The

Ramones

Live
Forever
2009 PERSONS UNKNOWN ;-)

Charles Shaar Murray

In the autumn of 1975, I was hanging out in Manhattan,
notionally at least on behalf of the NME, with my good
friend and partner in cultural crime, legendary
photographer and raconteur Joe 'Captain Snaps' Stevens.
This 'hanging out' took the form of relentlessly blagging
every record label on the island for free food, drink,
entertainment and contributions to our steadily increasing
hotel bill. When none of the above were forthcoming, we
would investigate an intriguing subculture of new bands
sprouting in and around a Bowery sleazepit called CBGB &
OMFUG, where earlier that year I'd stumbled over Television
and Patti Smith. Thus it was, by carefully designed
accident, that I became the first British rock journalist
ever to see The Ramones.
When I say I was in love, you best believe I was in love,
L-U-V. I fell head over heels for the mookish quartet's
peculiar charms, and returned to London bellowing their
praises. "The Ramones," I wrote in an NME piece published
that November, "are a band the London rock scene could
really use. Jeez, I'd give a week's pay to see them explode
all over an unprepared audience at, say, Dingwalls. They're
simultaneously so funny, such a cartoon vision of rock and
roll, and so tight and powerful that they're just bound to
enchant anyone who fell in love with rock and roll for the
right reasons they fire off ridiculously compressed
bursts of power chords and hooklines, nuthin' but hit
singles or what would be hit singles if there was any
justice in this crummy world."
I rhapsodised over their uniform (leathers, sneakers,
jeans), the brevity of their tunes ("12 songs in 25
minutes") and Dee Dee's manic trademark count-off ("Onetwo-three-four!"). They didn't have a record deal at the
time, so no one outside Manhattan had ever heard them, but
Jon Savage told me that when that piece came out, bands
were formed purely on the basis of the description.
And then the first album came out, and lo! It was good. And
then they toured the UK and - surprise, surprise they
played Dingwalls, to an audience that wasn't just prepared,
but primed. All the nascent UK punk bands came to check
them out, Pistols, Clash and all. The Ramones actually
existed as Joey's introduction, "Yes, we are The
Ramones!", acknowledged and they were sort-of for-real.
Da Brudders, as these four unrelated dorks from Queens
became known, didn't so much blur Spinal Tap's fine line
between clever and stupid as establish permanent residence
there.

After all, they weren't stupid. They were 'stoopid', which

is something entirely different. And each and every brudder
brought something distinct to the party.
Shy lead singer Joey Ramone (Jeffrey Hyman) was a towering,
skinny geek who hid behind his hair, and wrote their most
sentimental, melodic pop tunes and the mordant songs about
mental illness (I Wanna Be Sedated, Teenage Lobotomy,
Cretin Hop, Pinhead) which drew on his own extensive
psychiatric history. Goofy bassist Dee Dee Ramone (Douglas
Colvin) was the scrappy street hustler with the army-brat
background who penned the dirty-realist drugs-and-rent-boy
stuff. Fast-talking drummer Tommy Ramone (Tommy Erdelyi)
had the production smarts, and headed for the mixing desk
after the third album, vacating his stool to the beefier,
steadier Marky Ramone (Marc Bell). And surly guitarist
Johnny Ramone (John Cummings) wrote the fewest songs but
had the most to do with how the group actually sounded: the
flat-out roar of his power-chorded rhythm guitar became a
sonic signature, not just for his own band but for the
entire punk rock movement.
I played that first Ramones album to such disparate souls
as Mick Ronson and Steeleye Span bassist Rick Kemp. Neither
would have been expected to love it, but both did. "I can't
understand why people say they can't play!" marvelled
Ronson. "They're fuckin' great!" Perhaps it took musicians
to realise that Johnny Ramone's guitar style was a good
deal harder to play than civilians might think, and that
for all Da Brudders' claims to three-chord-wonderhood,
their songs routinely included as many as six(!) By the
time of the fourth album, Road To Ruin, they'd stretched to
multi-guitar over-dubs, 12-string acoustics, and even
solos! (Just little ones, mind).
Inevitably, they ran out of ideas long before they ran out
of steam. Finally, somewhat acrimoniously, they broke up,
Johnny and Joey's long-term enmity being uncontainable. Now
all of the original front line is gone: Joey and Johnny to
cancer and Dee Dee to an OD. (In an ironic reversal of
Spinal Tap, it's the drummers who've survived.)
So farewell then, Ramones. Your songs were often as alike
as peanuts, but confronted with a bowl of 'em it was always
impossible to stop with just one, or six, or 10. Other
bands may have been 'greater' or 'better', but never was a
rock band more sheer fun.

