why the Vocal Group Hall of Fame is really important. He's carrying a copy of Pennsylvania State Bill 817, and announces that the new law "makes it illegal for a group to perform without one actual member on the premises."

Terrorists run amok in London, but this is still important stuff. This isn't just a problem for first-wave oldies acts. The 70s and 80s had plenty of fake Byrds, Credence Clearwater Revivals, and even Mott the Hooples fleecing gullible fans. And we have to think about the future. Personally, I could get taken in right now by any number of ersatz versions of 3 Doors Down.

It's apparent that the soulful portion of tonight's program has concluded. As further proof, we get The Association and their backing band all clad in white. The band's been slashed to a three-man operation, but they're all primary members from the group's underappreciated, weird heyday. As a further nod to The Association's radical birthright, they throw in a psychedelic lightshow that seems to have been downloaded off a Commodore computer.