Richie Ramone - Vive Le Rock - March 2012

Teetering somewhere between serial outcast and punk rock legend, famed sticksman Richie Ramone's influential yet often overlooked services to rock 'n' roll have been nothing if not contradictory. Despite having penned the now-iconic 'Somebody Put Something In My Drink' and played a pummelling, pivotal role at a crucial stage in the Ramones' genre-defining career, both recognition and rock stardom continue to elude him. And while the Ramones' recent Grammy Award may have cemented the band's legendary status, Richie's exclusion from the accolade only served as a stinging reminder of the bitter rivalry and bad blood that finally brought about the band's demise in 1996.
"You’re gonna get a good interview for this 'cos I got this rotten cold and I'm real angry and nasty about it now," promises legendary drummer Richie Ramone in exceptionally low, tobacco-roughened notes of New Jersey. Fresh from fronting all-girl tribute band the Ramonas in the capital this evening, a cold night in late November finds the sticksman speaking frankly about the Ramones' famously rocky past. Every bit as black as the dusky ensembles they famously favoured on stage, theirs is a notoriously troubled and finally tragic saga blighted by relentless quarrelling and the untimely deaths of founding members Johnny, Dee Dee and Joey. During his own relatively brief chapter with the band, the years 1983 to '87 saw the drummer and songwriter leave behind a unique legacy in the form of several classic rock anthems. But, while the Ramones' global legions of fans may be quick to recognise this influential contribution, the drummer nevertheless continues to be criminally overlooked in showbiz circles. Numbering the latest in a long line of uncredited achievements, the 2011 Grammys saw only Tommy and Marky step up to accept their recent Lifetime Achievement Award. Intent on honouring the Ramones' lesser-known players, however, the ever-plucky Richie made a surprise appearance and impromptu speech to the many thousands of applauding onlookers gathered there that night. "I never actually got the Grammy," Richie explains. "But Mickey Leigh, Joey's brother, said, 'We're going to the Grammys in L.A. Why don't you come? You should come on stage and say a few words about Joe.' Now, the Ramones are broken into two camps. There's Mickey Leigh's camp and then there's Linda Cummings' camp - they're totally divided. So I went to this thing, I sat in the front row, they had no idea that I was going to walk on that stage. They announced the people, they all went up and then I just tagged behind and she [Linda] was like, 'What's he doing up there? What's he doing?' So then Mickey introduced me and I said a few words, but that's all it was. They tried to get me into the whole Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame thing too but that never worked out either."
Though more than a decade has elapsed since the Ramones split back in 1996, it's clear that time and even the tragic death of Johnny has done little to heal these deep-seated old wounds. Having first been recruited in 1983 at the explosive onset of the Ramones' 'Subterranean Jungle' tour, a then twenty five-year-old Richie found himself instantly seduced by the band's notoriously wild, rock 'n' roll lifestyle. "You got to play drums and do drugs you didn't have to worry about nothing," he recalls fondly. "You never knew where you were or what city you were in." But, on entering the recording studio some months later, the less than carefree reality of life with the Ramones soon became painfully apparent to the newly-recruited drummer. And while Richie quickly formed close friendships with both Dee Dee and Joey, his slow-burning resentment toward Johnny finally erupted into furious, full-scale rivalry during the recording of 1987's 'Halfway To Sanity'. "Johnny was such a prick," Richie reveals, with a sudden surge of venom colouring his low and otherwise serenely level tones. "Joey called me in the middle of the night and said, 'Richie, you gotta come and remix this record - it sucks.' So I remixed half the album and then John's saying, 'Nobody's going to buy it so we're wasting our money here.' And they wouldn't give me credit for mixing it. So it just became this type of thing like, who are you? Are you part of the band or not part of the band? And if I'm not part of the band, then give me a fucking credit on the fucking record. You got this, you got my image, you got my name, got everything," the drummer rages. In spite of Richie's obvious strengths as a songwriter from the very beginning of his turbulent time with the Ramones. Johnny’s notoriously cash-hungry tendencies saw the drummer increasingly overlooked in the years that followed. Having already been shaken beyond repair by the 'Halfway To Sanity' dispute of 1987, the pair's strained relationship drew to an abrupt and angry conclusion shortly thereafter. Though once a relatively minor grievance for Richie, Johnny's continued refusal to share in the money made through t-shirt sales finally pushed the drummer's tolerance to breaking point. On this painful but long-overdue revelation, Richie explains, "The fans bought a lot of shirts back then so we came here to London, and after the show everybody got an envelope full of cash and I got nothing. I went through years of that and eventually I was like 'Fuck this, this is bullshit.' It was all about the money with John, how much he could pocket. Not about success or anything. It was just about how much money you could shove in your pocket on a daily basis. He even had a safe under his floor in his house and he just kept stuffing it in there. I'm sure he made millions of dollars in T-shirts alone." Despite Johnny's best efforts to downplay Richie's role in this now-iconic ensemble, the drummer's influence continues to be strongly felt among fans, with the unforgettable 'Somebody Put Something In My Drink' being widely considered a rock 'n' roll classic. With this much-loved track having most recently been covered by Celtic punk upstarts The Gobshites, it's more than evident that Richie's status in the rock 'n' roll history books is now nothing less than legendary. But however much the dynamic sticksman may have accomplished over the past few decades, his relentless passion for his pummelling art continues to lead him into increasingly diverse creative territory.
The last few years, I've been playing in a lot of different things," the drummer reports. "I did that West Side Story project - that thing I scored for orchestra. You can see that on my website, it's very interesting. It's a whole new world with the ninety-piece orchestra, with my drum set right at the front and the whole piece lasting about eighteen minutes in total. Very interesting. There's also the Richie Ramone stuff which I'm going to be doing in the future. I’m also gonna do some shows with The Gobshites to promote that. Then I'll probably be putting my own thing together,” he concludes casually before adding with steely, unshakeable certainty, "I'm gonna be out there a lot in 2012. I'm gonna do everything."

