RAMONESLAND: The Ramones – An Interview with the ‘First Family of Punk’ by Abby Weissman. 9/21/1988

    It's not uncommon for strangers to come up to the Ramones to thank them for existing and to pay their respects. Sometimes it's just kids in the street who shout out "Hey man, you guys are the best!," but other times it's guys like Lars from Metallica who once confided to Joey, "You're the reason I formed Metallica.” 

    These not-alwavs-anonymous homagers are not merely crazed fans. They are music lovers privy to one important fact: Without the Ramones there might not have been punk rock, and without punk rock who knows where we'd be today — we might all still be listening to the Doobie Brothers.

    For the past 14 years, the Ramones have proudly carried their freak flag high for a rock movement they almost singlehandedly created in 1974 — punk. Out of all the bands that began at CBGBs in those thriving early years, the Ramones are not only the most influential, they have outlasted almost every one of them (with the only major exception being the arty mainstream Talking Heads). And the Ramones are still getting bigger.
    But despite their continuing success and living legend status, being a Ramone hasn't always been an endless vacation. There has been grueling hard work, drug and alcohol problems, three drummers (a sober Marky rejoined after Ritchie abruptly quit last Fall), internal fighting and other equally troublesome problems.
    And there have been good times too – plenty of them. Like when they first began to make it on the Bowery in '74, their now-legendary trip to England in '76, their 10 great albums, the fun tours, and of course, the gigs. The Ramones have always been an essential live band, and it's in concert where they really shine.
    Presently in the midst of area appearances and a promotional blitz for their new “Best Of” collection, Ramones Mania, Joey and Marky Ramone recently took some time out from their busy schedule to discuss the current state of Ramonia. Over a few slices of pizza at one of their favorite hangouts (a bar & grill on the Lower East side), New York's premier rock 'n' rollers candidly spoke of the triumphs and tribulations of being a Ramone, as well as their illustrious Ramones past, present, and future plans. Following are excerpts from our conversation.

Abby Weissman: First of all, let's talk about "Ramones Mania," your new compilation album. Do you consider purely a greatest hits collection for your fans?
Joey: In a way, except most of the mixes have never been released. A lot of them are European or English mixes, like 'Indian Giver,' which has never been released in America. But if it were just a hits package. it wouldn't have the songs it does have on it like “Wart Hog.” It's really for the collector, or the new fan, or anybody. It's great.
Marky: Plus it's good for the younger kids too, because a lot of them aren't really familiar with the older albums. So if they get a hits package (like Ramones Mania) they can hear the older stuff, and if they like it they can go buy the others. And we have a nice bio on it.

AW: Who selected the songs?
J: We did, but actually this guy Kevin (Laffey) from Warner Brothers is real responsible for this album's conception and seeing it through. Warner Brothers came up with a list of the songs they wanted on it, and we came up with a list of the songs we wanted on it, and it was very close by about five songs. It was very difficult for us to select the songs, but we wanted to make sure it wasn't put together by the record company so it wouldn't contain 30 ballads. (Laughs).

AW: Did you remaster the material yourselves for the CD version of the album and is there any difference in the sound?
    M: All the stuff on the new CD was digitally remastered by Ed Stasium and it sounds great.
    J: And there are some songs that sound better now than they did originally, like
"Chinese Rocks,' because I didn't like that guitar shit Phil slipped in while we were away, or our backs were turned. We didn't want to put the Spector version on (Ramones Mania) because we weren't crazy about it. Instead we wanted to put on a demo version or maybe a live version, or something like that. But actually on Ramones Mania it (the Spector version) sounds better and rawer than before.

AW: Speaking of CDs, when are your earlier records coming out on CD?
    J: I asked Howie Klein (at the record company) about that recently and he said they were going to do the first and second album together on one CD, which is cool, sort of like those T-Rex albums, and then maybe Rocket to Russia and Road to Ruin together. Eventually, everything will be out on CD.

AW: Your sound on those early albums was originally compared to the Stooges. How would you characterize the Ramones influences these days?
J: We all love the Stooges, but we love a lot of things. We're all big rock 'n' roll fans and collectors, and we all share definite similarity of tastes, but then again everyone has their preferences. I guess lately I've been more into metal, ike Motorhead and AC/DC. I've loved them from the beginning, but I'm writing maybe more in that style to some degree as opposed to where I was more influenced by Doo Wop at one time, like when I wrote 'Oh Oh I Love Her So' — or a more English kind of thing, like when I wrote "I Don't Want You,” which was more of a Kinks kind of thing.
    As far as compositional writing, it's absorption of everything, and the output is us. It's not just music, it's living, it's fucking life. It's things that piss us off, it's things that amuse us, relationships, it's all kinds of stuff that goes into the makeup of this band.
    But today I might be into one thing, and tomorrow I might be more into something else, and it doesn't mean I don't like the other thing. It's just that some days you don't want tuna fish-you want chicken salad. But some bands will have tuna fish every day of their lives. A lot of bands have one or two influences, and that's exactly how they sound. You can't say we sound like this or that. I mean we're a unique bunch.

AW: Mark, I know you just rejoined the band last fall, but why did you leave the Ramones in the first place?
    M: I had a drinking problem, a bad drinking problem. I got to a point where it was taking over, where it was controlling me. I had to have a drink. I mean, it's fun to drink, if you know how to control it. But once it starts grabbing on to you, you'd better stop, 'cause it's gonna kill you. So, we got to a decision where they didn't want me around because I was drinking too much, and I don't blame them. So that was it. I had to get my life together and it took two years after being out of the band.
    I did go away to a few places and sobered up and dried out, and now, since 1983 till '88, it's almost been four years since I've been straight — nothing, not even pot.
In fact Dee Dee's doing great too, better than ever. He's totally clean, too. He looks good, he's growing his hair long again and everything.
    Joey: Mark's a serious role model for all of us. He's changed my ways because I like to drink myself. But now when I'm on tour, I don't drink or do anything. I stay straight and want to do my best. I mean, who wants to pay 15 bucks to see a bunch of fucked
up people up there stumble around the stage? Hey, when you go to see a show you wanna be blown away — like when I saw Iggy (Pop) at the Ritz. He's in rare form now, he was incredible that night. I always admired Iggy for a lot of years, but a lot of his shows I saw it wasn't even him, it was a parody — a bad Iggy/Stooges cover band.
But now he's got a good band, and they were good and raw and everything, It was almost the Stooges, but it wasn't this uncontrolled chaos — which can be good and bad. I mean it can be good but it's short lived. If Iggy kept the way he was, he would've been dead long ago.

