|
RAMONES
Brain Drain
Sire, 1989
By: Pepsi
___________________________________________________________________________________
|
|
"I wanna build a
house where the weak are strong, I'm building it with a real song, I'm
using a faith that is immortal..." -Iggy Pop
"We could be us--just for one day..." -Bowie
"Could you make it with a Frankenstein?" -NY Dolls
"Can't get back to the summer..." -60 Ft. Dolls
"The dream is sold out in the promised land, and the sidewalk's cold out
in the promised land..."
-Wayne Kramer
"Murray the K. is not here today..." -Dictators
"Where did your long hair go?" -Beach Boys
"...And if you tolerate this, then, your children will be next..."-Manic
St Preachers
SOMETHING TO BELIEVE
IN...
 It all seems like a blurred circus -only vague in the bottom of my leaky
memory hazy images from three or four lifetimes, ago. As I sit here alone
in the sweltering summer humidity, with a lawnchair and the bad F.M. that
plays "Sunglasses At Night" every hour, on the hour, music I hated in
detention hall, I'm too spent to struggle against Phil Collins and the
insidious domination of our airwaves, and thus, stuck listening to shit
like "The Logic Song", and all manner of crap prog rock and commercial
shit from some ceaselessly revised whenever. I can actually recall a time
(T.W.A.T.) when I had a considerably diverse vinyl collection, a reason to
believe, and was even able to eschew denim. For some reason, I sortof
associated bluejeans with the (B)ryan Adams/Bruce Springsteen/auto
mechanic resignation and faux working class dogma of the heave-ho Reagan
80's. I scorned not only the polo shirts, crew cuts, Swatch watches, and
designer jeans of my so-called preppie peer group, but also the notion
that people born into my class were supposed to wear only Levis and dirty,
white Hanes t-shirts, red bandannas, attend vocational schools, drive Ford
trucks, and beg for work at some hillbilly-rich son of a bitch's auto
parts store.
Because of the new wave and post punk that filtered into my consciousness
via Creem magazine and the new cable channel, I preferred to adorn my
self-deprecating bones in all manner of defiant-chief war paint, and
clearance aisle velvet, lame', vinyl, and budget rock finery. Like I've
said before, this was not acceptable in the midwest slave-states at all.
Geography is destiny, and there was no Lollapalooza, no internet, no
Target, no Hot Topic, no mass marketing of tattoo chic where I lived. We
had Spencer Gifts and a hippie record store, two towns over, to work with.
The library copy machine, a tape recorder, and a little
imagination-individuality, and freedom of expression mattered to some of
us. While all my older friends were receiving hardcore punk rock
transmissions from England, for me, it was really Jim Morrison, Stiv,
Bowie, Hanoi, Duran, Prince, the Dolls, Specimen, the Cult, Bauhaus, Adam
Ant, and later on, Circus Of Power, and Andy Wood that were stirring me to
want to create my own little subculture...outside of the jocko-republican,
rigged-consensus mainstream, pro-military suburban social programming. As
far back as elementary school, punk and glam were already leaving their
profane tattoos on my callow, little latch-key kid sensibilities. We
wanted to look how we wanted to look, and do what we wanted to do. Not be
told by the government, pigs, church, country club, secret society, or
wrestling team.
It's so surreal now, to be pushing forty, and still having to redundantly
engage in daily tedium with elders and younglings regarding my
hair-length, or six day stubble, when I'm just too poor to buy razors. All
the Elvis Beatle books were written long ago. Those battles were already
fought and won, in the 60's and 70's--or so we thought. So what the fuck
are we as Americans doing? Tolerating all these pre-emptive wars, fixed
elections, dress codes, background checks and 200 question psychological
profiles for minimum wage jobs that won't keep the gas on, domestic
wiretaps, fake Joe Lieberman Democrats, the emergency room hospital
creditors endlessly hassling the working poor with zero health insurance
for money we don't have, the classist drug laws and for-profit
incarceration of millions of non-violent drug offenders, the
glamourization of SWAT teams, bounty hunters, death squads, and police
state elites, the 24 hour a day slandering of anyone who's not a rich,
far-right nazi, or their pitiful strongarms, and the pre-holocaust
invasions of our most basic human rights?
