Amplifying Points For Rock Experts And Novices

NEW YORK -- There are three kinds of obsessive fans that one must beware.

First are the sports aficionados. The analytical types obsess about every statistic and fully believe they know more than the coach and every player combined. Their chest-thumping, testosterone-soaked brethren are more hands-on in their cheerleading. It doesn't matter if their team wins or loses a championship, they still drink and burn cars.

Second are the video game fanatics, who are so immersed in a virtual world that person-to-person interaction is nearly impossible. They do not inflict their obsession on others except in their inability to make eye contact.

And then there are the music geeks. The worst of these are the jazz fans, whose knowledge and passion for the genre runs so deep that they become surly. They transform into judgmental prima donnas who look upon those who refuse to disavow Kenny G as tasteless imbeciles.

Rock fans do not have the same air of condescension, but they are fully prepared to argue about the musical influence of a random guitar riff on an obscure album until they have grown hoarse and all the beer is gone. That album, by the way, will be referred to as the "black album" or the "white album" because they have not only memorized every lyric and random grunt by the lead vocalist, but also the album art.

It is these music fans who give one pause outside the doors to the newly opened Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Annex NYC at 76 Mercer St. in SoHo. This is a city of know-it-alls and insiders and people whose absolute dedication to being first and smartest has the ability to ruin anything, including a lovely crisp autumn day and a visit to brand-new entertainment attraction.

A rock museum set in this city celebrating its musical history would seem doomed to be a place that only a nerd or a condescending prig could love. But the first gallery puts that fear -- which made bolting for the Ugg store across the street awfully tempting -- to rest. The first room one enters resembles a mausoleum with silver plaques covering the walls, each bearing the name of a music legend and the year the luminary was inducted into the hall of fame. The plaque lights up to identify the artist currently heard performing in the background. There are no assumptions that a visitor could name that tune in five notes. Oh, how this must annoy the superfans.

The annex, which is a satellite of the hall of fame mothership in Cleveland, is not solely about New York's music scene. But it pays special attention to it with locator maps of local music landmarks, nods to New York-centric bands such as Blondie and the Velvet Underground, significant chunks of architecture salvaged from CBGB, which is now a John Varvatos boutique, and a temporary exhibition on the Clash, which had strong connections to the city, including a live album recorded at Shea Stadium.

Throughout the museum, the serious fan probably will be placated while the casual one will be entertained. The aficionado may be intrigued by the performance footage of blues musician Muddy Waters and gospel singer Sister Rosetta Tharpe shown in the 99-seat theater. Others might be amused by the camera tricks that transport the annex audience into the background of vintage film clips.

Some might dissect the handwritten childhood letters from Paul Simon to Art Garfunkel, in which Simon opens with "Salutations," a sure sign that he was not the coolest kid in his class. Others will marvel at just how huge the Elvis Presley jumpsuit is from the King's pudgy period.

The annex is billed as a technologically advanced museum with all sorts of hands-on gimmickry intended to immerse visitors in an experience instead of allowing them to simply walk through an exhibition. It's no longer enough to trust visitors to wander through galleries silently and on their own and let their imaginations get a bit of a workout. Perhaps people don't want to expend that much energy, or maybe they simply have become accustomed to something being piped directly into their ears so they can pretend to be having a personal experience even when they're in a crowd. Or maybe they just need someone else telling them what to think, whether it is an audio guide, a blogger or a screaming head on cable television.

Finding the right balance between the esoteric and the popular is always a struggle for any cultural institution that aims to make judgments about influence and importance. And it particularly rings true in the rock music world, where so many of the most intense fans pride themselves on knowing things that others don't and shoving off from movements just as the masses arrive.

For instance, during a preview of the museum, one visitor bemoaned the annex's lack of attention to the lesser-known disc jockeys and radio personalities whose contributions are addressed in Cleveland. But the annex isn't attempting to duplicate the Cleveland experience. In its 25,000 square feet, it highlights significant moments in music. It serves as the CliffsNotes to music history. (If you want the whole book, go to Cleveland.) And it does so with enthusiasm, good humor and little pretense. Besides, at least one DJ is included in the exhibition: Grandmaster Flash. All the neurotics, radiophiles and music geeks can argue amongst themselves about whether that is just or biased. But that's pretty much all the casual fan needs to know.