Harvey Kubernik
Its late evening in the middle of May, 1979, and I'm
chatting with Joey Ramone by the Coca-Cola machine in the
low-ceilinged hallway of Los Angeles' Gold Star Studios.
The Ramones are at a crossroads in their career. Their
previous studio album, 1978's Road To Ruin, has split fans
into those who've embraced the band's shift into '60s teenpop brightness and those who see it as a blatant wateringdown of the band's original D-U-M-B genius blueprint. After
four studio albums, one live album, three years of touring,
and no hits, desperation is creeping in. The band's label,
Sire, are running their 'Don't Call It Punk, Call It New
Wave' ads in the press and Joey Ramone is talking openly in
interviews of how he's sick of not selling any records.
However, Johnny, Joey, Dee Dee and their new 'professional'
drummer, Marky, have a solution: Phil Spector. Joey's been
angling for an opportunity to work with the legendary '60s
Wall Of Sound producer ever since 1977, when a curious
Spector invited the band round to his house and tried to
sign them to his label for $200,000 (cash!). Joey's voice
reminds Spector of Dion DiMucci. The producer's been
phoning the band up after every new album, suggesting they
work together. Now they are. And it's freaking the band
out.
The Ramones have never hid their love of '60s West Coast
pop, having already covered The Rivieras' California Sun,
The Beach Boys' Do You Wanna Dance and Ritchie Valens' Come
On, Let's Go. Even Johnny's brand of guitar, a $50 blue
Mosrite, had previously been popularised by West Coast
guitar instrumentalists The Ventures. Now they're recording
with Phil Spector in this low-ceilinged studio on the
corner of Santa Monica Blvd and Vine, former session home
to Jimmy Van Heusen, The Champs' Tequila and Eddie
Cochran's Summertime Blues. When I tell Joey that The Who
mixed I Can See For Miles at Gold Star, the singer, who
shares his May 19 birthday with Pete Townshend, and who'd
seen The Who in 1967 on their first US tour, is so stunned
he takes off his glasses and shakes his head in amazement.
Over 20 years later, the band members were still reeling
from their time in Gold Star. "You felt you were treading
on history," Dee Dee Ramone told me in 2002. "The Phil
Spector sound was too powerful a situation."