___________________________________________________________________________________ |
|
George Clooney is
viciously attacked by State Radio propagandists every day for trying to
help the poor, and stop the genocides, and for caring about Africa. The
rancor reserved for Neil Young and the Dixie Chicks is shocking. We all
oughta buy Neil Young and Dixie Chicks lp's for Christmas presents, y'know?
It's an insane time. The rich completely dominate the entire media. You
can't even access the "Village Voice" at the library in some towns, or
Michael Moore, or the ACLU, or Democracy Now, or
www.freespeech.org, because they're
blocked, and banned by red state censors. |
 |
|
The ruling class have gotten excruciatingly good at manufacturing consent
by segregating the information flow, and controlling who has access to
what. All last winter, my tiny, neighboring apartment was inhabited by
forty Mexican workers, between the ages of 15 and 55. Employed by a rich
dude, so the po-po looked the other way regarding their fucked up living
situation. The Fox News Bush Cabal media-wing loves to stoke the idiot
fires of racism by implying that these underpaid, exploited workers are
taking "good jobs" away from law-abiding Caucasians, but the awful truth
is they sleep on floors, and are being paid Taco Bell wages for back
breaking labor by rich, white, parasitical, supposedly Christian
rightwingers. Fucking crazy, these times we live in. All lies and
distortion, use and abuse. The Pro-Murder crowd always call themselves
Pro-Life. The white collar criminals are the ones who always want to bust
the mother of three, meth-addicted, convenience store clerk for marijuana
possession, and send her away from her kids for five years. It's good for
their stock portfolio. The tough on crime crowd's composed of Neil Bush
and Ken Lay types. Lobbyists, swindlers, good ole boys, and media tycoons.
Scoundrels, liars, war mongers, and robber-barons.
That's a big part of why we can't go swaggerin' around all dandified, in
our regal-est gypsy gallantry no more. Most of us are too poor to deal
with profiles, and chump charges, lawyers, and fist fights. Me, I'm too
old, and frail to keep attracting more inevitable violence at the scabby
knuckles of impotent, ignorant, oppressed, and enslaved, poor, white men
who are enraged that the black, roller/playa/dealers are banging their
white girls, and who are too dumb to identify, or name, their real
enemies. Orwell said in 1948 that the future of mankind would likely be,
"a boot, stamping on a human face forever." Abbie Hoffman's dead. Joe
Strummer's dead. The Bill Of Rights is dead. Are you ready to behave?
Whether you
personally fall on the Joey Ramone or Johnny Ramone side of the Great
American Political Divide, I urge everyone who reads these words to
revisit books about the Holocaust, about Hitler, about the McCarthy era,
Hearst/Joe Kennedy's media control through their publishing empire, the
Chicago Seven trials, the Watergate era when Tricky Dick and J.Edgar
Hoover were spying on John Lennon, Henry Ford-Grandpa Bush-Joseph
Kennedy's support of Adolph Hitler, the chillingly devious and
underhanded, warpig, political chicanery of think-tank rainmakers like
Henry Kissinger, Jim Baker, Lee Atwater, Karl Rove, etc., because all this
shit long preceded the frightening climate of police state McCarthyism, as
sanctimoniously espoused by Coulter, Limbaugh, Hannity, and O'Reilley. Ask
yourself about the freedoms your heroes are protecting for us by occupying
peoples in their own homelands. Look at all the home invasions you can
watch as entertainment on those SWAT team shows on cable-not many of those
folks are convicted, and if they are it's usually for drugs. Meanwhile, we
all waste our time gabbin' on and on, about theses same suckshit 12
jiveass, current
pseudo-celebrities-wrassler's daughters and fortunate sons our lazy,
dumbfuck consumer culture have been assigned. Titjobs and gossip,
makeovers and money, dynasties, monopolies, fake rap bullshit, products,
and ooh la la. Fuck those people. Whose side ARE you on? Are those casual
day office duds really that comfortable? Feel free in them khaki pants and
penny loafers your Mother-In-Law seems to appreciate so much? Da Da Da
love your Hair, Da Da Da Loan Me A Ten. Where's Noddy Holder when we need
him most?
