Ramones: Attack of the Pinheads by Falling James

Dear Readers,
Falling James, of Leaving Trains, gave me permission to reprint his brilliant, touching take on our favorite brudders from Queens. CARBON 14 magazine printed this and more (details follow his review). Falling James lived through the early days of punk, and like myself, is opinionated, loquacious, and funny because he's so damn honest. Just the kind of writer you should read. NOW!

Attack of the Pinheads By Falling James
"I don't want to live my life again."
—"Pet Sematary"

Glad to see you go, indeed. Come back, Johnny. And Dee Dee and Joey. Now that three of the four original Ramones are gone, we can't get enough of 'em. In our collectively stiffening memories, they won't defy us anymore, and they can ossify into easier-to-draw cartoon characters, despite their surprisingly complex realities. Even our mistaken impressions about them are more vivid to us than our own lives. We can project whatever we want onto them.

Rival Greek choruses push for space around the freshly dug graves to tell their competing Rashomon versions of the Ramones myth. There's been a relative flood of recent books, movies and the inevitable Marky Ramone DVD to fill the void and, in the same way that you need to read both boringly straight Bill Wyman's and drug-dealer Tony Sanchez's separate autobiographies to get the wider Rolling Stones story, you can't get a complete portrait of the Ramones from any one of the books and movies. The books by outsiders are routinely flawed or ineptly written rehashes, whereas the entertaining insider accounts by long-suffering road manager Monte Melnick and, especially, Dee Dee Ramone are essential for Ramonologists. Most of the films and the inevitable Marky Ramone DVD are well worth getting — even if you're not a hardcore Ramones fan — if only for the Osbournes/Spinal Tap–level comedy of the band's interactions.

One thing all these fables teach is how contradictory and unpredictable the Ramones were, that their motivations didn't always make sense, that there was no satisfying ending or victory or ultimate happiness for them. A recurring theme in the films and books is Joey's (in particular) disappointment that the band didn't have a breakthrough hit, or mainstream validation. It was indeed cowardly how classic-rock radio treated them like pariahs in the wake of the Sex Pistols' bloody implosion. And radio continued ignoring the Ramones while former punks had hits with watered-down "alternative" sounds. By the time guitars came back with grunge in the late '80s, programming directors were apparently so embarrassed that they had ignored the Ramones, they couldn't suddenly add them to playlists after this much time had passed. Better to keep avoiding them.

Joey apparently believed that, with the release of each of the later Ramones albums, even the bad ones, they'd finally get that overdue hit. You'd think that he would have realized that the Ramones' real success was in creating an underground scene, a reaction against the corrupt music industry. You'd think he would have shunned the industry as a rigged, nepotistic game run by corporate accountants. To succeed in that environment would be a sham; all the better to remain the most influential rebels, outside the castle. Dee Dee Ramone best sums up the band's ongoing misery at the beginning of the new Ramones documentary, End of the Century: "What can you do? Anybody else would probably be happy if they had what we have." He then lets out a rueful guffaw.

It's not like the Ramones were complete failures. Not only are they members of the otherwise lame Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, they got to star in their own movie, Rock 'n' Roll High School. They have the most rabid fans in the world (especially in South America). Everybody I know seems to have at least one of their albums (perhaps the Ramones sold more records than they realized or were told). Practically every punk band has used Johnny Ramone's morbidly relentless down-stroke philosophy as a sonic starting point — so many, in fact, that you can broadly classify these followers into distinct categories: the overtly derivative acolytes who appropriate the Ramones' vocabulary/imagery in their own songs (Groovy Ghoulies, the Hard-Ons, the Crowd); bands who have a clear Ramones, buzzsaw power-chord influence (the Damned, X, the Clash, the Misfits, the Dickies, the Muffs, the Saints, really too many to mention); groups who don't sound like the Ramones but whose aggression, attack and/or individuality branched out from the Ramones' initial spark (Bad Brains, Metallica, Guns N' Roses, Nirvana, Red Hot Chili Peppers, you name 'em); and there are even those sneaky sorts who claim them as a major influence, even if there isn't a trace of the Ramones' wit or power anywhere to be found in their own music (U2, Pearl Jam). About the latter, Colleen Caffeine of the skuzzy, Ramones-y new Detroit punk band Choking Susan has a timely song, "Vedder Off Dead," that decries how these parasitic vampires seem to always show up at the deathbeds of dying Ramones, only to steal their last breaths and the spotlight. I'm working on my own similarly themed rant entitled "Bono Goes to Bitburg."

Another thing you realize after hearing the same story from so many different and conflicting angles is that you can't trust anyone or jump to any permanent conclusions. The Ramones don't neatly fit into their presumed cartoon stereotypes the more you look at them. Just when you think Joey's the coolest because of his leftist politics and fervent rock & roll heart, you start realizing that his nemesis, the despicably strict disciplinarian John, had better punk rock musical instincts (Johnny immediately distrusted Phil Spector, for instance, and righteously acknowledged that Mondo Bizarro, one of Joey's favorites, was a completely lame album). You try to hate C.J. because he's not Dee Dee, but you finally realize he's more sympathetic than you initially wanted him to be, whether due to his broader-than-expected interests (Lakota culture) or fannish outsider's perspective and youthful energy. You prefer Tommy's self-taught no-nonsense simplicity and his vision for the band as a producer, but you have to admit that Marky's a more powerful drummer, and a true Ramone in his own way. You try to denigrate Richie Ramone, perhaps because his cymbals style was too splashy, but you also recognize that he got a raw deal: He was in the band for 5 years, but was never treated like a real member. And Richie wrote the occasional great tune, including "Somebody Put Something in My Drink."