I'd attended many of those End of the Century recording

sessions at Gold Star and played percussion and handclapped on a couple of the tracks. I was the food runner
sometimes. In 2002, I sat down in Johnny Ramone's '50sstyle kitchen, ready to talk and run it down on End Of The
Century, an album Johnnv had always considered to be the
end of the beginning for the Ramones legend. "I felt a lot
of pressure working on that album" he said. "I didn't feel
like I was in the same control I was usually in, playing
what I wanted to play, and not worrying about anyone making
any comments..."
The Ramones arrived at Spector and Gold Star via several
denizens of the LA music scene. The band had already played
on a cover of Surfin' Safari for DJ Rodney Bingenheimer's
side project Rodney & The Brunettes, produced by local
creative duo David and Dan Kessel who'd been recording with
Spector since John Lennon's 1975 album, Rock n Roll. "Dan
and I got on the phone to Phil," David Kessel remembers,
"and played [Spector] some of what we'd produced with The
Ramones. He said we should pick up some pizzas and bring
The Ramones over to his Beverly Hills mansion."
Bingenheimer and the Kessel brothers also took Spector to
see a Ramones show at the Whisky A Go-Go in Hollywood. The
week before he began the Ramones album, Spector had
produced Jonathan and Andy Paley's Baby Let's Stick
Together, the last formal 'Wrecking Crew' session at Gold
Star with Ray Pohlman, Hal Blaine, Steve Douglas, Barry
Goldberg and Dan and David Kessel. Your correspondent
supplied percussion on the recording with Rodney
Bingenheimer. Darlene Love and Joey Ramone also came to the
session. It all appeared very logical when Spector and Sire
Records' Seymour Stein put the purchase order in motion for
a new sound and pound behind The Ramones. It appeared to be
perfect timing.
"We had to start working in America," Dee Dee told me in
2002. "The record company gave The Ramones a chance year
after year." Wanting to make the biggest record of his
career, Spector enlisted the help of some old session pals
including drummer Jim Keltner. "It made sense that Phil
would produce a record for The Ramones," remembers Keltner.
"I mean, he's always been punk."
"Phil called me up in 1979," remembers Barry Goldberg,
songwriter-producer and keyboardist with everyone from
Dylan to The Electric Flag. "He said, 'I've got something
really important for some sessions', but didn't tell me
what it was. I didn't know until I walked into Gold Star
and saw all The Ramones. I loved The Ramones.

When they found out I played keyboard on the Mitch Ryder

stuff [like] Devil With A Blue Dress On, they accepted me."
Dan Kessel: "Johnny Ramone was the new Link Wray, a
phenomenal bandleader. And Joey was inspirational. David
and I would thrash on our acoustic guitars all night long
until our hands were bloody, staying out of Johnny's way."
Boris Menart (engineer): "The thing that really struck me
was the density of Johnny's playing. It was huge-sounding.
It wasn't just that he was loud, it was the way he played
the chords. Very unique."
Johnny: "I bought the guitar in January of '74, and we
started playing CBGB in August '74. I started downstrumming to keep time, ya know."
Dee Dee: "John and I never rehearsed because we were always
playing. We'd warm up with a trap kit and a Fender Champ
amp. We would get the speed with the right hand going,
until finally it grew to playing. Only playing down
strokes, and then playing back. Speed, aggression, like a
machine."
Marky Ramone: "Me, Dee and Johnny would play together, then
Ed Stasium would overdub some leads. It was all fun and we
did our jobs, but for John and Dee Dee it was a nightmare.
They were used to working fast, and Phil worked at his own
pace, which really frustrated John and Dee Dee."
Phil Spector: "The boys loved Gold Star, especially Joey.
He had all of his songs written and ready to go. And the
boys were well rehearsed... No problems in recording them.
They were open to any and everything."
Dee Dee: "We were working with Phil Spector and we wanted
to at least do one of his songs [a cover of The Ronettes'
Baby, I Love You]. Very logical and very natural. We
couldn't do You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin' or River Deep,
Mountain High. It would have been out of my league."
Johnny: "Yeah, I wanted to do a Phil Spector song. I
realised that it was a mistake, the worst thing we've ever
done in our career. I thought we were just going to play
the song. Once I saw he was gonna add strings I realised
there was no point in me playing, because my special talent
doesn't work on this (laughter). I said, Do what you want,
I'm outta here. To me it was a black mark that will follow
me forever."
Dee Dee: "We were being difficult. I don't really know what
exactly happened. I saw Ed Stasium. Where's John? 'John
left.' I immediately said to Mark, Let's get out of here."
Despite Specter's punishing approach to recording, the End
Of The Century sessions didn't fracture some alreadyestablished brotherhood bond between the Ramones.

