And Then There Was One: R.I.P. Johnny Ramone

By Clark F. Paull, III

When Johnny Ramone (nee Cummings) died recently after a five-year battle with prostate cancer, another little piece of my youth disappeared with him. Like most people who spent their teen years in the 70’s, my introduction to “punk rock” (quotes are mine) came via the first Ramones album in 1976 (which just so happened to be my senior year of high school in suburban Detroit), although some might argue I’d been exposed to it years earlier, listening to the MC5, Stooges, Flamin' Groovies, and countless Nuggets-style garage bands while still soiling my diapers and spitting up mother’s milk. I say let's leave the arguments as to who was truly the first "punk" band to hopeless no-lifers like the combined staffs of "Rolling Stone," MTV, and VH1. In the grand scheme of things, it matters not anyway. Hell, I've reached the point where even using the words "punk" and "rock" in the same sentence makes me cringe.

So much has been written about the Ramones, especially in the last 10 years, that for me to rehash the influence their throbbing, amplified, and usually childish whiplash punk genius has had on so many would be not only pointless, but redundant and dreadfully boring as well. When the band came up with the bright idea of using guitars and Marshall stacks to wax poetic about girls, dope, and social sickness, it marked a turning point not only in rock and roll as we knew it, but a turning point in many of our lives. I’ll never forget seeing the band live for the first time, at Ann Arbor’s Second Chance, with Sonic’s Rendezvous Band (featuring ex-MC5 guitarist Fred “Sonic” Smith) opening. It was as if the world had suddenly been switched from black and white to full-blown Technicolor and as Johnny started sawing out the glorious opening salvo of chords which kick off “Blitzkrieg Bop,” it hit us square in the chest like a concussion bomb and we quickly realized we’d seriously underestimated just how loud it was going to be that close to the stage.

Hindsight being 20/20, Johnny is now being heralded as the Ramones’ strategist, the man with a plan, looking after the band’s interests and defending them, literally, to the grave. Some people with too much time on their hands have postulated that they functioned as much like a gang as they did a band, but a more accurate analogy might be La Cosa Nostra, with Johnny as capo di tutti capi and the rest as misfit goombahs. Until the end, it appeared the Ramones' creed was "in for life" and to this day, there appears to be some sort of omerta regarding Richie, who came up to the bigs for a cup of coffee when Marky was too drunk to sit upright on his drum stool.

For my money, however, Johnny will always be the fastest right hand in rock, with no time for carpal tunnel syndrome. Too bad he never quite mastered the main riff in "California Sun," but come to think of it, that would have been like putting perfume on a pig. His howitzer Mosrite fretfire was the foundation on which the Ramones house was built, and what a shaky house it was at times. The long rift between Johnny and Joey is as much attributed to a struggle for control of their musical direction as it is to Johnny's stealing Joey's girlfriend and then marrying her. Is it any wonder long-suffering tour manager Monte Melnick's job was likened to that of a special-ed teacher chaperoning four retards on a 20-year field trip?

In 2004, life without the Ramones and, in particular, Joey, Dee Dee, and now Johnny remains a novel concept. As punk marches into the 21st century, the Ramones have been rightfully lionized as the ultimate anti-heroes and the most influential band this side of The Beatles - no, make that the most influential band ever - architects of a unique universe of bad taste, volume, melody, and momentum. Somebody cue up Ennio Morricone’s “The Good, The Bad & The Ugly” theme and hand me a tissue. Goodnight sweet prince…

About the Author:

Punk rock changed my life, but unfortunately it didn't change the world. I spent my teen years in the 70's, an era in which we figured rock & roll couldn't get any worse. So much for prescience... Needless to say, I've been around too long to fall for any new marketing trends, and heck - let's face it - I've just been around too long. I'm old and tired and if you ever met me you probably wouldn't like me. That's something I can live with.

As a married, 45-year-old father of three, I enjoy rainy fall days, eating greasy food, watching "B" movies, listening to loud fast music with loud fast words, and adusting to the realization that somewhere along the way, I turned into my Dad. I can't wait to move out of Detroit, which I feel is really beginning to slip in its quantity and quality of murders. Although I've never been associated with organized crime, I feel living like I'm in the witness protection program in the wilds of Northern Michigan would suit my lifestyle needs. My favorite color is "clear."

I believe absolute values exist in art. There is good and bad. There is rock & roll and there is mere music. There is writing and there is typing. There if film and there is crass advertising. I will tell you which is which. You won't believe me anyway. I can live with that, too.

Article courtesy of http://www.suite101.com.