AW: Like Iggy, you guys have a huge loyal cult following. On the whole, are you happy with the success the Ramones have had, or do you ever feel you'd rather be more mainstream - you know, the big, big bucks?
    J: We're still growing, we're getting bigger and bigger all the time. I'm happy with our achievements. We make people happy, you know? We're not going to go the way of Cheap Trick, that's for sure.
We're too concerned about our integrity. You can't sell yourself short, and sell your fans out. How can you live with yourself? I mean, most of these people who really make it can only live with themselves because all they really care about is the bucks. I'm more concerned about credibility, my integrity, my self respect. I like walking down the street and having kids saying to me “you guys are the best.” It's nice to be respected.

AW: Joey, last year Dee Dee made that rap record. Have you ever thought about making a solo album?
    J: Well yeah, at some point I definitely have plans and I have some stuff in the can.
But right now I've never been happier being with the Ramones. I'm really enjoying myself and we're really getting along great now. The Ramones are my priority and this is what I enjoy. But yeah, at some point I definitely want to do that.

AW: Would the music on your solo album be different than the standard Ramones' sound?
    J: Well it would be very diverse. Some of it would be very much like the Ramones because of course I've written a lot of songs for the Ramones. But some of it would be like up stuff that maybe wouldn't fit the Ramones. Some of the songs I've presented to the band, but they said “if you change this we'll do it.” Fuck that, man. I like a lot of different kinds of things, you know, and sometimes you don't want to have to  compromise and just do it without having to get into fights. So yeah, I'm gonna be doing some things.

AW: Joey, you said before that you guys were getting along great now, does that mean there was a time when you weren't getting along? What were the problems?
    J: Well, being together 14 years, and being a live touring band, we work just about all year round. So somewhere we're always on the road in close quarters and there's sometimes problems, friction, inner turmoil, and there's gonna be episodes, you know what I mean?
    Well it was really between me and John, and at one point it was between Marky and Dee Dee. I think there might have been a period for about three years that I didn't talk to John. It was some bullshit thing that today you could see as sort of trivial, but at the time I guess it definitely wasn't trivial.
    But, we all really made a conscious effort to really work it out, and we just worked it out to where it doesn't exist. It didn't take overnight; it took a while before each person regained the trust of the other person and let it go. Whether it be a band or a government, the worst thing that can be, no matter what, is the lack of communication — because then everything breaks down.
    M: Yeah, everyone let their disagreements go, and made up. Now it's one for all, all for one.

AW: When you tour, do you still travel around in a van?
    J: When we play sort of local, we'll fly, and then we'll rent a van. We had a bus in those days because we hated each other's guts, so we needed more space for our sanity. Now we just enjoy each other's company so we have a great time. It's fun, we really enjoy each other. It's nice. I mean we're a real happy family now, seriously.

AW: And now for some questions on the old days. When the Ramones first played CBGBs, you were so much slicker and conceptually more together than most of the other bands there at the time. Still, were you surprised by the great initial press reaction you received?
    J: No, because all that's important to us. I mean basically, when we play it's spontaneous but we believe in being tight, in being our best. We have a professional kind of attitude in the sense that we care to be our best, and to be tight and not be sloppy.
    We're just very organized. I mean, John right from the start would always have a second guitar right there tuned and ready to go, so he wouldn't have to tune it for like half an I remember seeing Television at CBGBs years ago — and they’d come out and hit a chord and Tom Verlaine would stand there for like half an hour tuning, talking about the whales or something. I mean, who wants to hear that shit? How annoying.
    That's one thing we excluded right from the beginning, that pretentious, the cliches and the bullshit. We just sort of disassembled and reassembled it and cleaned it out. It's like having your toilet stuffed up. We cleaned it out. We got the Roto-Rooter device and cleaned out all the stuffiness. It's like a breath of fresh air. We put the essence back, the spirit, the raw guts and emotion, the fun — that's what rock n’ roll always was, is, and meant to be.

AW: How preconceived was the initial Ramones concept?
    J: Well, you know, it wasn't a pre-conceived idea. We met, we had a rehearsal, and we realized that we got something here. It was just a chemical imbalance. This neurosis. This psychosis.

AW: As far as the true roots of punk, do you agree with the version of the story that credits the Ramones with singlehandedly bringing punk rock to England in July, 1976?
    J: Yeah. We went over there (to London), on July 4th 1976, and sold out three nights at this place, The Roundhouse, which was about 9,000 people. And then we did this club Dingwalls, and that's where all the kids were hanging out, like the Clash, the Pistols and the Damned.
    After we left England, that's when the world changed, and that's when music changed. The best story I heard was from Chris Spedding. He told me that when the Sex Pistols went into the studio to do their first album, one of the guys had a copy of Rocket to Russia under his arm and they said "we wanna sound like this.”
    But the thing was, while they (the British punk bands) all sort of took our sound and our look as their basis, they interjected themselves to give their songs their own personality and whatever, which was very exciting. But I think more of the bands there just took our sound and weren't really so different in the creative sense compared to the way the American bands were here — like us, Blondie, and Television. Here everybody was different, and the bands were more definite. But then again, we invented rock 'n' roll here in America, you know? (Laughs).
    M: When I toured with the Clash (in Richard Hell & the Voidoids) I was hanging out with Joe Strummer in his hotel room for six weeks — it was a long tour. He had the first Ramones album and Rocket to Russia and some reggae, and that was all he listened to at the time. And this was 1977, and you could tell how influential the band was — and still is.

