The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame revealed its class of 2026 on Monday evening, and it’s an unusually strong one. After years of dithering in which they proclaimed that Foreigner and Bon Jovi were somehow more worthy than Joy Division/New Order, the Hall is finally bringing in the groundbreaking post-punk band. (It was starting to look as if Bernard Sumner, Stephen Morris, and Peter Hook would have to start yet another world-changing band to be recognized by the Hall.)
Elsewhere, Phil Collins is joining the double inductee club (which also should have happened at least a decade ago), icons Sade and Luther Vandross got well-deserved nods, and Wu-Tang Clan and Oasis are representing the Nineties.
But like every year, there’s a lot of confusion and questions lingering in the air. An unusually large number of British acts are in the class, and historically they don’t have the same reverence for the Hall of Fame as their American counterparts. It’s unclear how many will show up. There’s also the potential for a very messy reunion between bandmates who absolutely loathe one another and have had almost no contact in two decades. And in one case, the Hall of Fame seems to have made a rather baffling blunder regarding which exact members of a band are getting in.
Here are eight questions we have about this year’s Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction.
Will Oasis Show Up?
The Oasis induction is capping off an extraordinary year for the Britpop icons. Their 2025 reunion tour packed stadiums all across the planet: They weren’t this popular in America even at the height of their (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? fame in the mid-Nineties. There’s no hint of any future shows, and they’ve said very little about the Hall of Fame beyond a series of snarky X posts by Liam Gallagher. “Reverse psychology vibes in the area Oasis RnR hall of farmers I mean famers,” he wrote in a post dripping with sarcasm. “I wanna thank all the people who voted for us, it’s a real honour ever since I was a little kid and singing in the shower I’d dream about 1 day being in the RnR hall of fame it’s true what they say anything is possible if you have a dream.”
It’s difficult to imagine a teary-eyed Noel Gallagher accepting the award at the ceremony in November before joining his brother and the rest of the guys for singalong renditions of “Wonderwall” and “Live Forever” as cameras roll for the ABC broadcast. Instead, it’s much easier to imagine them not going, and possibly sending a snide, Sex Pistols-like letter in their place. There’s also a scenario where founding drummer Tony McCarroll is the only one to show.
Why Was the Founding Bassist of Oasis Excluded?
Joining Noel and Liam Gallagher in the Hall of Fame will be guitarists Gem Arthur and Paul “Bonehead” Arthurs, bassist Andy Bell, and drummer Tony McCarroll. Alan “Whitey” White, who played drums in the band from 1995 to 2004 was excluded, along with the many touring members they’ve employed over the years. Whitey has a strong case that he’s getting screwed since he’s the drummer on (What’s the Story) Morning Glory?, and was there for the peak years. But drummer Dave Abbruzzese had a very similar resume with Pearl Jam, and he didn’t get in either.
With that said, it’s very hard to think of any argument that justifies keeping original Oasis bassist Paul “Guigsy” McGuigan out of the Hall of Fame. He’s a founding member of the band, and he stuck around until 1999. If McCarroll is getting in for playing drums with the band from 1991 to 1995, Guigsy should be inducted for playing bass with them from 1991 to 1999. It isn’t complicated. The Rock Hall just messed this one up. They need to fix it. #JusticeForGuigsy.
Update: A day after we published this article, both Guigsy and White were added to the list of Oasis inductees.
How Will Iron Maiden Handle This?
In a fair world, Iron Maiden would have entered the Hall of Fame shortly after becoming eligible in 2005. In this world, it took two decades and three nominations before it finally happened. Along the way, they made it very clear they didn’t care whatsoever. “It’s run by a bunch of sanctimonious bloody Americans,” Maiden frontman Bruce Dickinson said in 2018, “who wouldn’t know rock & roll if it hit them in the face.”
The band has said nothing since they actually got in, but manager Rod Smallwood did release a statement: “We’d like to thank the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame for including us (and former members who were all part of our story) in the 2026 roll call of inductees. Iron Maiden have always been about our relationship with our fans above anything else, including awards and industry accolades.”
He didn’t say anything about the band showing up. They might pull a Cher and instantly change their mind about the Hall of Fame once they actually get in. There’s a long history of this. “I’ve been saying for a long time that this wasn’t a big deal,” Neal Peart said when Rush were inducted in 2013. “It turns out, it kind of is.” It’s pretty likely that Iron Maiden won’t be quite so magnanimous. They’ve never needed mainstream support or even hit songs. And they don’t really need the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.
Will Joy Division/New Order Declare a One-Night-Only Truce?
Over the past four decades, feuding groups like the Police, Yes, Talking Heads, and Led Zeppelin put aside their vast differences for the evening and played together at the Hall of Fame. In 2017, Steve Perry appeared at the podium alongside Journey even though he didn’t sing with them. Joy Division/New Order fans have fantasized about Peter Hook returning to the fold at the Hall of Fame following 20 years of tension and legal battles with the band.
