If you heard a collective gasp a few months back, it was probably just music fans reacting to the announcement that this year's Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame inductees include The Lovin' Spoonful. While it's been possible to argue with some of the Hall's choices on the basis of taste, its choices are usually justifiable in terms of historical importance. But The Lovin' Spoonful? Who's next, Paul Revere & The Raiders? Not that it's hard to like The Lovin' Spoonful: If there's a problem with the band, it's that it's too easy to like. Headed by former folk scenester and jug-band member John Sebastian, it crafted folk-rock-country music with an eagerness to please, resulting in a year-long string of hits that remain in heavy rotation on oldies stations. Autoharps and other unusual touches ornament "Do You Believe In Magic," "You Didn't Have To Be So Nice," "Daydream," "Did You Ever Have To Make Up Your Mind," and "Summer In The City," all from the band's golden year (mid-'65 through mid-'66). But there's a crassness to the craftsmanship: It's just innovative enough to be interesting, yet still carefully conceived not to turn off anyone's mom. It's hard to find too much fault with a band as consistently enjoyable as the Spoonful—which alone may explain its induction—and the new 26-track Greatest Hits probably represents the ideal way to enjoy its music. Constructed from master tapes long thought destroyed, Hits, despite its title, nicely balances the overly familiar with hidden gems like "Jug Band Music" and "Pow," the maniacally peppy theme from Woody Allen's What's Up, Tiger Lily? Later tracks show more heart, as the group reveals more of its roots while taking half-hearted but likable stabs at psychedelia. Only toward the end does it really get strange: Immortalized in his solo performance at Woodstock, Sebastian's folkie "Younger Generation" imagines the generation after the Age Of Aquarius as even stranger than it turned out to be. (Sample line: "Hey, pa, my girlfriend's only three / She's got her own videophone and she's takin' LSD.") It's ridiculous enough to be sublime, and enough to make you wish the group would have come up with more such moments. Not long after a drug bust in which some members (not Sebastian) named names, The Lovin' Spoonful split up. But it shouldn't be a surprise that a Kazan-like controversy failed to erupt during the induction of a group whose claim to fame seems to be its inability to offend.