Ever since sex, drugs, and rock'n'roll have been outlawed except when
being used to sell product, ever since this prohibition on music with
heart and soul, when the bill of rights has been shred dutifully by some
nationalist Ollie North tool, "just following orders", all the Old Greats
have mysteriously been dropping off in rapid succession. We're given
Justin Timberlake, Nick Lachey, and this week's fallout boys in place of
them. What are YOU gonna do? Go with the flow? On-line shopping? Do the
Sieg Heil? Dead, jail, or rock'nroll is rough business, babies. Now that
you think you've infiltrated the system with the intent of changing it
from the inside, I just kinda wonder, is your money is good as they
promised it'd
be? It's lonely here at the bottom, I'll tell ya that much. It hurts being
ostracized and eternally disrespected for not having money. I'm one of the
billions they pushed into the cracks. By "they", I mean the elitist
scumbags who've hijacked the American Dream, and their obnoxious,
middleclass, dirty work, cattle-fed minions. I'm not just a sex symbol. I
got feelings, too, y'know?
______________________________________________________________________________________
Questioningly....
|
 |
I always classified
the RAMONES alongside AC/DC, the Misfits, and Motorhead. As "not
metal"-not really. Hard, fast rock'n'roll. I was a second generation
Ramones fan, so I was discovering "Subterranean Jungle", "Too Tough To
Die", "Animal Boy", "End Of The Century", and "Pleasant Dreams" at the
same time I first started hearing seventies records, like "Leave Home",
"Road To Ruin", and "Rocket To Russia". I was seven years old when the
Ramones were influencing the Clash and Sex Pistols. It was begrudgingly
when I embraced the Ramones at all, cos I was so tortured at my
snot-soaked suburban high school for having longhair and glasses, and
wearing a leather jacket, by all the obedient, brutish, sporto richkids
who despairingly referred to me as either, "John Lennon", or "Joey Ramone".
The other 80's kids I knew who DID like the Ramones were the goofy Dead
Milkmen-Violent Femmes-REM-They Might Be Giants dweebs and gamers I could
never really relate to, and they only seemed to like the novelty appeal of
"Sedated". |
|
"Blitzkrieg" became a jock anthem like Gary Glitter and Queen. I always
preferred their more heartfelt, romantic yearning stuff like "Baby I Love
You", and "I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend". "I Remember You", and "I Want You
Around", to all their nutty, zippy the pinhead lobotomy doofery, and
nazi-schatzi lyrics about cretins and the Easter Bunny. I started
embracing the Gabba Gabbers right around the time when all my juvie-delinquent
pals
were falling for all the Post-Van Halen spandex shite. You know—Quiet
Riot, Twisted Sister, Autograph, Ratt, Def Leppard, Bon Jovi. All the
hairbands that VH1, Metal Sludge, Klosterman, and Eddy are always raving
on and on about. THAT was right when I discovered the Ramones, NY Dolls,
Deadboys, and Hanoi Rocks.
I
loved both "Too Fast For Love", and "Shout At The Devil", but much
preferred "Two Steps From The Move", and "Oriental Beat". Almost all my
favorite hard rock bands leaned more towards the "punk" end of things-the
Misfits, Motorhead, Lords Of The New Church, Vibrators, Damned, Sex
Pistols...as opposed to the dude-metal wankoff bands my friends all
dug-the Yngwie Malmsteen and thrash and viking stuff I never was into. The
only fluff-metal I dug was some Def Leppard ("Bringin' On The Heartache",
"Photograph", "Me & My Wine", "Foolin'") and Ratt's "Round & Round". 'When
You Close Your Eyes" by Night Ranger, and later on, "Wait" by White Lion.
I always considered Van Halen and Cheap Trick pure rock'n'roll. I never
liked Metallica, Megadeth, Anthrax, or Slayer. The closest thing to a
thrash band I ever liked was Warrior Soul.
Even still, I wasn't ever really a punk kid, either, cos they all wanted
to argue all night about the rules of punkness while I just wanted to try
to find some beer and girls. I liked all kindsa weird pop stuff, too-Rick
Springfield, Candy, John Waite & the Babys. Naturally, I always gravitated
towards the look of the 80's groups from England like Discharge and GBH,
but all the American kids who wore the Crass t-shirts and had mohawked
back then were really conformist in my eyes-they were all about cliques
and money for the right gear, and while I coveted their gutter punk
wardrobe budgets-all those lavish belts and spikes, bracelets, and bondage
pants, boots, and 300 little band pins, I could never afford all that cool
swag, and obviously, was never gonna stop liking the Cult, or Jim Carroll,
the Doors, or the NY Dolls, because Tim Yohannon at Maximum Rock'N'Roll
Magazine was trying to encourage a boycott of major labels, and the cookie
cutter hardcore crowd were the same types who beat up Jello Biafra.
