Classic Content: A Tribute to the Late, Great Joey Ramone

Gabba gabba hey. Courtesy of Wikimedia

I vividly remember the day Joey Ramone died. I was sitting on the couch in the home my friend and I were renting in the Highlands when my phone rang. It was my son, calling to tell me the news. A few days later, I wrote this. It was always one of my favorite Brain Fart columns, and I wrote many. This dates to April 2001. And I still miss Joey and The Ramones.

* * *

Life’s a gas. Or so Joey believed before the lymphatic cancer set in. Either way, he was climbing the stairs to heaven now, feeling a little dejected. When Joey got to the pearly gates (still wearing his black leather jacket and torn blue jeans), he was quite surprised to find Brian Epstein waiting for him.

“Hey man,” Joey said, the streets of Queens, N.Y., dripping from his every scratchy word. “What are you doing here?”

“Joey Ramone,” Brian said. “We’ve been expecting you. You know, I could have made your band the biggest ever.” He paused, then smiled. “Well, almost.”

“Man, I don’t think so,” Joey replied, missing the joke. He adjusted his round, rose-colored glasses, which were shrouded in long black hair. “The Ramones led an entire musical movement, basically created a whole new musical genre, and what did we get for it? Twenty years of living out of suitcases and eating gas station burritos.”

Brian nodded.

“The Beatles could afford to quit touring,” Joey continued, “but we couldn’t, ’cause our records wouldn’t sell. So, we tried to make records everyone would like, and then the critics, who loved us at first, called us sell-outs. But we still didn’t sell anything!

“Then Green Day comes along and suddenly the music we pioneered is all over the radio. But we’re not getting any credit, and we’re still not selling any albums. Then someone nicknames us ‘The Grandfathers of Punk.’ Thanks a LOT. Sounds like ‘washed up’ to me.”

“So what are you getting at, Joey?” Brian said.

“I don’t know, man. I hate to complain, ’cause we had great fans — folks who stuck by us for 20-plus years. But is there any justice in a world where one band leads a revolution and then some Mickey Mouse outfit like Blink 182 reaps the rewards?”

“Probably not,” Brian said. “So are you angry that you died?”

“Naah,” Joey said, suddenly revealing a jagged smile. “I mean, cancer ain’t ever cool, but I think I did about as much as I could do. And, hey, we did what we did to bring rock ‘n’ roll back, not for money. I just wish more people would’ve noticed.”

“Well,” Brian said, “on that note, the reason I’m here instead of St. Peter is that I have someone who wants to meet you.” He nodded toward the gate, where John Lennon stood holding a Gibson J-160E guitar.

“Hey Joey,” John said, “I’ve been waiting for you. I have a great lyric here, but I need a good melody to go with it. Can you help me?”

Joey turned to Brian and said, “Dude, this must be heaven.”

Brian smiled and nodded. Joey followed John through the gate, where they collaborated on Joey’s first hit single. Keith Moon provided drums. Buddy Holly produced. Then they all shared a six-pack and a pizza with extra cheese.

Life’s a gas, man.

Dedicated to the legendary Joey Ramone (May 19, 1951-April 15, 2001). Rock in peace, Joey.

This post was originally published in the pages of LEO Weekly.