I Got It
Some People Didn’t Get It
Too Tough To Die, I understand, was deemed to be the first Ramones album that was distinctly politically correct. The Ramones before then had been considered somewhat risky. I mean, how do you really explain “You're A Loudmouth” in a way that is politically correct? It's an extremely rude song. “You Don't Come Close” is so catty. And “Beat on the Brat” is really not all that funny when you think about it. Especially not with a baseball bat, though they make it pretty clear who's fucked up with the catchy hook — “With a brat like that, what can ya' lose?” But somehow we have got to laugh, got to stay on top of all the craziness, a step ahead of the ratrace, or we'll Go Mental! Still, that's not a good argument for a politically correct culture prude with a hard-on for upstarts from the lower classes.
I Got It
For me, Too Tough To Die was like a blast of some dark substance that without warning catapulted me down an alleyway, riding in the original Durango 95 that Alex stole in Clockwork Orange, sliding through the darkness between tall buildings, drifting like mercury into the steel arteries of the metropolis, merging into the streaming miles of red tail-lights winding through the hills of LA. I could feel too tough to die, “in real good shape, I have no fear.” I was immediately hooked on the sardonic pose, the irony that works best with the flattest, most deadpan delivery.
I've often said you can't be honest with those who aren't honest with you. Somebody bullshits you, you have the right to respond honestly, by telling them they're full of shit. But that generates immediate flak, so we often respond ironically, in a way that means more than either of you will admit. Our society is not honest with us. It puts on a Pepsi face while we are left to deal with flattening social realities — streets, subways, skyscrapers, buses, parking lots, traffic jams, parks as grimy ashtrays, no day care for moms, no medicine for old people, and plenty of guns for every opressor with the brutality to use them. So the Ramones gave us a way of speaking ironically to society. Beat on the Brat sort of says, “Here, try being a nasty brute, a cruel, self-justifying child abuser, and see how that feels.” We can try all kinds of social roles through Ramones songs. In “Time Bomb,” from Subterranean Jungle, the singer is gonna kill his mom and dad, and he won't be sad about it, 'cause they treated him so bad. He's a time bomb, baby. This is a sweet way of saying, hey, how likely is it that someone who's life isn't all fucked up already would be a time bomb, wanna kill his mom and dad? So you could see the left-wing sentiment in these old songs, but you had to listen to the song first, which I think a lot of politically correct people were not doing. To see how sweet Time Bomb really is, compare it with Danny Elfman's “Only A Lad,” with its parody of bleeding heart criminal-coddling sentiment, and its nasty aside, “Hey there Johnny boy, I hope you fry!”
Driving Under the Influence of Ramones
I soon discovered that, under the influence of Ramones, I found life bearable, and myself capable of answering its demands. The high lasted beyond the listening. A Ramones enlightenment began coming on. Jammin' down the freeway on my motorcycle, breathing vile exhaust, borne along in a river of gleaming metal, chrome and glass, I could feel the same power, seeing poetry in the grime, a miracle in full flower. What more could I ask of a rock and roll band? I learned when I got my second Ramones album at Tower Records, on sale, Pleasant Dreams. Oh wow, that was a trip! I could hardly believe it was the same band, though of course Joey's voice was unmistakeable, but the Buddy Holly type lyrics and syrupy emotions knocked me for a loop. I had always loved tragic love ballads, like One Last Kiss, and was swept away by the lyrics and the tune to “7-11.” The crescendo, complete with crashing thunder and falling rain, was a heart-twister made sweeter by the innocence of Joey's delivery, and the omnipresent ironic, self-mocking note.
I kissed and hugged her
and I said goodbye
last thing I knew
She wouldn't make it alive
On-coming car went out of control
It crushed my baby
and it crushed my soul
now all I've got is sorrow and pain
standing out here in the rain
the crash, shattering glass
the sirens, and pain
is driving me insane oh-yeah
Next Page --->
Too Tough To Die, I understand, was deemed to be the first Ramones album that was distinctly politically correct. The Ramones before then had been considered somewhat risky. I mean, how do you really explain “You're A Loudmouth” in a way that is politically correct? It's an extremely rude song. “You Don't Come Close” is so catty. And “Beat on the Brat” is really not all that funny when you think about it. Especially not with a baseball bat, though they make it pretty clear who's fucked up with the catchy hook — “With a brat like that, what can ya' lose?” But somehow we have got to laugh, got to stay on top of all the craziness, a step ahead of the ratrace, or we'll Go Mental! Still, that's not a good argument for a politically correct culture prude with a hard-on for upstarts from the lower classes.
I Got It
For me, Too Tough To Die was like a blast of some dark substance that without warning catapulted me down an alleyway, riding in the original Durango 95 that Alex stole in Clockwork Orange, sliding through the darkness between tall buildings, drifting like mercury into the steel arteries of the metropolis, merging into the streaming miles of red tail-lights winding through the hills of LA. I could feel too tough to die, “in real good shape, I have no fear.” I was immediately hooked on the sardonic pose, the irony that works best with the flattest, most deadpan delivery.
I've often said you can't be honest with those who aren't honest with you. Somebody bullshits you, you have the right to respond honestly, by telling them they're full of shit. But that generates immediate flak, so we often respond ironically, in a way that means more than either of you will admit. Our society is not honest with us. It puts on a Pepsi face while we are left to deal with flattening social realities — streets, subways, skyscrapers, buses, parking lots, traffic jams, parks as grimy ashtrays, no day care for moms, no medicine for old people, and plenty of guns for every opressor with the brutality to use them. So the Ramones gave us a way of speaking ironically to society. Beat on the Brat sort of says, “Here, try being a nasty brute, a cruel, self-justifying child abuser, and see how that feels.” We can try all kinds of social roles through Ramones songs. In “Time Bomb,” from Subterranean Jungle, the singer is gonna kill his mom and dad, and he won't be sad about it, 'cause they treated him so bad. He's a time bomb, baby. This is a sweet way of saying, hey, how likely is it that someone who's life isn't all fucked up already would be a time bomb, wanna kill his mom and dad? So you could see the left-wing sentiment in these old songs, but you had to listen to the song first, which I think a lot of politically correct people were not doing. To see how sweet Time Bomb really is, compare it with Danny Elfman's “Only A Lad,” with its parody of bleeding heart criminal-coddling sentiment, and its nasty aside, “Hey there Johnny boy, I hope you fry!”
Driving Under the Influence of Ramones
I soon discovered that, under the influence of Ramones, I found life bearable, and myself capable of answering its demands. The high lasted beyond the listening. A Ramones enlightenment began coming on. Jammin' down the freeway on my motorcycle, breathing vile exhaust, borne along in a river of gleaming metal, chrome and glass, I could feel the same power, seeing poetry in the grime, a miracle in full flower. What more could I ask of a rock and roll band? I learned when I got my second Ramones album at Tower Records, on sale, Pleasant Dreams. Oh wow, that was a trip! I could hardly believe it was the same band, though of course Joey's voice was unmistakeable, but the Buddy Holly type lyrics and syrupy emotions knocked me for a loop. I had always loved tragic love ballads, like One Last Kiss, and was swept away by the lyrics and the tune to “7-11.” The crescendo, complete with crashing thunder and falling rain, was a heart-twister made sweeter by the innocence of Joey's delivery, and the omnipresent ironic, self-mocking note.
I kissed and hugged her
and I said goodbye
last thing I knew
She wouldn't make it alive
On-coming car went out of control
It crushed my baby
and it crushed my soul
now all I've got is sorrow and pain
standing out here in the rain
the crash, shattering glass
the sirens, and pain
is driving me insane oh-yeah
Next Page --->