Bullies in cool clothes-not much different from the Crue. That's why I'm
glad I'd discovered the Ramones and
Hanoi.
I related to Joe's pining for his unrequited love (Hi, Aymee) and
disappointment and sense of alienation, but I think me and my gang were
EMPOWERED by the brave underdogs against the world spirit of gang unity
that the Ramones represented to so many of us, who never knew that Johnny
had stolen away Joey's dreamgirl ("KKK Took My Baby Away") or that the
badass guitar hero was a Pro-Nixon Control Freak. I just dug the sunny
optimism ("chewin out a rhythm on my bubblegum") that masked the
Wilsonesque childhood wounds. It was really this specific school of
singers-Joey, Stv, Alive, Mike Monroe, iggy, and David Johansen who
affirmed in me that part that was Born To Rock, and who convinced me that
my shabby little bark of a singing voice was "Good Enough". Even though
the metal kids always insisted I was supposed to get those Jim Gillette
tapes in the back of Hit Parader, so I could learn to shriek and wail like
Robert Plant, Bruce Dickinson, Rob Halford, and Geoff Tate. That was never
gonna be my style. I hated most all that shit.
I never even
fully dug Black Sabbath, except for Ozzy's ridiculous highjinks,
dress wearing, batgulping, pissing on the Alamo, and "Finished with my
woman cos she couldn't help me with my mind..." So, y'see, I wasn't a
headbanger, and I wasn't a punk, and anytime I said "glam", they thought I
meant Brett Michaels, when I meant Marc Bolan. I was into Mick Ronson, not
so much Mick Mars. Johnny Thunders, not Warren DiMartini. My token
pop-metal band was really Gen X. I mean I liked a "Gypsy Road", or "Livin'
After Midnite" here or there. "No One Like You" by the Scorpions, "Goodbye
To Romance" by Ozzy, but I really had no use for Krokus, or Maiden, other
than they vaguely appealed to me as comic value for being so ugly, silly,
overwrought, and unrepentant, and for having a drummer named Nicko McBrain.
I was really just a Deadboys-Hanoi-Wanderers-Thunders-Clash sorta kid, and
the Ramones' "Howlin' At The Moon" pretty much said it all. Those were the
sortsa bands I followed through the metal years. Then, later on, the Cult,
Guns, Circus, Dogs, and Mother Love Bone.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
SOMEBODY PUT SOMETHING IN MY DRINK....
|
My Ramones were the
anti-apartheid, ain't gonna play Sun City, pro-Jerry Brown, liberal,
egalitarian Ramones. The no chance, jilted lover Ramones. The fuckup Bozo
hero is a zero and yer just another weirdo Ramones. Which is to say, the
Joey and Dee Dee Ramones. I bought Dee Dee's rap record the day it came
out. F-F-F-F-F-F-F-F-Funky. I saw Circus Of Power open up for 'em at the
Ritz, but we couldn't stay for much of the headliners, cos we had to speed
15 hours back to the midwest in time to go to work hungover. I've long
been hassling my old pals, Deanne Clapper, and Brother Michael Volgare to
track me down some bootleg VHS of the old Joey Ramone Acid Glitter
Trashball Extravaganzas, with Blonde & Blue, Stevie Klassen, Cycle Sluts
From Hell, Blondie, Throbs, and Mike Monroe.
JOEY RAMONE was the liberating and inspirational King Of The Beautiful
Losers. In spite of all his obvious stature and glory as American Punk
Figurehead, rivaled only by Iggy, he was forever moaning about having
failed to crack the mainstream, in spite of Rock'n'Roll High School, and
the album with Phil Spector. |
 |
|
He
always, really, wanted to be a major, millions-making rockstar, like the
Beatles, or Bruce Springsteen, or whoever. He felt like a failure. Instead
of Platinum Selling Posterboy, he was kinda stuck with his bitter bruddah/rival/arch-nemesis,
Johnny, who was the only guy in the gang with the discipline,
ruthlessness, stubborn, hardcore business acumen, and old school work
ethic, really fit to steer the ship. Johnny always understood that they
were fortunate to at least be in the position where they could always make
a respectable living by staying on the road forever, and selling all those
t-shirts. Joey harbored bad blood
towards Johnny for stealing his chick, and always dissing him as a
vocalist, but he could never bring himself to quitting because he craved
the affection of their audiences. Marky seemed to have picked-up on summa
the professionalism and business savvy of Johnny, and producer, and
original drummer, Tommy.