“I’d just like to say how wonderfully pleased I am to be finally accepted into the Cleveland Rock & Roll Hall of Fame,” Hook said on Instagram once the news broke. “I’ve been looking forward to it for years, so I definitely am gonna make the most of it. I’d like to say that this is for Ian Curtis, and for all our fans of both bands. Without you, we would be nothing.” In the caption he added, “See you at the ceremony.” That means Hook will indeed be at Los Angeles’ Peacock Theater on Nov. 14. But his former bandmates have yet to say a word.
It’s genuinely hard to predict how this one will play out. There’s so much bad blood here that even the Hall of Fame might be unable to bring these guys together. If it does happen, however, it’ll be one of the great reunions in Hall of Fame history. New Order have been fractured for way too long. Hook was a crucial architect of their sound. Everyone needs to suck it up and make this happen. (But don’t hold your breath.)
Will Phil Collins Perform?
So far, Phil Collins has only reacted to the Hall of Fame with a very brief statement on Instagram. “Obviously I’m pleased and honored to be inducted,” he wrote. “It wraps up what has been a wonderful life in music.” His life outside of music has been defined by significant health setbacks in recent years, and he hasn’t played live since the end of the Genesis farewell tour in early 2022. It’s likely he’ll attend the event, especially since he’s on the mend. We can even see him opening the show with “In the Air Tonight.” In the biopic version of his life, it’d be the final scene. Let’s hope it happens for real.
What About Sade?
There hasn’t been a new Sade album since 2010’s Soldier of Love, they haven’t played a show since 2011, and lead singer Sade is very press shy. They were supposedly working on a new album back in 2018, but it’s becoming the Chinese Democracy of sophisti-pop. Will they come to the ceremony and wow the place with “Smooth Operator” and “The Sweetest Taboo?” We can see this one going either way.
Can the Rock Hall Ceremony Finally End the Oasis/Phil Collins Blood Feud?
The rise of Oasis happened to perfectly coincide with the decline of Phil Collins as a pop-culture force after well over a decade of ubiquity. It made him a very easy target of their derision. “I’ll be voting Labour because I think it’s morally right,” Noel Gallagher said in 2005. “Another reason to vote Labour is if the Conservatives get in, Phil Collins is threatening to come back and live here. And let’s face it, none of us want that.” In the unlikely chance that the Gallaghers actually show up, it’s a chance for them to mend fences. Maybe they can even team up for a mashup of “Supersonic” and “Take Me Home.”
Can We Dig Deeper Into the Nineties Next Time?
Artists are eligible for the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame 25 years after the release of their first album or single. That means we’re supposed to be in the early 2000s by now. But the Hall is still very focused on acts it’s overlooked from the Eighties. In most cases, we support that. Better late than never.
But before we start inducting the Strokes and Coldplay, there’s a lot of Nineties bands still waiting. The list includes Weezer, Smashing Pumpkins, Alice in Chains, Tool, and Hole. They also need to go back further and take in Pixies, Devo, Pavement, Sonic Youth, and the Replacements. Going back even further, it’s absurd that King Crimson and the New York Dolls aren’t in. By the time that Taylor Swift makes it in on her first ballot in 2031, let’s hope these rights have all been wronged. (And we’re going to fight for the Monkees and “Weird Al” Yankovic until our dying breaths. In the meantime, we can at least stop screaming about Joy Division/New Order.
Whipped Cream*
Elizabeth Weinberg
Elizabeth Weinberg
Elizabeth Weinberg
Pop Albums Are Getting More Ambitious. Can Audiences Keep Up?
This Music May Contain Hope, the second album from British songstress Raye, makes great demands of its audience. The record nearly runs the length of a feature film and most of the 17 songs sound like they could soundtrack one. When the credits roll at the end — she thanks each and every person who helped create the record for six and a half minutes on “Fin.,” — they conclude a gloriously disorienting listening experience. For most of the album, Raye is asking you to come along as she fights and prays through despair and self-criticism to keep hope alive.
Sometimes that battle is filtered through songs that sound like show tunes or gospel hymns. In the case of “Click Clack Symphony,” they crescendo into a dizzying Hans Zimmer composition. There’s a level of patience and reciprocity the album requires from its listeners: At once confrontational and confessional, This Music May Contain Hope is not designed for detached consumption — and it’s part of a surge of recent releases that find artists creating ambitious records that encourage intentional engagement.
Last year, Hayley Williams released Ego Death at a Bachelorette Party as 17 individual singles. Fans created their own sequencing and narratives guided solely by the themes and sounds they chose. A few months later, Rosalía released Lux, a captivating 18-track record performed in 13 languages. It shares a musical complexity with This Music May Contain Hope and an interrogative spirit with The Apple Tree Under the Sea, the debut album from Hemlocke Springs released earlier this year. Each record is as all-consuming as the ideas they’re engaging with — mental anguish, faith and religion, internal and interpersonal implosion.