AW: In the beginning, how many gigs did the Ramones actually play before you were signed to Sire?
    J: We played a lot, as much as we could because basically it was al word of mouth. I remember when we auditioned for Hilly at CBGBs and he said, “No one's gonna like you guys but I'll have you back!” When we first played, the first two people who were there besides the bartender and his dog were Warhol types. We got the art crowd first, because they tend to pick up on things first. We wanted the kids, but it was CBGBs, in the heart of the slums on the Bowery. We tried to encourage other bands to come and play, because we liked CBGBs. We liked the atmosphere and the acoustics and it was a nice environment so we thought “let's try to create a scene here.” So we'd ask people to come down and play but a lot of people wouldn't because they said “no one's gonna come down to the Bowery,” and all that. Initially it was us, and Television, and Patti was a poet then and then it was her and Lenny Kaye. And then it was the Stillettos and then Blondie. Then people started coming down.
    I remember when we first ran into Danny Fields — that was exciting because we loved the Stooges, and the MCS. Danny discovered the cream of the crop--like the Stooges, MC5, Jim Morrison, Lou Reed, Johnathan Richman — the best, you know. And Danny really liked us. He brought Lisa Robinson down and she saw us and said we changed her life. (Laughs). And then we started getting written up in Rock Scene and various writers started coming down, and word of mouth grew.

AW: What are some other milestones?
    J: I remember that summer rock festival at CBGBs (in 1975). They had “The Best 40 Unsigned Bands” and we headlined. That was the thing that really did it because writers were there from all over the world, like NME, etc.
    Right after that the labels started coming down. But we wanted an album deal. We were offered single deals but we turned them down. And I remember Clive Davis (former CBS head) being there and saying “You guys are great but you'll never get it down on wax.”
    But it was Craig Leon who brought Seymour Stein (head of Sire) to the attention of us. And we auditioned for him, and he was knocked out. And at the time, we decided we would rather be with a smaller company than with a big one – we didn't want to get lost in the shuffle. But we like Seymour, because he understood us. He understood what we 
were doing, because we were doing something totally alien.

AW: Not anymore though.
    J: Well, there's still nobody really like us.
I'm sure evervone sounds like us now and tries to emulate us to some degree, but nobody comes close.
    M: They don't have it down like us.

AW: Don't you think your songwriting is a lot of it?
    J: It's the songwriting, it's the performance, it's the people, it's the power, it’s just our attitudes, it’s just ourselves. 
 

THE PSYCHEDELIC FURS / THE BLOW MONKEYS / The Pier / August 15, 1986 by Abby Weissman

The Psychedelic Furs have changed. Once the darlings of the dance-and-doom rock set in the early ‘80s, the Furs personified the boredom and depression that followed the explosive energy of the punk rock movement. Their message was that sex and drugs and rock n’ roll don’t make it — nothing makes it. Everything is stupid (the most often-used word on their interesting self-titled 1980 debut album). Their resigned jadedness was, oddly, a breath of fresh air after enduring scores of angry-young-man clones patterned after the Clash and the Sex Pistols.

But despite the Furs’ early promise, both they and the opening band, the Blow Monkeys, are from the B-list of British imports these days. The A-list requires some genuine, unique quality; the painful honesty of the Smiths, the noise/reverb-laden experimentation of the Jesus & Mary Chain, or the plain old energy and star quality of the Cult. The B-list is comprised of often entirely competent performers who try for an image and more-or-less do it, but it’s not quite real: like a made-for-TV docudrama vs. actual news footage. But in today’s large and frantically consumer-oriented pop marketplace, even second stringers can prosper.

On August 15th, the seventeenth anniversary of  Woodstock, the Pier show provided a glimpse into the state-of-the-art of rock n’ roll, 1986 style — cool and calculated, and professional in ways not even imagined by the kids at Yasgur’s Farm.

Some things never change: the bleachers are still rickety, the Port-O-San bathrooms are still disgusting, and people still came to party. But unlike Woodstock, this Friday night outdoor party had no purpose: just something to do that’s less boring than the other available options. (The Psychedelic Furs appropriately enough, are mentioned as background music in Bret Easton Ellis’ MTV generation novel, Less Than Zero.) Like a joy ride, neatly packaged in carefully timed sets with professional sound and lights, with neither a passion for the music, or the Furs’ old, quirky, sardonic presence to make it special.

The opening band, the Blow Monkeys are currently riding high on the success of their single “Digging Your Scene,” and their debut RCA album, Animal Magic. They’re not as good as they seem to think they are.

Musically, the Blow Moneys (the name is British slang for saxophone, the band’s obviously favorite instrument) are recent graduates of the English School of Blue-Eyed Soul, alma mater to WHAM! and Culture Club. Whether their preference for R&B comes from a genuine passion for the music, or a passion for the bucks they could make as a crossover act remains to be seen. The smart money is on the latter.

The Blow Monkeys recently stated in an interview that they want to make disposable pop hits, and they do. Their music brings on a constant feeling of deja vu: the Blow Moneys owe a lot to Sly & the Family Stone. Ditto Labelle (“Wicked Ways”), Frankie Valle (“Digging Your Scene”) and Curtis Mayfield, whose funky classic “Superfly” was a particularly silly cover choice for this band. The Blow Moneys are full of teen idol pretentiousness, with guitarist/lead singer Dr. Robert decked out like a mod Rudy Valle in 1920s white suit and straw hat, displaying not a hint of the gritty, heavy, street smarts that a white band attempting the song requires.

But then, the makers of teeny bopper hits are often great successes, and the Blow Moneys will probably laugh all the way to the proverbial bank.

The Furs opened in full frontal attack with  “Heartbeat” from 1984’s Mirror Moves. The smoke machine smoked enthusiastically, and the lights flashed, the combined effect practically screaming THIS IS A ROCK CONCERT! The hyper-active star formulation lighting, in contrast to the Furs’ former Jefferson AIrplane-style psychedelic show, seemed to be rented from Motley Crue’s set designer; the band’s flashy leather rock star clothes from Rod Stewart; frontman Richard Butler’s moves from Billy Idol. The Furs also seem to have picked up a trick from Depeche Mode: produce moody, sensitive albums and give glitzy, make-the-girls-scream performances.

The band worked hard to give a high energy show, usually a good thing, but the Furs’ most interesting quality used to be their lethargy. They came on with the world weariness of jaded veterans, already beat, sounding like men who already shot their wad long ago in cheap thrills; alienated from self, god, country, and mournfully hip. These days they’re trying to live up to a more Top 40 image that that doesn’t fit them; the result of watching too many concert videos, perhaps, or the unfortunate consequences of a piece of blind luck. — “Pretty in Pink.”

The unprecedented success of the John (The Breakfast Club) Hughes film of the same name, and the new, updated version of the song was, after two album-less years, was like the average Joe hitting the Lotto jackpot, and may have convinced the Furs to shoot for Commercial Hit country. It’s an ironic development considering “Pink” comes from their early, bored, sarcastic period of five years ago — a time when they seemed too cool to ever be influenced by such an American Dream shot in the arm.

