It's all driven into the ground as if it's never been said before, and yet without truly exploring what could be the most interesting thing about the Ramones: the bizarre confluence of these city street-tough personalities into a unified, aesthetically cohesive artistic unit. New York was a dying city CBGB's rock bar was a Bowery hole turned hipster haven punk was a response to bloated overblown rock seminal proto-punk rock bands like The New York Dolls and The Stooges provided an inspirational, primal rock spark punk bands like the Ramones couldn't really play. So it's particularly ironic that the half of End of the Century covering those early punk days is so tediously slow, dragging through interview after interview of the punk-history mantras. When the Ramones came along, at the height of 1974's progressive-rock arena-concert spectacle, one of the most radical things about the band - besides its dirty, very un-rock-star image - was its brutal brevity. A group of individuals lassoed by Johnny Ramone's near-fascistic dedication to the Ramones concept. Through interviews both old and new with the Ramones, their entourage of managers, artists, fellow punk rockers and musical descendants, Gramaglia and Fields paint a picture of a rock band as full of contradictions as its image was of unity. It's a defining picture of Johnny Ramone, arguably the key figure in End of the Century: The Story of the Ramones and the story it tells of the Forest Hills, Queens, punks who became one of the most important pieces in the puzzle of late 20 th-century popular music while somehow avoiding mass-scale commercial success. "I guess because he's a Ramone," says Johnny, finally. Yet they'd essentially not spoken since the early '80s. Cares? It ought to be easy: Johnny and Joey had known each other for nearly 30 years lived in a tour van together for 21 of them. After a few painful seconds brain-racking, he admits defeat: "I don't know." Documentary filmmakers Michael Gramaglia and Jim Fields haven't asked Johnny for the atomic weight of zinc or the zip code in Peoria - just the reason why this pragmatist cares about the death of singer Joey Ramone. It's the 21 st century, yet John "Johnny Ramone" Cummings looks like it's the Bowery circa '74: fringed black bowl cut, T-shirt, black leather jacket doubtless nearby. Highlights include a Spector-ized version of the theme to ROCK 'N' ROLL HIGH SCHOOL (markedly different from the cut on the movie soundtrack), "Do You Remember Rock 'N' Roll," (their ode to '60s Top 40 radio), "Danny Says" (their ode to manager Danny Fields), and "Chinese Rocks" (Dee Dee Ramone's often-covered ode to copping heroin).Johnny Ramone purses his lips in twisted thoughtfulness, visibly, physically thinking, trying to come up with an answer. In retrospect, however, Spector's sound and the Ramones' buzzsaw guitar attack make an excellent match, and with the exception of a pleasant but pointless cover of Spector's "Baby, I Love You" there isn't a weak track on the album. Some longtime fans hold that the band is overwhelmed by Spector's trademark Wall of Sound, and the Ramones themselves have expressed some reservations with the album over the years, although that may have been a result of Spector's personal eccentricities during the recording sessions-at one point he reputedly held a gun on them. This has always been the Ramones most controversial album, thanks to the characteristically over the top production by '60s legend Phil Spector. Includes liner notes by Harvey Kubernik.Īll tracks have been digitally remastered. Recorded at Gold Star Studios, Excalibur Studios, Devonshire Sound Studios, Sound Dog Studios & Original Sound Studios, Los Angeles, California. The Ramones: Joey Ramone (vocals) Johnny Ramone (guitar) Dee Dee Ramone (bass) Marky Ramone (drums).Īdditional personnel: Sean Donohue (spoken vocals) Steve Douglas (saxophone) Barry Goldberg (piano, organ).
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