However, I do remember one evening at Gold Star, Dan and

David Kessel wearing matching shoulder holsters with .38
calibre pistols, calmlv strumming acoustic guitars. "OK gun
section," barked Phil. "Play!" Speaking to Jaan Uhelszki,
Joey confirmed that Phil had pulled a gun on Dee Dee, after
the bassist had taken a swing at him. Dee Dee admits that
at the time of End Of The Century the band weren't exactly
blameless either. "We were a pain in the ass, too," he
stated. The multiple takes really pissed me off. But
people would say, 'It's only a two minute song. Come on!'
The Ramones were paranoid, not about the sound quality as
much as [losing] the energy."
Johnny: "It was stressful. I wanted out of the band, I was
getting pains in my chest. Usually I can deal with the
stress, but... "
Larry Levine (engineer): "I used to have a theory that part
of the reason we took so long in recording the songs was
that Phil needed to tire out the musicians 'til they
weren't playing as individuals, but would meld into the
sound that Phil had in his head."
Dee Dee: "Thank God Ed Stasium was there. Phil didn't have
to say much to us. He could ask Ed. He'd translate to avoid
conflicts.
Johnny: "I thought Danny Says was a great song, especially
with Phil's production, and Rock & Roll Radio. On the hard
stuff, the production doesn't work, and because of the echo
and reverb, I can't distinguish the guitar from the bass
and drums. It's muddy. We're supposed to just go in there,
do two takes of a song, and youre done
Dee Dee: "End Of The Century is Joey's album. It shows a
side to The Ramones that didn't get developed and couldn't
have developed because of the obvious: we were a tight
rhythmic band, not musical virtuosos, but what we did we
did good. You look at that album cover and see that pop
side to us that loved Rubber Soul."
Johnny: "We took the cover picture with and without leather
jackets, and we should have never had done that. The
photographer [Mick Rock] suggested it and Joey and Dee Dee
said, 'Maybe we're not getting played on the radio because
we have leather jackets on...let's go with that picture.' I
was against that, and Mark was too, but they said Mark's
vote didn't count. It was a power struggle where Dee Dee
and Joey were pals. I thought it was selling out.
Dee Dee: "Regarding the cover and ditching the jackets.
John got mad and tried to blame it on me and Joey. About
Joey, we always used to say horrible things. 'We could have
made it if we had Billy Idol' (laughs).

Now I realise Joeys voice had a real deep part of The

Ramones' sound. Phil brought out the romanticism in Joey,
and I never thought that would have been an appeal of The
Ramones. End Of The Century pushed that. Phil was like a
coach." Johnny: "After End Of The Century, it got scary.
We'd get to the Apollo in Glasgow, all these very young
girls were at the gig, and I don't think they'd come to see
The Ramones, they wanted to hear Baby, I Love You."
Dee Dee: "I wish I could turn back the hands of time to
Gold Star and Phil and Joey would be there, ya know. That
album is all I've got to remember those days."
In 2003, I was hanging out with Little Steven Van Zandt in
his Beverly Hills hotel room. Van Zandt was in town with
Bruce Springsteen for a Dodger Stadium concert the
following day and I was helping him with the after-show
guest-list: Brian Wilson, Kim Fowley, Shel Talmy... I put
in a call to Johnny Ramone, but heard back that he was
"sick, not doing well", and "couldn't attend".
I secretly hoped I'd see him at the venue the next day. I
never did.

Jaan Uhelszki interviews Johnny Ramone (one of his last)

