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Blasting out of Lawn Guyland, Noo Yawk in the late 70s, the Ramones sent shockwaves through the music world. At the time, the record industry was dominated by sensitive singer-songwriters (James Taylor), progressive rock (Styx), and, perhaps worst of all, disco (too many guilty parties to name). Dressed in t-shirts, jeans, leather jackets, and Converse sneakers, the band was fronted by lanky, sunglass-wearing Joey Ramone, with guitars by bowl-headed Johnny Ramone and bass from chief songwriter Dee Dee Ramone, backed with high-hat triplets and pounding beats from original drummer Tommy Ramone. Their original album featured 14 songs, yet still clocked in under thirty minutes; the longest track — "I Don't Wanna Go Down to the Basement," for those of you keeping track — took all of 2:35. Johnny and Dee Dee pounded out what were basic progressions — never a minor chord, let alone major 7ths or suspended 9ths. The backbeat from Tommy was never complicated. Yet, somehow it worked: It was a radical shift from the overly complicated backing of other bands around, simple enough that anyone thought they could play the songs, but difficult enough to fend off all challengers. And Joey could sing. The Ramones were unlike other punk bands in that they, especially Joey, had a real sense of melody. Their favorite artists included Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys, Phil Spector's stable of groups, and the Beatles — a love evidenced on 1994's covers collection, Acid Eaters. (Spector would also produce the album, End of the Century, when he shot at Dee Dee, a fact noted repeatedly this year.) This separated them from the other raucous bands of the time, like the MC5, the Velvet Underground, Iggy, and the Stooges. The Ramones were tough, but they were hummable, too. In addition, they had a sense of humor about themselves and about their lives. Their early material was a reflection of the times in which they lived: songs about mental illness, apathy, boredom, drugs, and girls were the norm. They would have the occasional political outburst — conservative Johnny vetoed Joey and Dee Dee's attempt to release a song called "Bonzo Goes to Bitburg" (it was retitled, "My Brain Is Hanging Upside Down") — but for the most part, their songs were simply about life in America, as dysfunctional as the nation had become. They were, in a way, rock journalists: neither approving nor decrying, always describing, in very short bursts of melodic energy. Given the plethora of Ramones material, one might think that the artists on the tribute album could find songs suitable to them. Instead, to take an example, U2 covers "Beat on the Brat," rather than the more tender "I Remember You," which they used to cover in concert. This came as a surprise to Johnny Ramone, the only surviving member of the original band (Dee Dee and Joey died last year; Tommy left the group in 1977 to be replaced by Marky, then C.J., then Marky again), who was responsible for compiling both this tribute and last year's Loud, Fast Ramones: Their Toughest Hits. (As a greatest-hits collection, it leaves much to be desired: Far better is the earlier Rhino compilation, Hey Ho Let's Go. In addition, Rhino has re-released the first Ramones albums with bonus tracks and live cuts.) Johnny approves of the tribute album. He wanted artists to "Just try to pretend you wrote the song and you never even heard the Ramones version." Unfortunately, when compared to the original versions, the new takes cannot compare. Metallica's martial tempo fits its metal leanings, but the version of "53rd and 3rd" is too mechanical for a Ramones song. Rob Zombie sludges his way through the Ramones' signature tune, "Blitzkrieg Bop." The less said about the Garbage and Marilyn Manson tracks, the better. Unsurprisingly, the punk bands on the album — Green Day, the Offspring, and Rancid — fare better on average than the rock bands. But even these tracks are somewhat of a disappointment: Green Day's tribute medley at last year's Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction showed they can play the material with the intensity and good humor of the Ramones, but "Outsider" on this album lacks the energy of their best work, let alone the Ramones's. Some of the tracks are worthy. Tom Waits boozes his way through "The Return of Jackie and Judy," while KISS do "Rock and Roll Radio" in a touchingly sincere manner. John Frusciante of the Red Hot Chili Peppers does an acoustic rendition of "Today Your Love, Tomorrow the World" that overshadows the Peppers' "Havana Affair," which opens the disc. Yet the best Ramones cover I've heard of late — a Foo Fighters bonus track of "Danny Says" — isn't on the album, and Johnny failed to get Bruce Springsteen to do a song. And I can't help thinking that a collection of local garage bands could have assembled a more moving tribute. The Ramones are rarely accorded their rightful place in music history by rock critics, who prefer the political anarchy of the Dead Kennedys, Clash, and Sex Pistols. While this CD fails to flatter the performing artists, it's good to know that many of today's biggest acts at least realize the importance of the band from Queens. |
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ribute albums are often a case of lesser musicians doing homage to greater,
acknowledging their inspiration and genius. Thus, in most cases, the new
versions fail to match the original recordings. Still, there have been
some tribute albums where the artists live up to the original material:
Last year's 