So perhaps there is no clear bad guy in the Ramones saga, or someone to blame. Blame for what, exactly? The band did last for 22 years, and made some great records, even later on. But, as it's been revealed recently, they were miserable, and bitterly divided into opposing cold-war camps for decades at a time — the most hard-working, functional dysfunctional band ever. All the palace scribes, both within and without the band, tend to have their own sympathies and to play favorites in the various books and films, and maybe the truth is that every one of the Ramones was absurd and impossible.

In trying to sort out the most accurate and satisfying of these recent cinematic Ramones histories, I am of course no more objective than anyone else. So perhaps it's only fair to warn you of my limitations before advising you which Ramones movies to shoplift. My first rock concert was at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium, January 27, 1978, with the Ramones (Tommy Ramone on drums, a nonchalant, unsmiling presence in shades) headlining and towering over an exciting bill with the Runaways and the Quick. It was my mental awakening, one of those clearly defined turning points that happen in movies but not in real life: Among all these newfound punks and freaks and sexual deviants, I felt like I wasn't alone for the first time in my miserable existence. I got to see the Ramones (now with new drummer Marky) twice more that year: during the afternoon session when they filmed the live scenes for Rock 'n' Roll High School at the Roxy, December 14, 1978, and later that month at a louder-than-ever Christmas show at the Whisky a Gogo. I've been playing their musical almost daily since 1977, and have consciously been imitating them whenever I've played guitar.

My high school friend Daniel Johnson was the first person I heard to remark, "The Ramones have only one song, but what a great song it is!" He was right in a way, but he was wrong, too. Despite the popular misconception, the Ramones did evolve over their 22-year career, experimenting with hardcore and other styles on the later albums, even if they generally maintained their trademark sound. Their songs weren't easy to sing and play, either, especially at that relentless pace. While Johnny primarily used the two basic barre-chord positions, that doesn't mean Ramones songs had just two chords — he was sliding those positions all over the neck with curt precision. Some riffs and drum patterns were actually pretty elaborate and required considerable dexterity to be played at that speed and power.

I happen to be a hopeless fan who agrees with the prevailing consensus that the first three albums (and half of Road to Ruin, plus the raging first live album, It's Alive) are absolutely perfect, essential rock masterpieces, but I also love a lot of songs scattered on the underrated later albums, like Dee Dee's autobiographical hardcore rant "Endless Vacation" and the endearingly poppy "Go Lil' Camaro Go" . . . I generally don't like the later sappy Joey songs, but am stupidly charmed by one of the sappiest, "Something To Believe In" . . . I firmly believe that Dee Dee's solo albums, with his gruff, soulful growl, are among the most important Ramones releases . . . and so on. Anyway, here's a rundown of the Ramones flicks now playing or coming soon to a neighborhood much like yours.

End of the Century (Jim Fields and Michael Gramaglia, Magnolia Pictures, 2004). This almost-definitive documentary pries much deeper than earlier films and video collections into the band's unexpectedly complex and contradictory personalities, particularly the more-tragic-than-comic feud over a girl between politically liberal Joey and defiantly conservative Johnny Ramone (a heartbreak that apparently inspired the lyrics to Joey's "The KKK Took My Baby Away"). Johnny opens up slightly — a veritable flood of emotions, for him — about Linda, Joey's ex-girlfriend who later married Johnny, much to Joey's eternal bitterness. Johnny comes off at first as a humorless martinet, until he haltingly confesses to feeling a little sad about Joey's death from cancer (and then berates himself for admitting it, "Why am I caring so much? . . . I'm just wondering if it's a weakness inside"). "It was an ugly life," as lovably idiotic savant Dee Dee warns shortly before his own death, but the well-paced film somehow makes this all enlightening and funny-sad rather than miserable. The filmmakers are deft at setting up the major landmarks of the Ramones legend — Forest Hills and the early CBGB scene, the historic first visit to Britain, the divisive collaboration with Phil Spector, Joey's maddening obsessive-compulsive disorder, Dee Dee's much-reviled sideline as a rapper (which seems so harmless now; I've always loved his inescapably silly rap "Funky Man") — through a well-chosen series of quickly incisive interview clips with all the band members (including the reclusive Richie, dressed like a stockbroker; and Elvis Ramone, a.k.a. Clem Burke) and eloquent celebrity voyeurs like Legs McNeil, Arturo Vega, and Joe Strummer (who says about the Ramones' nonstop live barrage, "You couldn't put a cigarette paper between one tune ending and the next beginning"). Given this parade of savvy observers, it's frustrating that Linda herself is never directly interviewed, although she's briefly heard off-camera, gently disagreeing with Johnny when he asks her to confirm his point that Joey had engaged in a power struggle with him after Tommy left the band. For whatever reason, director Jim Fields didn't (or wasn't allowed to) interview Linda, and Joey never really comments on any of it, adding to the nagging mystery. Although there's some hot, previously unseen live footage from throughout the band's career, some scenes have been used previously, at greater length, in the other definitive Ramones film, 1997's We're Outta Here, lessening their impact. Since We're Outta Here is currently outta print (as are most of the Ramones releases on Radioactive), maybe this overlap isn't such a bad thing. Aside from other minor distractions like Rob Zombie making the same quote (about how the Ramones never seem to change even as you get older) that he had already made in the earlier documentary, End of the Century will probably stand as the most thoughtful Ramones film.

