As my brother Jeff continues to make more and more progress every day recovering from a stroke, here's something bound to make him smile. One of his favorite bands (The Ramones) doing one of their best songs in pretty much the most Ramone-y way possible. Little is said, little is changed, just nonstop energy and sneers to go along with the irresistible beat. Rock-n-roll, baby. #TapperStrong
And boy howdy, as a dancer, Joey sure was...one hell of a good lead singer.
Showing posts with label The Ramones. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Ramones. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 15, 2017
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
Substitute
A wonderful marriage. The punk was always implicit in the original version; all Joey and Johnny did was make it explicit. (The backing vocals from Pete Townshend certainly didn't hurt.)
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Tommy Ramone
So now all four of the original Ramones are dead. And well, that sucks.
Tommy Erdelyi, aka Tommy Ramone, was the original drummer for the seminal New York punk band, the one responsible for keeping that frenetic pace up as the band tore through all those early two-minute anthems like a caffeine-revved college student tearing through the pages of a textbook during an all-night cram session. He died of cancer this past weekend, and has the somewhat dubious honor of being the original band member who lived the longest, reaching his 65th birthday.
The Ramones were, of course, more than just a punk band. For a long time, particularly their heyday in the mid-to-late 1970s, sure they were all about rebellion and isolation, but it was a slightly different variety. Because for all of their punk street cred (and really, go ahead and try and name a band that had more), it's hard to think of any American band that created more infectious tunes, despite the brevity.
In that simplicity lay the beauty of the Ramones music. It had anger, sure. And sadness and defiance and could stand as a very prominent middle-finger to the ones who made the rules. But their sound, as signature as any band that has ever existed anywhere, was also steeped in pop sensibilities, with all those simple progressions that made it just so damn listenable. Maybe their songs were all about anger, about loneliness, about numbing the mind rather coping with brutal realities. But dammit, you could dance to them! That's what made The Ramones so blessedly unique in the entire punk oeuvre.
Tommy Erdelyi was a huge part of that. He kept that legendary beat when the band was at the very peak of its powers on their first three albums (The Ramones from 1976, Leave Home and Rocket to Russia from 1977) and served as producer of those and the next one (1978's Road to Ruin). This was the the creative apex of The Ramones. Tommy was the man behind it.
At the band's most epic moments—from the “Hey ho! Let’s go!” frenzy that kicked everything off with “Blitzkrieg Bop” to the lush and gorgeous pining of “I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend,” from the celebratory mania of “Rockaway Beach” to perhaps the band’s finest hour of “I Wanna Be Sedated”—Tommy was at the helm, either on drums, producing or doing both. He was as responsible for that blast of power, that pop sheen and that now-legendary sound as any of them.
And after he was done with The Ramones, Tommy shed that famous adopted surname, became Tommy Erdelyi again and added another pronounced notch to his rock-n-roll belt: he produced The Replacements' 1985 classic Tim, their first major-label release on Sire Records and easily one of the finest and most important post-punk records in history. Some will claim Tim to be the Mats' best album (for me it's nearly impossible to choose between that, 1984s Let It Be and 1986's Pleased to Meet Me), but either way it gave the world "Bastards of Young" and "Here Comes a Regular" and "Swinging Party" and "Kiss Me on the Bus" and, best of all, the greatest college radio anthem ever written, "Left of the Dial."
Production values were something of a foreign concept to the Mats prior to Let it Be, and even that brilliant album still had the ragged, reckless mark of a band on the edge of total loss of control. But Tim is the one album by The Replacements that seemed to hit the production sweet spot; this was where the jagged acid of the early Twin Tone years met with the glossy, layered power of the Sire years. It's not a "producer's album," like the kind so brilliantly generated by Daniel Lanois and Brian Eno, but it's one where a steady hand can be felt behind the band, subtlly guiding them. It's no surprise that Tommy Erdelyi was the man at the reins for Tim. What he did for The Ramones in those glorious early days, he did for The Replacements here.
He will be missed. Very much so. Thanks for it all, Tommy.
(Here are, I think, two great examples of what Tommy brought to the table, as a drummer on the first and a producer on the second)
Tommy Erdelyi, aka Tommy Ramone, was the original drummer for the seminal New York punk band, the one responsible for keeping that frenetic pace up as the band tore through all those early two-minute anthems like a caffeine-revved college student tearing through the pages of a textbook during an all-night cram session. He died of cancer this past weekend, and has the somewhat dubious honor of being the original band member who lived the longest, reaching his 65th birthday.