The Psychedelic Furs’ set consisted of a cross-section of their career, placing emphasis on their more recent MOR hits like “Heaven” from Mirror Moves and “Love My Way” from 1982’s Forever Now, as well as some updated versions of their old droning Siouxie and the Banshees-esque classics like “Sister Europe” and “India.” Butler does have a riveting stage presence, androgynous and theatrical. He gracefully mimed tightrope walking during “High Wire Days,” and goose-stepped across the stage on “President Gas,” one of the show’s more effective numbers.

On a few ballads like “Sleep Comes Down” and “Alice’s House” Butler dropped the slick cynicism of of most of his performance and even managed to be touching.But the Furs don’t really have much to say anymore. They are voyeurs to other loneliness and self destruction, watching the crazies as we all do en route from subway station to home. The Furs have become a cover band of they own material, the life in it long gone.

Their encore included their Sweet Jane-ish classic, “Pretty in Pink.” The fans loved it. A splendid time was had by all.

Both the Psychedelic Furs and the Blow Monkeys prove that music that’s all surface gloss will always be with us. Like “lite” beer and classic novels on 10-minute cassettes, we are growing more shallow and gimmicky. But real rock n’ roll will always be about rebellion and passion — unsafe at any speed.

CHUCK BERRY / RON WOOD - The Ritz, June 25, 1986

The Ritz’s sixth anniversary show had both the feeling of an Event and a sense of rock and roll history.

The second set, particularly, had an MTV-New Year’s Party air to it, with an audience loaded with industry types and occasional celebrities (among them, Charlie Watts, the Del Fuegos, Paul Schaeffer and Anita Pallenberg.)

The history, of course, came from Chuck Berry. From the very start of his staggeringly erratic career, Berry has defined rock and roll. Many performers like to think of themselves as living legends, but Berry really has a right to the title. He is rock music incarnate, deserving of a Hall of Fame all to himself. His guitar style has inspired thousands of artists, from Keith Richards to Hendrix to George Thorogood. This concert proved that and reinforced that there is no built in retirement age in rock and roll. Berry, pushing 60, can still get up there and crank it out in classic style.

With New York’s constantly changing club scene, six years qualifies the Ritz for classic status as well. Its one of the oldest surviving venues in town (but CBGBs remains the all-time champion.) It is ironic that this gig occurred in the same month as the closings of The World, Danceteria, Irving Place and the Dive. Rest in peace, y’all.

The first show this evening was more or less a rehearsal for the second. The latter began began with the TV screens flashing an impressive roll call of artists who have played the Ritz – among those who have gone on the arena-land were Culture Club, Tina Turner, Duran Duran, and Joan Jett. Those who haven’t, but who represent the best music has to offer these days were too numerous to mention.

The set opened with the Uptown Horns warming up the crowd with a few numbers, including a hot rendition of the Peter Gunn theme (recently revised by The Art of Noise with Duane Eddy on guitar). The Uptown Horns have their Stax/Volt style of instrumentals down pat, consummately tight and professional. They sounded as good here as in their recent gigs with Johnny Thunders; for once a perfect back up band for Berry (who often plays unrehearsed with any local band a promoter can rustle up, sometimes with terrible results.)

Ron Wood, no slouch in the classic rocker department himself, joined the horns for some uplifting material from his career, including “I Can Feel The Fire” from I’ve Got My Own Album To Do, and the Faces' gem, “I Wish I Knew What I Know Now.”

“We gotta get Chuck on, his car runs out of petrol at 12:35,” Wood announced. Berry promptly sauntered on stage – as always, sporting red pants and loud flowered shirt with his classic red Gibson ES-335 in hand – and launched into an effortless rendition of his “Roll Over Beethoven,” one of many Berry songs which have been covered by almost every group known to humankind, but always sounds best in the original version.

Chuck Berry has the aura of a survivor; his three-decade career has weathered all possible obstacles, including being imprisoned twice: one in the late 1950’s for illegal transportation of a female minor across state lines, and more recently in the 1970’s for income tax evasion. Many other performers would have packed it in long ago, but Berry has soldiered on, without apology, retaining his lecherous persona, his orneriness (like many great artists, he is difficult to work with), and his tremendous talent. His music has a life of its own, carrying Berry with it like an accomplice to a crime.
Berry took a turn on the piano for “School Days,” another rock and roll anthem like much of his compositions; an enthusiastic crowd sang along with the choruses without prompting, in contrast to the forced audience participation (“PLEASE sing!”) many bands now think is required.

“It Hurts Me Too” was a slower tune, a cool bluesy number evocative of Berry’s beginnings in the Blues/R&B circuit in Chicago. Of all the Chess Records performers in the genre – such as Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, B.B. King, Elmore James  – Berry was the first, and pretty much only one to really cross over, expanding his music’s themes so the white teenage audience could relate, and by just writing plain old excellent material. Bob Dylan once called Berry his favorite American poet. During this concert Berry gave a nod to these roots by covering B.B. King’s classic “Every Day I Have The Blues.”

Wood and Berry seemed to have a good time playing together, trading off guitar licks and kidding around. The set had a loose, playful quality, with an abundance of good spirits, and an easy brilliance in style; the kind that only comes from doing something exceptionally well for a very long time.

Most of the songs here, “Sweet Little Sixteen,” “Maybelline” and “Rock n’ Roll Music” among them, were were both exuberant and lighthearted. “Memphis” was about the darker side of Berry’s life, a touching song about the loss of his daughter to “a mommy who did not agree” and “tore apart our happy home…” As with much of Berry’s material, this song is best known by its cover versions (by the Faces and Johnny Rivers). Ditto for "Around and Around,” widely attributed to the Rolling Stones. The entire performance was an eye-opening reminder of the extent of Berry’s influence, like “Oh yeah, he wrote that one too.”

Berry and Wood’s high energy set was wound to a close with “Carol,” segueing into the classic-of-classics, “Johnny B. Goode.” Berry can still pull off his famous “duck walk” and retains his theatrical stage moves – yet another aspect of his performance that has been copied by generations of musicians. “Reeling and Rocking, still raunchy, sexual and generally terrific after all these years closed the gig. In celebration, balloons descended from the ceiling and bounced merrily on everyone’s heads.

