Fabrizio del Wrongo writes:
The Ramones were the first band I really loved. Which is a little weird, as when I was an adolescent in the late ’80s the group was not a significant presence in pop culture. I think my friend and I started listening to them because his uncle, who was in his 30s, would let us go through his record collection, a conglomeration of ’70s material that included a fair amount of punk albums. He liked the Ramones, and he turned us on to them.
I loved that their songs were catchy and no-nonsense and sounded like ’50s and ’60s pop. I’d grown up listening to my parents’ music — a mix of doo-wop, girl group, and other pre-1965 stuff — and the Ramones seemed to be bouncing off of all of that in a way that, somehow, felt irreverent and sincere at the same time. (I think it’s odd when discussions of Ramones influences focus exclusively on bands like the Stooges and the MC5. To me, they’re often more reminiscent of Tommy James and the Shondells and the Shangri-Las.) Also, though the Ramones were clever, particularly as songwriters, they were admirably free of pretensions, and they were really, really ugly. When you’re twelve or thirteen it’s somehow comforting to know that the members of your favorite band look considerably worse than you do. It gives you hope.
So I was pretty happy when co-blogger Blowhard, Esq. sent me the 2012 “Commando: The Autobiography of Johnny Ramone.” It was published posthumously — Ramone died of cancer in 2004 — but you can hear Johnny’s voice in the writing, which is as terse and as rat-a-tat authoritative as his famous guitar hammering. (To call it “playing” would be to make it sound too flouncy.) And the editors — John Cafiero, Henry Rollins, and Steve Miller — do a terrific job of preserving Johnny’s personality, his bristling take-no-shit attitude. Maybe that’s why the book’s such a brisk, invigorating read. Resembling a beefed-up rock ‘zine, it’s as colorful and un-tome-like as you’d expect a book about the Ramones to be.
Aside from the pleasure I took in examining the photographs and the lists drawn from Johnny’s personal notebooks — in one, he places Vincent Gallo among his favorite Republicans — the most memorable part of my “Commando” experience was my LOL’ing. The book reveals that Johnny, who was a legendary sorehead, had a gift for laconic grouchspeak that would make a Spartan sit up and take notice.
With that in mind, here are some of my favorite quotes from the book:
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Giovanni Boldini, Spanish Dancer at the Moulin Rouge, 1905
Blowhard, Esq.
Callowman
Sherbrooke
Eddie Pensier
Enzo Nakamura
Epaminondas
Fabrizio del Wrongo
Fenster
Brundle Guy
Glynn Marshes
Paleo Retiree
Atypical Neurotic
Question Lady
Sax von Stroheim
Sir Barken Hyena
The Mistaken