The Ramones were, of course, more than just a punk band. For a long time, particularly their heyday in the mid-to-late 1970s, sure they were all about rebellion and isolation, but it was a slightly different variety. Because for all of their punk street cred (and really, go ahead and try and name a band that had more), it's hard to think of any American band that created more infectious tunes, despite the brevity.
In that simplicity lay the beauty of the Ramones music. It had anger, sure. And sadness and defiance and could stand as a very prominent middle-finger to the ones who made the rules. But their sound, as signature as any band that has ever existed anywhere, was also steeped in pop sensibilities, with all those simple progressions that made it just so damn listenable. Maybe their songs were all about anger, about loneliness, about numbing the mind rather coping with brutal realities. But dammit, you could dance to them! That's what made The Ramones so blessedly unique in the entire punk oeuvre.
Tommy Erdelyi was a huge part of that. He kept that legendary beat when the band was at the very peak of its powers on their first three albums (The Ramones from 1976, Leave Home and Rocket to Russia from 1977) and served as producer of those and the next one (1978's Road to Ruin). This was the the creative apex of The Ramones. Tommy was the man behind it.
At the band's most epic moments—from the “Hey ho! Let’s go!” frenzy that kicked everything off with “Blitzkrieg Bop” to the lush and gorgeous pining of “I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend,” from the celebratory mania of “Rockaway Beach” to perhaps the band’s finest hour of “I Wanna Be Sedated”—Tommy was at the helm, either on drums, producing or doing both. He was as responsible for that blast of power, that pop sheen and that now-legendary sound as any of them.
And after he was done with The Ramones, Tommy shed that famous adopted surname, became Tommy Erdelyi again and added another pronounced notch to his rock-n-roll belt: he produced The Replacements' 1985 classic Tim, their first major-label release on Sire Records and easily one of the finest and most important post-punk records in history. Some will claim Tim to be the Mats' best album (for me it's nearly impossible to choose between that, 1984s Let It Be and 1986's Pleased to Meet Me), but either way it gave the world "Bastards of Young" and "Here Comes a Regular" and "Swinging Party" and "Kiss Me on the Bus" and, best of all, the greatest college radio anthem ever written, "Left of the Dial."
Production values were something of a foreign concept to the Mats prior to Let it Be, and even that brilliant album still had the ragged, reckless mark of a band on the edge of total loss of control. But Tim is the one album by The Replacements that seemed to hit the production sweet spot; this was where the jagged acid of the early Twin Tone years met with the glossy, layered power of the Sire years. It's not a "producer's album," like the kind so brilliantly generated by Daniel Lanois and Brian Eno, but it's one where a steady hand can be felt behind the band, subtlly guiding them. It's no surprise that Tommy Erdelyi was the man at the reins for Tim. What he did for The Ramones in those glorious early days, he did for The Replacements here.
He will be missed. Very much so. Thanks for it all, Tommy.
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| photo: http://liveiseedeadpeoples.tumblr.com/post/9333774427/dee-dee-ramone-joey-ramone-johnny-ramone |
Friday, February 22, 2013
Favorite Song Friday: I Wanna Be Sedated
"There are six of 'em. That's why they're called the Sex Pistols. And they all sleep in the same bed."
I was an unusually gullible kid, but even at 11 years old, this didn't sound right to me. For one thing, I saw how "six" and "sex" were related, kinda sorta, but...yeah, no, I was pretty sure, with all the wisdom of a Catholic school sixth-grader, that the "sex" in their name was all about, well, sex.
But they sounded pretty shocking and gross, all the same—I may not have bought the pseudo-homonym thing but everyone in one bed? Sure, could be—as did the entire punk scene. In 1979, punks weren't really much of a presence in suburban verging on rural Connecticut—I mean, we were still finding the notion of hippies hiding in the woods a terrifying thought. (True story.) So the few photos I'd seen of punks, combined with the whispered tales, were powerful juju. (Never mind that the final Sex Pistols show was already a year in the past at that point.) And not in the way it was for others I've known, who heard similar stories and were immediately dying to listen to the stuff. No, what I heard about punk simply scared me the hell away.
I was a hardcore Beatles/Stones/Who fan back then, with lots of Bowie, Clapton, Springsteen, Floyd, Zep as well. Punk? Thank you, no. Not for the likes of me, that stuff. My tastes were more refined. (Well...I did like Aerosmith and the Doors. Back then.) None of that barbaric punk fare.
And that's how it went for the next many years. Not a note of punk defiled my pristine ears. Until the day my brother came home from college and played a song that...
"What...what is this?" I asked.