Several audience members took a cue from punk / metal shows and jumped up on stage – and one rather straight woman who refused to leave had to be dragged off, providing an appropriately loony, chaotic ending to the extravaganza.

Berry inserted some new lyrics into “Reeling and Rocking” for the occasion. and exited signing “that’s the show, we gotta go, we gotta go.” There was, of course, no encore. Rumor has it that Berry is contractually obligated to play only 45 minutes. and that’s exactly what he does – but he’s entitled, as he’s entitled to all his quirks, and general grumpiness. Forty five minutes of Chuck Berry is worth more than hours of any lesser performer.

Abby Weissman, 1986

THE CRAMPS / SCREAMING BLUE MESSIAHS: Joyfully, Uncompromisingly, Totally Sleazy (Ah, Greatness!). The Ritz, August 1, 1986

The Cramps are the ultimate garage band, armed with certifiable insanity, tons of chutzpah, and the understanding that great rock n’ roll is frequently more attitude than chops. They are as American as rotten apple pie.

For those not too attached to idealism and illusions, the Cramps are a reflection of the REAL America; the land of Russ Meyer, Batman, Times Square Peep Shows, white trash, Las Vegas, and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. But rather than view the world with a voyeur’s morbid fascination or report on its human tragedies, the Cramps love it.

They completely unapologetically still possess the emotional maturity of a 12-year old boy with his first copy of Playboy, frozen at the stage where dirty jokes and dirty pictures are the best part of life.They lend credence to all the 1950’s myths about the damaging effects of listening to rock n’ roll: the corruption of youth, and the inevitable decent into a life of sin and degradation. They are out there. Rock n’ roll has ruined them. But what a great band they are.

The Cramps are currently making a comeback of sorts after a lengthy period of difficulties with their former record label, I.R.S. Their new album is on a British indie, Big Beat. It, like their Ritz concert, was well worth the wait.

On the new release, A Date With Elvis (which most-likely references the debauched, fat, drugged out Elvis amid his gun-toting entourage and unspeakably tacky Graceland decor,  rather than the jubilant Jail House Rock-circa Elvis) the Cramps leave their earlier 50’s monster movie obsession behind, and concentrate on Sex. Their new songs – like “Hot Pearl Snatch,” “What’s Inside A Girl” (which includes the line “Mama told me that girls are hollow”), and “Cornfed Dames” (with lyrics like “Shake that thing, I’ll buy you a diamond ring”) succeed where many other bands fail: in being joyfully, uncompromisingly, totally sleazy. They are a tacky monument to pure American trash.
This quality comes across best live; the Cramps must be seen in person if one is to fully appreciate their psycho-billy rock n' roll.

This show was no exception. Stealing Elvis Presley’s bombastic Las Vegas intro (the theme from “2001” no less), every member made a star entrance. Drummer Nick Knox (in all black, down to his Mafia hitman shades) started, and slinky new bass play (sporting a cocktail dress straight out of Tina Turner’s 1960s closet) came out next, as they launched into The Cramps' trademark Jungle Bo Diddley-esque beat bottom. Next, “Poison” Ivy Rorshach vamped onstage like The Bride of Franskenstein meets Gypsy Rose Lee, in a shimmery harem/stripper number, complete with tiara,  adding a loud fuzz-laden, reverb-heavy rockabilly riff into the mix. Vocalist Lux Interior came out last like the demented Elvis clone he always was, decked out in an all gold lame fringed jacket and boots. Also wearing a tiara, he launched into a deliciously sleazy rendition of “Heartbreak Hotel.”

Always loyal to their 1950s rockabilly roots, the Cramps also did an eerie version of the Ricky Nelson hit “Lonesome Town.” Lest anyone mistake it for an homage, Lux irreverently introduced the song as “originally recorded by the most beautiful singer in the history of rock n’ roll, myself. Before that, Ricky Nelson, who blew his brains out on cocaine.” The Cramps have always shown the most sublimely bad taste in their choice of covers, and remain true to form by including perhaps the stupidest Elvis song of all time, “The Clam,” from the movie Girl Happy,

The band's new lineup did wonders with the Cramps’ purposely sloppy high energy surf-punk sound. Original member Bryan Gregory unfortunately took all their death rock songs and voodoo mania a bit too seriously, and, after reportedly collecting dirt from local graveyards wherever the Cramps played, left the group to become a Warlock living in California (where else?)
 
Besides their excursions into Elvis-land, the band stuck primarily with material from their current record. Although “People Ain’t No Good” sounded better on vinyl with its chanted "Children Of The Damed" chorus (courtesy of the McMartin Preschool Choir, they claim}, “Aloha From Hell” was an absolute standout live. The song summarizes the Cramps aesthetic: silly (tourists in loud shorts) and nasty (even though the Cramps’ version of Hell undoubtedly features a devil with red plastic horns).

Real-life married couple Ivy Rorshack and Lux Interior each have a striking if entirely different stage presence: Ivy remains forever cool and sultry while Lux is completely off the wall at all times. “I’m really sincere” he kept repeating, looking as insincere as possible with a wild glint in his eyes, and a hand that just won’t stay out of his pants.

Anything can happen at a Cramps gig; with the same sense of spontaneity and danger one associates with the legendary exploits of Iggy Pop and Stiv Bators. During the show’s rousing closing numbers, the insanely glorious “Can Your Pussy Do The Dog,” and their early cover of the Trashmen’s 1964 hit “Surfin’ Bird” (done at Motorhead speed), Ivy remained profoundly calm as usual as she played in front of a portable fan, with her belly dancer drag billowing artfully in the breeze; while Lux trashed his mic stand into little pieces. He then chugged a bottle of red wine, which spilled blood-like all over him, and proceeded to pretend to jerk off using the empty bottle as a phallic symbol. He then tried to sit on the bottle, and missed. He sang a good portion of “Surfin’ Bird” with the mic in his mouth, stripped down to his bikini briefs, and then smashed the bottle with the microphone and walked on the broken glass, before climbing onto the Ritz’s balcony via a large speaker like crazed monkey. Iggy would have been proud.

The Cramps have been doing their thing for over ten years, with an integrity and perseverance rare in the music business. Or maybe they just have to do it. They are driven, like serial killers. The Cramps would consider that a compliment.

