Joey Ramone - A New York Moment

Over at The (New) Vinyl Villan, the Imaginary Compilation Album series continues to go from strength to strength. A couple of days ago, our mutual friend Dirk kept the bar way up high with a terrific Ramones ICA. Dirk concluded his ICA with the entertaining tale of how he narrowly missed meeting Joey Ramone in 1991. Nine years later I had my own near miss with the great man.

On the afternoon of April 15th 2000, the last day of my 39th year, walking alone through the East Village in Manhattan, I crossed 3rd Avenue on 9th Street and noticed a small kerfuffle in a doorway to my right. There, towering above a throng of a dozen chattering fans, was Joey Ramone, signing autographs, talking to everyone at once, but clearly trying to edge inside the building. I fumbled in my backpack for some paper and a pen and waited patiently at the edge of the group. Joey remained unstintingly polite, in spite of the barrage of questions and bits of paper being thrust at him to sign, but gradually, and before it came to my turn, he eased himself into the foyer of the building and, with a wave through the glass door, he was gone.

So I didn't quite get to meet Joey that day, but it was a memorable New York Moment for me all the same. A moment that came spinning back 12 months later, when I opened a newspaper on the morning of my 41st birthday to find that Joey had passed away the previous afternoon, exactly one year after my close encounter with him. The extent of his illness hadn't been widely publicised, his death was a terrible shock and, 17 years on, we miss him still.

The Ramones - Swallow My Pride

Version City #42 - A South Korean Kindergarten Class sings The Ramones

If your day needs a bit of a lift, here's something that will surely help.....

.......and if your faith in the future of the human race is running on empty, this'll work wonders.

You Can't Get the Staff

By the time I became a Manager in 2002, the Coffee company for whom I worked had established a very strict recruitment procedure from which we were instructed not to deviate, comprising of an extensive, structured interview and the diligent completion of a hefty written assessment of each and every applicant. I would always sneak a question or two about musical tastes into every interview though - it had to be done. If I had my way, I would never have employed anyone who didn't at least like The Buzzcocks and The Ramones, though on reflection, the implementation of this policy would probably have left our stores extremely short-handed for most of the time.

Here's a less frequently aired favourite from each of those great bands.

The Squares

Towards the end of the 1970s, I became friendly with a couple of bands from the Leeds area, one of whom, The Straits (no, not them), would, in 1980, support the Tom Robinson Band on a national tour. The other was a band called The Squares, who in May of 1978 issued a single, 'No Fear' on their own Airebeat label. As a result of this release, The Squares were signed by Sire Records, who asked them to go back into the studio and re-record 'No Fear' with a visiting American producer. That producer turned out to be Tommy Erdelyi a.k.a. Tommy Ramone.

The resulting single was quickly issued by Sire in September 1978. This all took place shortly after Tommy had left the Ramones (although he co-produced their 'Road to Ruin' LP, which, coincidentally came out in the same month). So was 'No Fear' by The Squares, Tommy's first post-Ramones project? I'm pretty sure that it was his first UK production job. Either way, it's a great little single.

The original Airebeat release

The Tommy Ramone produced re-recording

(Tommy produced one other track for The Squares, 'Magic Love', which appeared on the 'Sire Machine Turns You Up' compilation, also in 1978 and is otherwise unavailable. Well worth hunting down.)

Tommy Ramone R.I.P.

Sad news to start the weekend. Tommy Erdelyi, a.k.a. Tommy Ramone, the last original member of The Ramones, passed away on Friday. Tommy played on those first three groundbreaking studio LPs in 1976/77, setting the style template for his successors on the drum stool, principally Marky, to follow until the band's dissolution in 1996. He's also behind the kit for what I consider to be among the very greatest of all live albums, 'It's Alive'. Additionally, Tommy handled co-production chores for three of the four LPs I've mentioned, co-wrote 'Blitzkrieg Bop' with Dee Dee and went on to produce the great 'Tim' for The Replacements in 1985.

I Wanna Be Well

Mum would always say that when I was a kid, she was easily able to tell if I was genuinely unwell, or just trying to pull a fast one in order to get a day off school. If I was really ill I would simply take to my bed and sleep. And sleep. And sleep. In that regard I haven't changed a bit. On Sunday evening I went to bed a little off-colour and didn't re-emerge until mid-morning Tuesday, feeling as though I'd spent the previous 36 hours being trampled by a herd of elephants. A short period in an upright position was all I could manage, before I flaked out once again for a further 10 hours of sweating in snoozeville.

With the passage of time, however, two further telltale signs of actual, as opposed to feigned, illness have become apparent, alas 45 years too late to be of use to Mum.

 1) Music - I just can't listen to it if I have any vaguely flu-like symptoms running around my system. I occasionally allow the background chatter of Radio 4 to permeate my fevered dreams, but it's the only time in my life that I find music actually painful. 

2) Coffee - My love of the bean is well documented, but not when I'm sick, oh no. At that point, my beverage allegiance switches mysteriously, instantly and totally to Earl Grey Tea. Worryingly, it shows no signs of switching back just yet. 

It's Wednesday evening and this '48 hour' bug has long overstayed it's welcome. Now I wanna be well. (For obvious reasons I can't enjoy Da Bruddas right at the moment, but I trust you will.)

The Radiogram Years

From the ages of 1 (in 1961) to 15 my parents took a birthday photo of me in front of our radiogram, a family tradition only broken by my teenage attitude and refusal to play along by the time it came to 1976. Why the radiogram? I've no idea, other than it stayed the same size as I grew. Also, Dad sold 'Hi-Fi' equipment for most of his working life - I guess the radiogram was cutting edge technology in 1961, although it had certainly seen better days by the mid-70s.

(1961)

I have many boxes of photos, slides & negatives to plough through, but one day I'd like to get all fifteen birthday shots together in one place for the first time. I've found eight so far. Attached is a sampling from when I still had a modicum of cuteness!

(1963)

Today is my 52nd birthday. Mum, Dad and the radiogram are all gone. I just wish I hadn't been quite so stroppy in 1976.

(1965)