Do you see any current bands as true descendents of The
Ramones? Is there one band who took the torch and ran with
it?
Maybe someone like Green Day and Offspring. The direct
descendents would be the first punk movement from England
in 76 and 77, 78, because they bought our first album. They
started bands after they heard it, you know? When I got
into the '90s I started to feel like a dinosaur. We played
some festivals with some of the other new bands, and I
could see that these bands were being influenced by Pearl
Jam, and bands like that. They didn't even know who The
Ramones were. They could be into punk rock and not even be
familiar with The Clash. They're influenced by stuff that
came out in the '90s. They don't go back and learn the
history. Go back to the beginning of rock'n'roll and listen
to everything that went down. Listen to The Kinks and you
know who Slade are. If you're going to start a band now
because you listened to The Strokes, how do you know what
it takes to be good?
So The Ramones were so strong because of that sense of
history?
I'd seen 500 concerts before I started a band. I'd sit
there and I'd watch every little detail of everything they
did. Then when it came to starting a band, at least it was
all in my head of what looks good, what doesn't.
You were always the king of the low-slung guitar...
I worked that out before I even bought a guitar. I stood in
front of the mirror and I adjusted the guitar to what I
thought was the right height. Get into a pose...and I'm
practising that before I'm learning how to play a chord.
Who was your model for holding a guitar down so low?
Jimmy Page was my model for most stuff. With The New York
Dolls, I didn't know how to play, and I go, 'These guys are
good. It's entertaining. I like this. I can probably do
this as good as them." And then I saw Slade and I said,
"Whoa! I ain't gonna be as good as Slade!"
You talk about Slade in [Michael Gramaglia and Jim Fields'
Ramones doc] End Of The Century. Did you ever meet them?
Naw, but you know, I was in [Manny's] guitar store, the day
I was buying my guitar, and [Slade's] Dave Hill was in
there trying out some guitars. And when he walked out, the
kids working there made a wisecrack about him. And I said,
"What a buncha assholes. If I'm ever famous I'm never
coming back into these stores ever again.

I'll just send roadies in but I don't need them making

wisecracks about me." And I never went back to the store
again.
The Ramones career is bigger in perception than record
sales-wise...
I just can't believe how few records we sold compared to
everyone else. I see AC/DC's Back In Black sold 20 million
copies. I went to see them because Rick Rubin said how
great they were. They played a good song, and then about 10
mediocre songs. And I thought, Boy, after 25, 30 years,
they should play hit after hit. I mean Slade were already
playing hit after hit back in 1973. Black Sabbath are much
better, much more influential, and they're not in the Rock
and Roll Hall of Fame and AC/DC are. Did you watch the Rock
and Roll Hall of Fame thing when Steven Tyler got up there
with them? Oh, it was offensive. The little respect I had
for them I just totally lost.
You really have retired - you even went so far as to sell
your guitar.
Some fan bought the last guitar I used, for the last show,
and when I played with Pearl Jam. I also gave another
guitar to my friend Vincent Gallo. I knew him before he was
famous at all, so he's just Vincent to me. In fact he does
so many things I don't even know what he's famous for. I
mean he's in movies, he makes an album, he does a
soundtrack, he's a collector of famous rare guitars. He was
a motorcycle racer. He's done everything, you know. He's
amazing.
You used to say in interviews that your goal was to do
nothing...
I'm really content doing nothing. We'll go for lunch, and
then we'll go out for dinner. Tonight we're meeting Rob
Zombie for dinner. And then a friend will come over. I'll
see my friend Robert, who's in Rooney. We sit here and
listen to music all the time. And I play him all the stuff
I think he should hear - he's only 20 - or we'll watch a
movie. I take him everywhere, everybody goes, "What, is he
your son?" you know?
What was the best perk of being a Ramone?
Everyone's nice to me everywhere I go. A friend of mine
said to me one day, "You know, everybody around you just
kisses your ass all day long, you're like Joe DiMaggio. All
you do is protect your legacy. You sit there in a place and
everyone comes to you and says 'hello' to you."
In LA do people recognise you on the street?
Well I'm never in the street. I'm in a car, I pull up to
valet parking, I get out, and then I get back in, you know?