The opening band, Screaming Blue Messiahs have to do it too. They also have been slugging it out for a decade with considerable less recognition than the Cramps have received. Well, the Messiahs deserve more. Their no-frills, punk-edged rock n; roll is searing and driven, with a raw streetwise delivery. The Messiahs biggest asset is Bill Carter, whose vocals are as powerful as his electrifying guitar work.

The Screaming Blue Messiahs are all about their music, period. They are not pretty; they spout no cute banter, there are no theatrical stage moves, and no break in their level of intensity. They are the kind of guys who would probably be in jail or an asylum if they weren’t rocking - which in rock music is an incredibly compelling quality that cannot be faked.

The Messiah’s dark, driving electric blues is the perfect soundtrack for images of urban malaise like shoot outs, car crashes and barroom brawls; i.e. the underlying violence of everyday life.  The song titles of their debut album Gun Shy spell it out: ”Killer Born Man,” “Smash The Market Place,” and “Just For Fun.” 

In the song “Someone To Talk To” Carter screams “If I die in a combat zone, box me up and ship me home; If I die on the Russian front, bury me with some Russian cunt.” Pleasant thoughts for the modern age, from a band that is not the least “pleasant,” but consistently very, very good.

Abby Weissman

LOU REED - Many Thorns, But Now, Also, Flowers - The Ritz, NYC, July 16, 1986

"This is the new improved, nice guy version of Lou Reed," Reed announced at his sold out Ritz gig, the kick-off for a major tour. Some people in the audience cheered, some booed. Both sides have a point.

No fan has the right to expect a performer to die for his art, or reduce himself to a semi-functional drug burnout.

But the questions remain: Do creative people who clean up their personal lives produce equally good work when sober and content? Is suffering a necessary prerequisite for great art?

Reed is only one of many rock and rollers to whom this applies. Is the post-methadone Johnny Thunders exuberantly rocking with the Uptown Horns better than the caustic Heartbreakers-era junkie? Is the now-sober great-wise-father-of-heavy-metal Ozzy Osbourne just as interesting as the biting-heads-off-bats alcoholic maniac?

Reed has obviously done some heavy thinking about all this, coming to terms with both himself and his audience. After successfully kicking drugs and alcohol, Lou Reed is still going strong at age 44, and 1986 is proving to be a big year for him. With his new and very accessible album, Mistrial hitting the Top 50, Reed is definitely back in business.

The New Lou is a definite break from the original jaded, angry, drugged-out, street-smart model of years gone by. To many die hard fans he has abandoned his roots to forge ahead in new, disappointing directions. His music no longer heralds the degenerate lifestyles and attitudes from the underbelly of society. From some fans comes the charge that Lou Reed should have packed it in or died years ago.

But Reed's new music is different as a result of genuine changes in his life, and he has always been unflinchingly honest, informing his audience with no holds barred about the current state of his existence. This constant soul-baring is at the core of his art, and few other performers in pop music come close to it.

Now, whatever his music has lost -- the sense of danger, eloquent obsession with death -- has been replaced with a joyful belief in the glory of love and an appreciation of life's simpler pleasures. The vicarious thrill seekers who flock to witness public self-destruction will be disappointed. Reed knows this and rightfully expresses his anger at those who will not allow him to change in the title cut from Mistrial ("I want a mistrial to clear my name, I want to bring my case to the people of New York City.") The only thing he can be faulted for is implicitly apologizing for his former attitude in the same song.

Reed's hostile, depressed, former persona produced some of best rock and roll in the genre's history. He has nothing to be sorry for, and should take the advice of another rocker, Joan Jett -- "I don't give a damn about my bad reputation."

Whatever his relationship with his past, the 1986 Lou Reed put on a hot show. Amidst shouts of "LOOOUU!" from the packed dance floor, he launched into a rocking "We're Gonna Have a Real Good Time Together," performed in the upbeat version included in the terrific Velvet Underground collection, VU/Another View, rather than the moody, disembodied (and not compelling) cut off Street Hassle.

Although the set consisted mostly of new material, Reed's pick of his classics ("Sweet Jane," Satellite of Love") purposely stuck with happier songs, omitting all of his druggie anthems. This was the part of Reed's change-of-attitude trade-off which was hardest to take; "Heroin," Waiting for My Man," and everything on the dark, brilliant Berlin record remains his very best work, and the thought that he will never perform those songs again is really sad.

Lou also seems overly fond of the mid-tempo, guitar-heavy sound featured on Mistrial, and tended to homogenize his old material into that style. This helped modernize some songs, but stripped others ("Street Hassle," "Vicious") of their original dynamics and punch.

Reed's new band (with long-time co-workers and co-producer Fernando Saunders on bass, J.T. Lewis on drums, Woody Smallwood on keyboards/synthesizer and Rick Bell on saxophone) understandably enough, also seemed more at home on his recent material, performing with a cleaner, more high-energy sound than on recent tours. For once, Reed handled all the guitar work himself, drawing attention to his long-underrated expertise as a lead guitarist.

The band was at its best on the tilt-a-whirl music rave-ups (like "I Love You Suzanne," "No Money Down") that comprise the bulk of his new sound, and on the ballads which express Reed's new-found happiness and optimism -- "New Sensations," "I Remember You" and "Tell It To Your Heart" (which could easily have been titled "Satellite of Love, Part 2").

The very best examples of Reed's new sound and attitude were "Turn To Me" and "Doing The Things We Want To," both from New Sensations. "Turn To Me" is a moving plea for love, trust and mutual support, ending with the amazing (considering where Reed used to be coming from) line: "remember, Lou Reed loves you."

"Doing The Things..." had a country hoedown feeling in its arrangement; the song itself is both an homage to fellow artists Sam Shepard and Martin Scorsese, and an anthem to personal freedom. As Reed commented, "that's the story of my life."

The story of his old life was remembered in one song which was also, somewhat ironically, the high point of the show: "The Last Shot" from Legendary Hearts. Reed has often said that he sees his songs as journalism, and this song's lyrics -- with "I shot blood at a fly on the wall" and "you always wish you knew it was your last shot" -- are chillingly accurate.

Lou's delivery on "Shot" was the most intense, compelling moment of the evening, with the feeling of someone who has been saved looking back at his demons. It was also the only number that even hinted at his former, legendary, intense, live performances. His old shows were adventures in self-destruction and abuse; they had a feeling of danger, like anything could happen. Reed could be any number of different personalities depending on which drug he was on at the time, frequently going off on long tirades about God-knows what, quenching the voyeuristic audience's thirst for vicarious cheap thrills.

