One of the things that struck me when I visited the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame last year was how small most rock stars appear to be. Much of the museum is given over to stage costumes in display cases, and even people who you think are fairly normal-sized like Bruce Springsteen and Elvis were wearing shmattes for shrimps in front of adoring millions.

The other thing that struck me was how much the place felt like a giant merch stand, with very little sense of intimacy. That may seem like an odd complaint. Most people think rock and roll is about getting off your ass and dancing and having a good rowdy time with a lot of other people doing the same thing. And that’s all true. But the best practitioners – the Dylans, the Hendrixes, the PJ Harveys, or whoever you like – speak to you just as directly when you’re alone, listening in your car or sitting on your bed at the edge of despair.

The Rock Hall seems unaware of that personal connection and its recent inductee choices reflect that. And quite a few never really played rock and roll, including Dolly Parton (who initially declined admission for exactly that reason), Mary J. Blige, and Jay-Z.

This week, a new group of nominees were announced. And to my ears, a lot of them are second-tier acts or, again, not in the genre at all. The Black Crowes, Oasis, and Billy Idol are up for consideration. Another nominee Bad Company, wasn’t even the best band half its members were in (Paul Rodgers and Simon Kirke were both in Free of “All Right Now” fame). And then there’s Mariah Carey! You may love her, folks, but rock and roll she ain’t.

Of course, the argument has been made that all the worthy honorees have already been picked. But, with the caveat that none of this matters that much in the current scheme of things, here are a few contenders who should be there by now:

BIG MAYBELLE. The world makes us sad sometimes. Big Maybelle makes me happy.

People have been grousing for years about the Rock Hall striving for diversity at the expense of its mission. But Big Maybelle – not to be confused with Big Mama Thornton, who did the original “Hound Dog” – is one of the true pioneers of the genre. A big Black woman who was funny as hell with a roof-raising riot of a voice. And she really rock and rolled. The first version of “Whole Lot of Shakin’ Goin’ On” was not by Jerry Lee Lewis, but by Big Maybelle in 1955 with production by Quincy Jones. You certainly know what kind of shaking is going on when you hear her singing. An earlier cutting-contest song, “Gabbin’ Blues” has a serious claim to be the first rap diss track. But for me, l’essence de Maybelle is contained her transcendent, “One Monkey Don’t Stop No Show.” Everyone is entitled to their opinion. But if you don’t like this, you are a misery-loving ratfink.

NICK CAVE AND THE BAD SEEDS. I had to double-check and rub my eyes to make sure these guys weren’t already in. The standard is supposed to be having made your first record 25 years ago or more. Cave has been playing with some version of the Bad Seeds since 1983. He’s easily one of the most unpredictable and creative people working in the field since the classic era ended. His catalogue is vast and varied, ranging from manic noise rock to transgressive murder ballads to poetic meditations on mortality and grief. And unlike most inductees, he’s still vital, innovative, challenging, and even dangerous as performer. There’s a very good chance that his best work may still be ahead of him.

For crying out loud, if you have Foreigner and Pat Benatar in your Hall of Fame, shouldn’t the guy who did “Mercy Seat” have been in a long time ago?

The SHANGRI-LAS. Their recording of “Leader of the Pack” is listed on the Hall of Fame’s website, but the group isn’t actually in. Why the hell not? They didn’t last long and they didn’t have a lot of other big hits. So what? NOBODY ever embodied the tough-chick rock and roll attitude the way the Weiss and Ganser sisters did with their high boots, dark clothes, and streetsy vibe. They were a major influence not just on other girl groups, but the whole punk rock scene of the 70s, from the New York Dolls to the Ramones to the Damned. Even more modern singers, like Neko Case and Lana Del Rey, cite them as inspirations.

And the other thing is, their best songs are still knockouts. The team at Red Bird Records may not have financially looked out for the girls (who were just teenagers from Queens), but their producer Shadow Morton and their main songwriters Jeff Barry and Ellie Greenwich created beautiful tragic movies for your ears. And nobody can make a grown man or woman cry like their main singer Mary Weiss, who sings with such naked and intense vulnerability that you want to put a coat over her shoulders and walk her home in the rain, even when you think she might shoot you once you get here.

I’m not posting a link to “Leader of the Pack,” because you know how that ride ends. And I’m holding back “You Can Never Go Home Anymore,” because it’s too goddamn heartbreaking. But check out “Out in the Streets.” It’s like a Nicholas Ray film squeezed into a two and a half minute pop song.

I’d also put in a good word on behalf of Wilco (30 good years and still going strong), Procol Harum (“Whiter Shade of Pale” pretty much invented prog rock), and King Crimson (made prog evil, in a good way). But you know what? Maybe it’s time to close the whole Hall of Fame thing down. There was always something a little absurd about a respectable museum honoring greasy music made for horny teenagers. But these days, there’s a bigger question mark above the whole enterprise, because rock plainly doesn’t occupy the same unifying role in today’s culture.

On the other hand, I don’t know if it’s literally time to shut down the Hall of Fame. You hate to do anything to hurt the good people of Cleveland. And a lot of the music still has meaning to people as part of their lives and a small piece of history. But many years ago, Lester Bangs, who was a semi-famous rock critic - when such a thing was conceivable - wrote these slightly desperate words on the occasion of Elvis Presley’s death. They seem even more poignant in the violently fractured world we’re living in now.

“If love truly is going out of fashion forever, which I do not believe, then along with our nurtured indifference to each other will be an even more contemptuous indifference to each others’ objects of reverence. I thought it was Iggy Stooge, you thought it was Joni Mitchell or whoever else seemed to speak for your own private, entirely circumscribed situation’s many pains and few ecstasies. We will continue to fragment in this manner, because solipsism holds all the cards at present; it is a king whose domain engulfs even Elvis’s. But I can guarantee you one thing: we will never again agree on anything as we agreed on Elvis. So I won’t bother saying good-bye to his corpse. I will say good-bye to you.”