Buzzcocks - Steve Diggle - Vive Le Rock - March 2012

 
"Steve Garvey lives in Philadelphia, and John Maher lives on the Isle of Harris, and when we were up in Scotland doing a festival a while back, John Maher came and ended up jumping on the drums for a song. And Steve Garvey, the same in Philadelphia."
Buzzcocks guitarist Steve Diggle, talking from his northern base where he's writing songs in preparation for an upcoming 'cocks album, sounds enthused about the rather special career overview the band are preparing for.
"It was kind of like, 'Well, that was the line up then, so maybe one day we'll get together and do a gig with them, rather than just see them individually, around the world'. So that was the seed of it really. And then it sort of came together a little bit, in terms of 'why don't we do a gig in Manchester with the original line up' or what's known as the classic line up, and it was 'Okay, we'll just do a one-off like that'. Because in some ways I don't want to get too much into all that looking back kind of thing - me and Pete (Shelley) have been the ones that have been forging ahead for years. We've got a fantastic line up as it is now! But anyway, it seemed like a good idea, and then of course somebody waved that past Howard, and we got him involved as well to come on and do 'Spiral Scratch'. So it's like the three line ups really: it'll be the current line up, then the classical line up, then Howard will come on for 'Spiral Scratch'."
"These shows will cover a lot of ground in the Buzzcocks musical history really, because when you look at the whole catalogue, it's like from punk to pop, to experimental, to Kraut rock... So these two shows will give a good reason why people should come to the musical altar of the band! And get down on their fucking knees, and respect the band for what it's done!
"We hear about all the others, Sex Pistols and The Clash, but this will showcase exactly what we do... When you think about songs like 'Why Can't I Touch It', 'Ever Fallen In Love...', and you get the heaviness of 'Harmony In My Head', which was Kurt Cobain's favourite... I was chatting to him, saying I'd read that John Lennon smoked twenty cigarettes, so that's what I did for 'Harmony In My Head' - much to the annoyance of Martin Rushent, the producer at the time, I said, 'I want to fucking shout the verses, I'll sing the chorus, and smoke twenty cigarettes like John Lennon!' - Kurt Cobain loved that, if you listen to his voice, it must've influenced him a little bit somewhere!"
It's of particular surprise to see that Howard is involved, with few imagining a reunion of the 'Spiral Scratch incarnation' could actually happen.
"Well no, and to be honest, I thought 'We'll never see light of day for that', and initially it was like, 'Let's get the classical line up back that had the pop hits, the first three albums...' 'cause he'd never been on Top Of The Pops with us, and he'd gone by the time we made the first album. He'd actually done seven shows with us or something like that! He told us, 'I did what I wanted to do, made a record, now I'm leaving!' and I thought, 'Well, that's the full stop on that story!' And we had to carry on from there. I think also, we've done a lot of things, and he'd done Magazine, it's almost like, 'Look, why don't we just do this as some kind of celebration - the significance of him in the band at the time, and then the other two guys who made those first three albums...'
"The gigs should be interesting, it'll be a weird one. We're going to start rehearsing for that in about six weeks. I didn't want to get too bogged down in that though, but for two shows that's pretty cool, and maybe an odd one, 'cause somebody said 'They might want you in New York' and all this... I said 'We've got to fucking stop somewhere, we don't want a cabaret situation with all this', but as a celebration of the band after thirty six years, I think it'll be quite good. And then we can get back to what we're doing. We want people to realise we are carrying on and moving on... It's just a reflection, and a look back, and just the fact that everybody's still alive and still up for doing it, it will be good for that. It's all cool!"