The Ritz show climaxed with "Walk On The Wild Side" -- probably the only Top 10 record ever with pointed references to gay hustling, oral sex, hard drug abuse and transvestism. To a standing ovation Reed appeared for an encore comprised from four different albums/phases of his exceptional career: the poignant ballad "Legendary Hearts," "Spit It Out" from Mistrial, and the light-hearted "Down At The Arcade" from New Sensations.

He closed with the classic "Rock And Roll" from the Velvet's classic 1969 record, Loaded. "Rock And Roll" is the quintessential Lou Reed anthem of alienated middle-class youth whose "life was saved by rock and roll." The uplifting, and surely autobiographical song, like much of Reed's work, tells us something about ourselves on the most basic level -- it is, in essence, the story of us all.

That song could also be seen as Lou Reed's plea for release from his past, a better one than "Mistrial." Reed has been saved, then almost destroyed by rock and roll. It's now time to let him get saved by it again. More than anyone else in Rock history, Reed has paid his dues to his art. He deserves his new sense of peace and serenity.

Originally published in The East Coast Rocker on July 30, 1986

OLD SOLDIERS OF PUNK GREET THE FAITHFUL - The Ramones / The Ritz / November 7, 1986

Ten years and 10 blocks north of CBGB’s – the bar on the Bowery which first unleashed them onto an unsuspecting world – the Ramones came home and played the old neighborhood again.

In most respects they were an unabashed hit, welcomed in true conquering-hero style by the sold-out 2000-seat Ritz audience. Befitting the old soldiers that they are, their noise level and intensity rivaled that of the entire Meadowlands Arena’s recent return of their native son, Bon Jovi. The Ramones had the crowd in the palms of their hands before they even hit the stage. And the almost-middle-aged fathers of punk, hardcore and speed metal, with their hard-driving 1-2-3-4 tempos proved they can still dish it out and take it in classic punk style.

The Ramones are an American institution, not unlike Classic Coke. Serious rock music consumers, long familiar with countless imitators and off-shoots, know the real thing when they see it. Unfortunately, most other people still don’t. Although the sound and style that the Ramones literally invented has gone on to inspire hoards of global headbangers, they themselves remain small-timers within the music business, never getting their long overdue “big break.”

Part of this equation is the fact that the Ramones are yet another band that chose innovation over laughing all the way to the bank, and therefore have little money to place in the latter. Hence the constant touring. Even with a terrific live show that has gotten better and slicker as the years progressed, and a recent release, “Animal Boy,” which got a decent promotional push by Warner Brothers, they have still failed to make a dent in the charts.

Which is too bad, because the band definitely deserves someone’s lifetime achievement award, just for their dedication alone.

Instrumentally they were years ahead with their do-it-yourself low budget production and arrangements, sonically powered by their minimal, but orchestral guitars and bass. Coupled with their demented pop sensibility – kinda like the Monkees gone very, very wrong – and their blitzkrieg-like live delivery, the Ramones' sound became the punk standard – along with their ripped jeans, sneakers, T-shirts, and black leather jackets. According to legend, there was no punk in England until their 1976 gig at London’s Roundhouse. After that gig, there were bands on every block almost overnight, with everyone from the Clash to Sid Vicious & the Sex Pistols emulating their divine inspiration in both appearance, musical sound and attitude.

But the raw, revolutionary feeling that originally made the Ramones a special band is no longer there. Not because the band has changed that much, but because music in general has. These punk rock “Johnny Appleseeds” from Forest Hills Queens seem safe and tame today in comparison with some of their proteges in-arms, both good (Cro-Mags, Murphy’s Law, Megadeath) and bad (Die Kruezen, Discharge). Where the Ramones were once seen as dangerous street-wise outsiders in a music business made of Fleetwood Macs and Peter Framptons, today they are regarded as almost clean-cut professionals, playing homogenized punk rock.

The Ramones were an integral part of the major industry changes that Punk brought to rock and roll. They opened the door to the unknown, but were left outside in the mad rush that ensued – a fact which might make a real Ramone shrug and crack open another beer. Unlike the dark, self-analytical nature of many of their musical offspring, Joey & Company remain unassuming party animals to the end, like punk Peter Pans who still find fun in the toys of their youth.

Their Ritz performance was appropriately introduced by their hilarious video, “Something To Believe In” – an ultra-spoof of the recent rash of charity benefit concerts like “Live Aid” and “Hands Across America.” With their own “Ramones Aid” appeal “Hands Across Your Face,” their brilliant fake promo was complete with guest celebrity pitches (Weird Al Yankovic, Berlin, X), a “We Are The World” superstar sing-a-long, and soppy, sentimental camera work, playfully reminding us that in Ramonesland nothing is sacred, except of course, the Ramones.

Ten years is a long time to retain a “have-to-use-only-three chords-because-we-can’t-play-any-better” sound, and the Ramones are much more technically competent these days. They also seem to have borrowed more than a little from the high energy commercial metal market (a la the zany Ratt/David Lee Roth school of rock).

Their grand entrance, to the accompaniment of a marching band drum beat, with volumes of billowy smoke illuminated by multi-colored spotlights, was more reminiscent of the start of a Motley Crue show than the Ramones’ own classic no-frills gigs at CBGBs – as were guitarists Johnny and Dee Dee’s rockstar risers at each end of the stage. The Metal connection was further emphasized by the Ramones loud, loud collection of Marshall stacks, which has greatly expanded their sonic output over the years to ear-splitting levels. And while mechanical dragons, robots and other stage extravaganzas are still way beyond the Ramones’ financial reach (and probably taste), they did their best with a light show that was almost as frantic as the band themselves – and reflected their same “fuck you” punk sensibility by flashing directly into the audience, causing one to emerge from their show blind as well as deaf.

The group played a standard set of new-album-plus-energized-old-hits (among them “Blitzkrieg Bop,” Rock ‘n Roll High School,” “Sheena is a Punk Rocker” and “Lobotomy”), all with a much slicker version of the explosive, stripped-down punk energy that has kept them going for years.