"The Ramones," he said casually.
But...but...but...I thought. The Ramones are...punk.
This was punk? This couldn't be punk. Punk was nasty and scary and stupid and gross and this...this was awesome.
Well...yeah.
And that was that. I mean, it wasn't, not really. It was still years before I investigated the likes of the Dead Kennedys, for instance—and, oddly, quite a bit longer before I acquired Nevermind the Bollocks, an album I was literally a bit scared to put on and which preceded to rip my ears off the first time I heard it and which I still think is maybe the most underrated classic masterpiece ever from the most underrated major band ever. And although I took 20 years off from listening to almost all the artists of my youth, I never really turned my back on (most of) them.
But it was those four misfits from Queens that not only started me down that wider, far more varied and interesting path, but in the meantime prepared me for the likes of R.E.M. and the Replacements, which to a kid from suburban verging on rural Connecticut in the mid-80s had some stuff that pretty damn punk. Which is why, despite later finding other Ramones songs I may prefer in many ways ("Sheena Is a Punk Rocker," I do so love you), "I Wanna Be Sedated" will always have a very special place in my heart. The insanely goofily fun lyrics, the catchy melody, the ringing non-guitar-solo-guitar-solo? Punk or no—and punk it is—it had me at hello. And then they hit first the key change and then the "bam-bam-bam-bam" section, the clouds part and a mighty hand emerges holding the third tablet which reads only "LET IT ROCK." And it's clear how these guys are simply part of a line that stretches forward to Nirvana and Green Day and back to the Beatles and Elvis and Hank Williams and Robert Johnson and it is good.
I was an unusually gullible kid, but even at 11 years old, this didn't sound right to me. For one thing, I saw how "six" and "sex" were related, kinda sorta, but...yeah, no, I was pretty sure, with all the wisdom of a Catholic school sixth-grader, that the "sex" in their name was all about, well, sex.
But they sounded pretty shocking and gross, all the same—I may not have bought the pseudo-homonym thing but everyone in one bed? Sure, could be—as did the entire punk scene. In 1979, punks weren't really much of a presence in suburban verging on rural Connecticut—I mean, we were still finding the notion of hippies hiding in the woods a terrifying thought. (True story.) So the few photos I'd seen of punks, combined with the whispered tales, were powerful juju. (Never mind that the final Sex Pistols show was already a year in the past at that point.) And not in the way it was for others I've known, who heard similar stories and were immediately dying to listen to the stuff. No, what I heard about punk simply scared me the hell away.
I was a hardcore Beatles/Stones/Who fan back then, with lots of Bowie, Clapton, Springsteen, Floyd, Zep as well. Punk? Thank you, no. Not for the likes of me, that stuff. My tastes were more refined. (Well...I did like Aerosmith and the Doors. Back then.) None of that barbaric punk fare.
And that's how it went for the next many years. Not a note of punk defiled my pristine ears. Until the day my brother came home from college and played a song that...
"What...what is this?" I asked.
"The Ramones," he said casually.
But...but...but...I thought. The Ramones are...punk.
This was punk? This couldn't be punk. Punk was nasty and scary and stupid and gross and this...this was awesome.
Well...yeah.
And that was that. I mean, it wasn't, not really. It was still years before I investigated the likes of the Dead Kennedys, for instance—and, oddly, quite a bit longer before I acquired Nevermind the Bollocks, an album I was literally a bit scared to put on and which preceded to rip my ears off the first time I heard it and which I still think is maybe the most underrated classic masterpiece ever from the most underrated major band ever. And although I took 20 years off from listening to almost all the artists of my youth, I never really turned my back on (most of) them.
But it was those four misfits from Queens that not only started me down that wider, far more varied and interesting path, but in the meantime prepared me for the likes of R.E.M. and the Replacements, which to a kid from suburban verging on rural Connecticut in the mid-80s had some stuff that pretty damn punk. Which is why, despite later finding other Ramones songs I may prefer in many ways ("Sheena Is a Punk Rocker," I do so love you), "I Wanna Be Sedated" will always have a very special place in my heart. The insanely goofily fun lyrics, the catchy melody, the ringing non-guitar-solo-guitar-solo? Punk or no—and punk it is—it had me at hello. And then they hit first the key change and then the "bam-bam-bam-bam" section, the clouds part and a mighty hand emerges holding the third tablet which reads only "LET IT ROCK." And it's clear how these guys are simply part of a line that stretches forward to Nirvana and Green Day and back to the Beatles and Elvis and Hank Williams and Robert Johnson and it is good.
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