Dee Dee, God Bless Him, was the Ultimate Punk Rock Ramone. The 53rd & 3rd
junkie outlaw. What Dennis Wilson was to the Beach Boys. Dee Dee just
wanted to be loved, stay high, and have enough cash to satiate the
economic desires of whatever woman he was involved with at the time. Joey
followed the stock market like Walter Lure. Dee Dee made "Takin' Dope"
fanzines, and painted primitive, rock'n'roll folk art portraits, and tried
to be a rapper, and stay young forever. He despised the unified,
gang-image. He really always wanted to be more flamboyant, like the Dolls,
and English hardcore bands. Me, too, I eschewed denim.
I know alot of Ramones fans accepted C.J. into the family and were
grateful he rejuvenated the group with all his youthful gusto, especially
New Yorkers, familiar with his other little off-shoot bands, but to many
diehards, he was still a temp. I mean, he seems like a really genuinely
sweet, fantastic, individual, but there is no replacement for Dee Dee
Motherfucking Ramone.
One of my old groups was compared to "Halfway To Sanity"-era Ramones, and
I think the critic intended that to be a really cutting insult, but like I
said, I love alot of songs off all those albums. "Merry Christmas I Don't
Wanna Fight Tonight". C'mon. Classic! I even dug all their covers that
many purists disdained so vehemently. "Little Bit O'Soul", "Time Has Come
Today", "California Sun", "Palisades Park", "Take It Easy Baby". The
Ramones were the best covers band in the world-as aptly demonstrated by
songs like, "Can't Seem To Make You Mine" and "Have You Ever Seen The
Rain", offa their covers album, "Acid Eaters". What's not to love? "I
Wanna Live" and "I Believe In Miracles" were two of the very finest songs
they ever wrote, and they didn't write 'em in '76! Shit, man, those are
two of the greatest rock anthems, penned by anybody, in any era, as far as
I'm concerned.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
GOODBYE FRIENDS...
It's painful, watching those recently released DVD's cos behind the
curtain, they were all just so disappointed, acrimonious, maladjusted, and
brokenhearted. Most times you see a documentary about punk rock or CBGB's,
the Deadboys aren't even MENTIONED! Now, that's gut wrenching. Ramones-Talking
Heads-Blondie, sometimes Patti, and Television...The End. The Deadboys
really got the raw deal, historically speaking.
According to the 'zines I read on the job in the 90's, there was a huge
resurgence of Ramones-Mania, worldwide. Thousands of Converse wearing
tribute bands, punk groups covering entire albums. Unfortunately, most of
that decade saw me scrounging, and scrambling my heart out, just to stay
indoors, so I mercifully, never hadda hear too many of those Screeching
Weasel bands until corporate ringers, Green Day-Blink 182-Sum 41 cracked
the Top 40, making it unavoidable. Joey was optimistic he was gonna beat
the lymphoma, and he got to duet with his heroine, Ronnie Spector. Sadly,
he missed their induction into the Rock'n'roll Hall Of Fame. Johnny
thanked George Bush. Dee Dee thanked himself. Both of them died, soon
after. I've been way, way too flat-busted, for years on end to purchase
the Monte book, or fancy boxset, or even Joey's swan song, "Don't Worry
About Me". I did get to read Dee Dee's endearing autobiography in some
cranky guitarists bathroom, drunk in the middle of the night. It was
indispensable. Find it. I guess they tore down CBGB's-I used to live like
a block away, at 8 Rivington St., but it'd long become a trendy,
commercial landmark proposition, anyway. A seedier Hard Rock Cafe for NYU
brats, part-timers, and uptown bands to slum for street cred. It's all so
sad, now. It pretty much feels like it's all over. So Long, Liberty, so
long rockn'roll, Adios Amigos. There's the reformed Dolls, and I guess,
the Dictators, but I'm not too sure there's anybody left with the
qualifications to save real rock'n'roll. Roll up the flags, boys. War's
Over. We Lost. Get used to it.
-FIN-
|
-Pepsi Sheen wants to be well...
__________________________________________________________________________
Back to List
Home |