The only person who recognises me is the valet. I go down

[Melrose clothes store] Fred Segal's or Hollywood Posters,
kids will recognise me. If I go into a restaurant, see the
people waiting for autographs, people outside, they go,
"Hi, Johnny, how you doing?" I probably already signed for
every person in the country that wants an autograph.
Kiss's Gene Simmons routinely gives people grief about
autographs. "I know you're just going to sell that on
eBay'
I could care less if they sell it or not. If you're gonna
stand here all day waiting for my autograph, let 'em do as
they want. I can't believe people with money even worry
about those kind of things. How's a kid gonna go buy an
autographed photo of his favourite band unless someone
stands outside of a restaurant in Los Angeles or a hotel in
New York and waits there all day?
I never knew you were such a nice guy.
What have you heard? I'm an ogre?
No, that you're kind of a control freak - the band
disciplinarian.
That's all in the documentary. They make me into a
tyrannical monster.
But to balance the band didn't you need someone who had
more regard for structure? You and Joey, it's a lot like
Keith and Mick. That sense of tension and polarisation kept
The Ramones together.
I think I'm sort of a nice guy. But I was in a situation
that brought out that type of thing because a lot of people
were very dysfunctional with alcohol and drug problems, you
know. But I'm not in that situation any more. Generally I'm
pretty nice to everybody.
Were you always at loggerheads with Joey?
For me and Joey, the problems probably started with Tommy
leaving in 78, and then going into the Phil Spector album.
Joey started complaining about the fact that he wasn't
talking [to the press]. I would try to stay away from the
interviews. If I stayed away I could keep Joey and Dee Dee
away. We let Tommy be the spokesman because we wanted to
show people we were also intelligent. If we stuck to me and
Tommy talking, that would be fine. But I was worried about
Joey and Dee Dee just not coming off well, because [the
press] were really on our case as far as being dumb.
Having interviewed everybody in the band at some point, I
don't think any of you were dumb.
Right, right, but people could misconstrue things. I stayed
away from it, because I never really wanted any attention.
Dee Dee never cared either. But Joey wanted that attention.

When we got to the Phil Spector album, Phil and Joey

started talking about trying to do something together. The
problem really started at that time, and got progressively
worse. Occasionally we'd try to make an effort. We got
along a little bit on [1984's] Too Tough To Die. On the
final album, Adios Amigos, I think maybe we might've been
talking a little bit. I'm not sure. I never talk much
anyway.
Were you tempted to make up when Joey got really sick?
Oh, no, no. No. I wasn't talking to him, but I wanted to
know how he was, so I asked some doctors. And they'd go,
"No, that's [a] very treatable form of cancer. There's
medicines for that, there's no problem..." Because I'd
asked doctors about it, I wasn't worried. But then he fell,
broke his hip and went to hospital. That's where you run
into problems. They have to get you off the medication
and fix the other problem. Once that started, I knew the
end result. But no, I would talk to [Ramones' designer /
lighting director] Arturo Vega about it. If I was dying, I
wouldn't want to hear from nobody I didn't like. And I go,
I'm not gonna start calling now. Tommy's in the documentary
going, "Oh, I wish I could've communicated with him a
little because..." Tommy, you left after four years in the
band and you didn't even talk to him any more. All of a
sudden someone died, now you feel guilty. I told him, "You
didn't get along with him either." He left the band because
he was getting picked on by Joey.
Is there a good memory, something you miss about Joey?
Well, as long as Joey was still there, there was always the
feeling that maybe The Ramones will do another song or
something. And all of a sudden he died and I thought, Boy,
that's the end. So I miss that. It is the end of The
Ramones. I'm not doing anything without him, and I felt
like that was it. And he's my partner. Me and him.
What are your three greatest fears?
Throughout my life? I guess being broke. Then I had a fear
of [my wife] Linda leaving. My health. Being old and out of
it. And broke.
What do you do to stay young?
I've always taken care of myself. Haven't gotten drunk
since I was 20 I years old. Haven't done any drug but I
smoke pot on occasion
Looking back, is there one thing you'd change about
yourself? Your tendency to control things?
The control freak, that's the best part of me. And it
wouldn't be me, then, What would I change? Nothing.
2009 PERSONS UNKNOWN ;-)

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