by Tim Stegall
“I
hear all these people
saying the Ramones are breaking up,” snorts Ben Weasel, the notoriously
outspoken Chicago punk musician (cur-
rently one-third of the extremely Ramones-ish Riverdales and formerly
one-quarter of Screeching Weasel) and Maximum Rock `N’ Roll columnist
renowned for his Ramones fixation. “I say, `Bullshit!’ The Ramones
aren’t breaking up! The Ramones are saying, `Show us you love us! Buy a million
records, and then we’ll stick around!'”
That’s a tough call to make. No one, save for maybe Weasel, wants to accuse
the Ramones of pulling an Oral Roberts on their fans. Nevertheless, although
chainsaw guitar king Johnny Ramone was speaking as far back as 1991 of an
imminent coda to the punk legends’ now 21-year-old career, fellow Ramones Joey
(vocals), Marky (drums), and CJ (bass) all insist that: 1) the Ramones have at
least one more record in ’em; and 2) a hit record would rapidly change Johnny’s
mind. (“I think the smell of green would arouse Johnny, actually!” Joey remarks
sardonically.) Not bloody likely. Johnny, although reluctant, is firm in his
insistence that the excellent new Adios, Amigos! is “most likely our
last album.” A source close to the band also states that a Ramones farewell
tour is being booked for next year and that Johnny’s determination is getting
stronger. (“Johnny’s saying, `I wanna stop now. I wanna move to Florida and
play baseball.'”)
‘Course, every died-in-the-leather Ramones-a-holic can only slouch lower, pick
at the rips in his jeans and wonder why? Chew on this: you damn near
single-handedly invent punk rock, literally every single band that dares don
the leather jacket and downstroke 1-4-5 chord progressions to a mixmaster beat
owes you. A number of ’em go on to fame and fortune you deserve
(although you make a comfortable enough living), but not a one will repay their
spiritual debts with a tour slot or anything. (The Pearl Jam tour is actually a
first for the Ramones.) After over two decades of pounding out this 1-2-3-4 pop
noise, the world knows you did everything Green Day has on your first three or
four LPs – yet you don’t get even one-tenth of Green Day’s radioplay, and the
only gold record you’ve seen was awarded for your greatest hits album.
The only proper, human reaction to these circumstances? “Where’s the
cyanide?”
Johnny sees it as a matter of getting out while the Ramones are
still at the top of their game. “It’s like if you just let everyone go on
playing and you would never release anybody,” says Johnny, who sees everything
relative to his passion, baseball. “And you don’t keep track of anyone’s
batting average so no one knows that Pete Rose is still playing baseball now
and is hitting .100, and he just gets up there and just gets by. That’s what
it’s like in music: nobody gets out, because no one releases you. You can’t,
because you’re still popular. But you’re just a poor shadow of your former
self. At some point, you have to stop. I mean, you see these bands… The
Rolling Stones, they don’t play the old songs! They don’t even sound the
same!
“I don’t wanna be like that, I don’t wanna be like the Rolling Stones. If a
mandatory retirement age of 40 were placed on rock & roll tomorrow, I
guarantee you’d see a lotta rock & roll suicides over the next two
years!”
Then again, there’s always the chance you’re less Mick Jagger and more Nolan
Ryan. Adios, Amigos! is the first Ramones LP in what seems like
centuries that doesn’t sound like the band phoned in their performances. Rather
than have nimrods like Bill Laswell come in, lock Johnny in the closet as
session guys ramalam in his stead, and grasp at speedmetal and hard-core and
every other derivative speedrock trend about, they went in with Daniel Rey and
a clutch of tunes written or co-written by estranged founding Ramone Dee Dee,
and recorded them as if they were cutting “Blitzkrieg Bop” all over again. The
results, especially the surprise Ramonization of Tom Waits’ “I Don’t Wanna Grow
Up,” prove the Ramones never lost it. They had merely lost their way.
An entire generation’s aesthetic was built upon the Ramones. That emptiness
we’re gonna feel when Johnny Ramone takes off his Mosrite for good will
probably equal what another generation will feel the day Keith Richards finally
realizes the Stones’ day has come and gone. Nevertheless, like Nolan Ryan,
Johnny understands it’s better to turn in your catcher’s mitt before the true
deterioration sets in. The best thing we can do is catch the Ramones now, pay
our respects, get in our last shot at shouting “Hey! Ho! Let’s Go!” In
the least, it’s reason enough to endure a Pearl Jam audience.
n
[The Ramones open for Pearl Jam at South Park Meadows Saturday 16]
This article appears in September 15 • 1995 and September 15 • 1995 (Cover).