We're Outta Here (Kevin Kerslake, Radioactive, 1997). When the Ramones released a live CD of their final concert at the Palace in Hollywood on August 6, 1996, it originally came packaged with this largely overlooked video, jointly titled We're Outta Here. Ostensibly a concert flick documenting the band's last show, We're Outta Here also used the occasion as a jumping-off point to lavishly survey the band's entire history, a 2½-hour fest that's the Ramones' equivalent to The Kids Are Alright. Compared with End of the Century, there's more of an emphasis on live performances and slightly less on talking heads (although the Talking Heads are interviewed, along with Deborah Harry, manager Danny Fields, Richard Hell, Lemmy and director Allan Arkush, among many others). The stylishly shot final show comes with a few of the inherent late-period flaws (absurdly-exciting-but-too-fast hardcore tempos on the old hits, in part causing Joey to leave out entire lines of songs, and make these ugly croaking noises) and an assortment of un-Ramones-like guest stars (Eddie Vedder). But there's also a wealth of other great material, early rehearsals and thrilling Tommy-era live footage, kooky appearances on the Uncle Floyd and Sha Na Na variety shows and The Simpsons, some of the best of Marky's behind-the-scenes video footage that's also seen in Ramones Raw and Around the World. (The video collection Lifestyles of the Rich and Ramones, with their quick interview segments slamming right into the songs, is a clear precursor to the breezy feel and pace of We're Outta Here.) If you can find it, We're Outta Here is a must-have, a lighthearted balance to End of the Century.

Ramones Raw (John Cafiero, Image Entertainment, 2004). It's easy to make fun of Chicken Beak Boy, a.k.a. sacrificial drummer Marky Ramone, and this DVD will give you plenty of reasons to, but it's also a damn good thing Marky dragged his video camera around for so many years and caught so much great stuff backstage and on the road. In many ways, these moving snapshots are the truest glimpses of the band's personalities, and you get much fuller footage here than the highlights condensed on other collections. You also can dig into extensive bonus TV appearances, some live stuff (including a guest turn by the Doors' Robby Krieger), and the DVD's musical centerpiece, a concert filmed in Rome in 1980 that looks and sounds great, catching the first Marky era at a peak. Obviously, you don't get any of the Tommy-era stuff, nor does Ramones Raw try to be definitive or profound, but it's a relentlessly satiating barrage of live action & backstage silliness for diehard fans.

Hey, Is Dee Dee Home? (Lech Kowalski, 2003). These interviews with Dee Dee Ramone were apparently intended as part of a larger documentary about Dee Dee's occasional friend/hero/rival Johnny Thunders, and then were broken off into this separate film after Dee Dee's death. Whatever the reason, for those of us Dee Dee apologists it's always great to see/hear the Ramones' main songwriter and real wild child speak purely and freely, and fool around a little bit on guitar, even if the subject matter here is often dark and drug-related and limited by the filmmaker's primary focus, Johnny Thunders. The director doesn't seem to understand what a gold mine he has in his accidental (and notoriously interview-phobic) subject, but luckily, once the amiably eager Dee Dee gets going, he digresses into scattered stories that perk up the narrowly focused, static film.

--Falling James

"Attack of the Pinheads" and several CD reviews by F. James (Dead Moon, the Sirens, Fearless Leader, Les Hell on Heels, Twisted Roots, Gore Gore Girls, D.O.A., The Things!, Nikki Corvette) appear in the new issue of CARBON 14 magazine (http://www.c14.com/). Among other things, issue #25 of Philadelphia's CARBON 14 boasts lavishly demented full-color artwork by Ron English and Justice Howard, interviews with the Fleshtones and Ward Boult, columns from Jeff Dahl, the Whiskey Rebel and the Hungover Gourmet, extensive coverage of roller derbies, "music, smut, wrestling" and -- in place of the multi-band 7-inch that usually comes with each issue of C14 -- you get a CD with 26 previously unreleased rarities by the Nomads, Dead Moon, Rancid Vat, the Dictators, Candy Snatchers, the Humpers, Toilet Boys and others. $6 (U.S.), $8 (world), postpaid (checks payable to "Full Contact Graphics"). Carbon 14, P.O. Box 29247, Philadelphia, PA 19125.

The new Leaving Trains live CD, Amplified Pillows, is now available on Steel Cage Records (http://www.steelcagerecords.com/).

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Okay, I'm done. For now.