Raye often describes music as medicinal. Backed by the London Symphony Orchestra and Flames Collective choir on “I Know You’re Hurting,” her melodies and harmonies are bandages and sutures. When she instructs the listener to “close your eyes and let this music get to working,” she exudes the wisdom of an elder passing home remedies through generations. At a time when easier access to music often means increasingly passive listening, these albums replace momentary distraction with connection and compassion. They give the audience something to return to.
Raye included the voices of her grandparents at the start of “Life Boat.” The portion her grandfather contributes, where he says, “I’m living, not giving up,” was recorded just days before his death. More voices flood in across the next four minutes. They all repeat some variation of “I’m not giving up, yet,” some with more desperation than others. “Say it,” Raye says, stern and direct. “Say, ‘I’m not giving up, yet.’” The mantra is set against the kind of thudding club beat that defined the earliest phases of her career. Drums and synthesizers are interspersed with delicately arranged strings, but there’s something transcendent about the contours and echoes of Raye’s voice.
That kind of vocal power is something Rosalía speaks about often: Duende. The flamenco term refers to a type of enchantment delivered through an especially evocative vocal performance. It’s not necessarily about technical prowess, or precision. “There’s something so ethereal and divine about el duende,” Rosalía told The New York Times last year. “El duende is something that visits you. It’s something that comes to you.” It makes the listening experience feel targeted and personal. This funneled into Rosalía on Lux. The record unravels in a way that transcends the barrier of language.
Rosalía begins “Mundo Nuevo” in Spanish. Its translation reveals she’s searching for a hint of truth. She finishes “De Madrugá” in Ukrainian with something searching for her this time. “I’m not looking for revenge,” she sings. “Revenge is looking for me.” The London Symphony Orchestra and the Escolania de Montserrat i Cor Cambra Palau de la Música Catalana choir bolster the album, their arrangements ranging from anxious and erratic to soothing and hypnotic.
Rosalía introduced Lux with the first single “Bergain,” which splinters across German, Spanish, and English. When Yves Tumor’s voice cuts through on the song’s outro, the persistent repetition of “I’ll fuck you till you love me” is harsh and abrasive against the preceding moments. Rosalía chases that friction across Lux. Like her mix of languages, she challenges the listener with existentialism and ruminations on the afterlife. It might turn some listeners away, but the ones who stay are rewarded.
Most of the record was inspired by saints, like Teresa of Ávila or Joan of Arc. Their history adds a third layer to the depth of Lux; Hemlocke Springs similarly fixates on religious motifs on The Apple Tree Under the Sea. She weaves in medieval tales and impulsive adventures made for a storybook. Positioning herself as a character in her fantastical stories gives her audience someone to root for while creating some distance between fiction and reality.
In that sense, The Apple Tree Under the Sea shares a theatrical ease of access with This Music May Contain Hope. Raye’s cautionary tales about traitorous South London men who should be banned from WhatsApp play into the same spectacle as Springs’ “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Ankles” and “Moses.” There’s a prelude towards the end of The Apple Tree Under the Sea that features the voice of a man who sounds far away as he preaches about sin and final judgements. It gets even harder to hear him when the sounds of running horses and marching feet cut through. The suspense builds into an orchestral outro that leads into “Sense (Is),” a booming, optimistic song about making the most of a clean slate and a glass half full.
Springs’ journey is the shortest within this set of albums. It spans 10 songs in just over half an hour, but retains its complexities with winding plot twists. Where she leans into communicating through stories and allegories, Raye through a version of theater, and Rosalía essentially through multinational cathedrals, Williams’ Ego Death at a Bachelorette Party brings listeners into an excruciatingly vivid reality. The achingly haunted “True Believer” walks the streets of Nashville. It moves down Broadway and past repurposed clubs. It attends the churches and questions the rhetoric presented in them. It runs parallel to the moments across the album that brings listeners into a home with fragile glass walls.
The album’s most shattering moment arrives towards the end: “Good ‘Ol Days.” It’s not as distressing as “Negative Self Talk,” or as sobering as “Whim.” It glides along a warm groove and drops burning one-liners with pointed specificity. What fortifies it the most is an appearance from Williams’ grandfather midway through the song. “You are so tacky/I think that’s why I love you so much,” he says in a voicemail message. “I just had to call you first on my new phone/I love you, y’all have a blast, bye.” The interlude emphasizes just how interior the content of the record is, made up of real moments, people, and feelings.
There’s a false perception in pop music that the best way to connect with the masses is to keep things broad — that vague generalizations are easier for people to latch onto. But the hyper-specificity and confrontation on these albums form real connection, creating the feeling that the listener is being trusted with someone else’s secrets and struggles — and safe to embrace their own, too.
There’s bravery in how these artists are driven by conviction. They understand the reach their platforms provide, but have little interest in idolatry. They each use different formats to craft a sense of togetherness even in their most intimate moments, like it means more to show someone they aren’t alone than to tell them. They ask for patience as they remind listeners it’s commendable to try. Some people don’t come to music looking for this; it can be challenging to have an artist in your ear telling you to bring your most shattering emotions and memories to the surface. But those are the kind of records that endure over time.