The songs are still the same power-packed hook-laden three minute masterpieces of pop that they always were, performed with the appropriate amount of sound and fury. Their comic book approach to life is also still prevalent, along with their strange absurdist sense of humor – the very same attitude that created such punk classics as “I Wanna Be Sedated,” “Cretin Hop,” “Beat on the Brat” and “Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment.”

Their famous “Gabba Gabba Hey” picket sign made its expected appearance during “Pinhead” towards the climax of the set, and was temporarily kidnapped by one of the many youthful stage-divers who engaged in a war of sorts with the on-stage bouncers, who for some reason were insistent about preventing people from jumping than at most Ritz shows (higher than usual insurance premiums perhaps?)

The Ramones kept their fast and furious guitar onslaught in high gear throughout the set and their multiple encores, which included more greats like “Rockaway Beach,” “Do You Wanna Dance,” and the Johnny Thunders co-creation, “Chinese Rocks.”

The Ramones are, and always will be the original archetypal punk band, and like other innovators and originals (Chuck Berry, Bo Diddley, Motorhead) they unfortunately seem destined to keep on slugging it out on the road forever, while generic one-hit-wonders hit the jackpot overnight, cashing in the current trends. But in the eyes of the forever faithful, myself included, just having the Ramones around is definitely something to be thankful for.

This review originally published by The East Coast Rocker on November 26, 1986. 

HERE TODAY, GONE YESTERDAY - Eric Burdon/The Ritz/June 26, 1986

Eric Burdon gave a party and nobody came. His Ritz gig was a testament to the ephemeral nature of the music biz and the rock audience, always on the endless quest for the next big thing. Despite heavy pre-concert publicity, Burdon, the next big thing of 1964, pulled in the sparest crowd in recent memory. And that’s too bad because Burdon is still one hell of a blues singer, too good for the golden oldies circuit he has been exiled to.

Part of the problem lies in his approach. Ex-next big things have been known to make glowing comebacks (Tina Turner, The Moody Blues, Aerosmith and Deep Purple are good examples), but they’ve done it by adopting a contemporary look, writing new songs with hit potential, developing a sound that borrows from their glory days but adds an ‘80s quality – a whole new n’ improved package which is then troted out by their record company with as much hoopla as possible.

Burdon, currently without the support of a label (a giant disadvantage), has not done this. His show, though competently put together, had the unfortunate feeling of a Las Vegas lounge act. He contributed to the effect by wearing a satiny black jacket, open shirt, and chains around his neck, and by his generally porky, middle aged appearance. The contrast between him and his two backup singers, who were pretty, sexy and young, only made matters worse.

Burdon may have sealed his fate early on in his career. Twenty years ago, his great British Invasion band, The Animals, had a string of hits – mostly inspired covers of blues classics, or new material by Goffin/King and other top songwriters of the time. The Animals bore many similarities to the early Rolling Stones in both attitude, inspiration and sound; however, while the Stones went on to become champion songwriters in their own right, the Animals remained primarily a cover band. These days, original material is nearly always a prerequisite to success. and Burdon doesn’t have it.

Burdon’s frequent use of covers used to have a reason – to bring great black blues music to the attention of white record buyers. He has always had great respect for rock’s Rhythm and Blues roots, which is admirable, but, these days, seems to be taking an ironic twist.

For instance, Eric originally did “River Deep, Mountain High” in the ‘60s to help the then overlooked Tina Turner. Now, it doesn’t come off that way; with Turner a superstar and Burdon scraping by, one thinks of Turner’s version as the definite one, and someone else doing the song seems odd, much like covering “Born to Run.”

Many of Burdon’s 1960’s covers have also been done by other artists after him, and the latter versions are the ones that remain in memory – again producing the reaction “why is he doing this song?” This was the case with “Don’t Bring Me Down” (David Johansen), “On Broadway” (George Benson), and “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood” (Elvis Costello, and a ‘70s disco hit). To add insult to injury, another one of Burdon’s covers, “Tobacco Road” (a blues classic covered in the mid 1960s by the Nashville Teens) appears on David Lee Roth’s upcoming solo album.

Burdon’s original message is made further irrelevant by the fact that many of the blues artists to whom the Animals paid homage (like Howlin Wolf and John Lee Hooker) receive more respect, attention, and ticket sales than Burdon does these days. And with the Top 20 dominated by the likes of Prince, Patti Labelle and Run DMC, contemporary black music in America is doing just fine, thank you very much, without anyone’s help.

The peace-love-and-flower-power attitude of Burdon’s late -1960s LSD hippie period doesn’t go with his style of music today either. The trappings of the era, minus the politics, have been picked up by the neo-psychedelic bands. Politically conscious young people tend to go for hardcore punk nowadays; rebels without a cause prefer thrash metal; and blue collar kids who identify with the underdog have all their Bruce Springsteen records. (Burdon did give a nod to Bruce, who is in many ways his logical successor, by covering “Factory” at his Ritz gig.)

Burdon's original audience has mostly yuppified, and those that showed up for this concert seemed to there for a trip down memory lane, which is pretty much what they got.

Burdon did make an attempt to somewhat update his material, with synthesizer riffs and dance rock rhythms winding in and out of his basic blues sound. His backup band produced some slick high energy music, that sounded especially good on uptempo numbers like “C.C. Rider.” (One more example of a cover that is identified with other people – Mitch Ryder, who is another talented white ex-blues singer stuck in the same rut as Eric – and Springsteen, who covered the song on “No Nukes.”)

But overall, this concert was depressing as hell. Nowhere was this as apparent as during Burdon's encores (the hundred or so people in attendance were nice enough to applaud like crazy though).

First, Burdon completely blew the momentum of the set by allowing his drummer to do an interminably long solo during the Animals' classic "I'm Crying." Nobody does solos during the encore, and it has by now been conclusively proven that the drum solo is the most boring, annoying, stupid tradition rock n' roll has ever come up with.

The audience was not going to let Eric leave without playing the Animals' biggest hit, "House of the Rising Sun," and he finally did, summing up his career in a bitter outburst that was genuine and very very sad.

"I hate this fucking song!," he announced and sang it with anger and the feeling of a funeral march, which in a sense, it was. Burdon even changed the lyrics in the final verse to "Oh mother, tell your children, not to do what I have done, spend your life in a rock n' roll band."

In a way, Burdon got the order of his set wrong. He should have ended with "We Gotta Get Out of This Place."

This review originally published by The East Coast Rocker on July 16 1986, written by Abby Weissman.