Howard Devoto - Sex Pistols 1st Time in Manchester

I spent my early childhood in the Midlands and then my teenage years in Leeds, so those were the years the hormones hit.
My first ever love was The Shadows. After that I liked The Rolling Stones and after that I liked Bob Dylan, I liked Jimi Hendrix ... things like The Mothers of Invention and then David Bowie. I went to college, the Bolton Institute of Technology, in 1972, messed around trying to do a Psychology degree for a year and a half, packed that up, went back and did a Humanities degree. This brings us to the more pertinent years.
What I always remember of my time then really is buying Fun House (1970) by The Stooges. I didn't really know any Stooges' fans and their records were very hard to get hold of, although Raw Power had come out in 1973 and I did manage to get a copy at the local record shop in Bolton. That was about it. Then I managed to pick up a second hand copy of their first album (The Stooges, 1969) from somewhere or other. But Fun House was proving quite hard to track down. I wasn't quite sure I liked The Stooges that much. I liked the story, I liked the legend, but for me, Raw Power was a bit messy, the first Stooges' album was a little simplistic. But then when I finally managed to get an import copy of Fun House it all fell into place. It just kind of hit me at the time when I was starting to get really pissed off again in life. I have this memory of myself at this place I was living - an ex-convent that had been taken over for student accommodation - in my room playing Fun House and loving the primitive nature and anger. I really connected with it and started thinking, 'I could just about do this'.
I also was not totally loath to a little bit of prog rock. I do remember going along to the college gigs every Saturday night, but really getting very fed up with it and feeling, I wish I could go and see The Stooges or something like that, something that's really going to be confrontational and aggressive and exciting and a bit dangerous.
I started the second year of my course. I'd had a slightly unfortunate encounter with exams - I didn't do that brilliantly in my first year - so when I went into the second year of my course I was kind of looking round for other things to get involved with and one of the things I did was to stick up a notice at college asking to meet musicians. I mentioned the name of The Stooges in the advert and Sister Ray (Velvet Underground) and stuff like this. Possibly, Pete (Shelley) was the only person who answered that advert.
No, he wasn't the only person but he was the only person I kind of stuck with. We'd been trying things with a drummer ... some Stooges songs, trying some (Brian) Eno songs, even trying some early Rolling Stones songs. But it really was not happening. So by February 1976, I don't think we really knew where any of this was going except that we were vaguely still trying to get a band together.
One was reading about all that happening in New York but you couldn't hear any of it.
New Musical Express came out in Bolton and I kind of flipped through it and gave it to Pete. He looked through it and handed it back to me and said, 'Did you read that?' and this was the first ever review of the Sex Pistols by Neil Spencer... 'DON'T LOOK OVER YOUR SHOULDER BUT THE SEX PISTOLS ARE COMING'. The Stooges were mentioned in there and 'We’re not into music, we’re into chaos'. There was that line in there. Well, it clicked with me and it just so happened I could borrow a car that weekend. I didn't have a car, but somebody in the house I was living in at that time, had asked me to pick up their car and said, "You can borrow it for the weekend". I don't think they meant "You can drive to London for the weekend" but anyway that's what Pete and I ended up doing. Just on the basis of reading this review and the fact that I could borrow this car. It was the weekend that changed our lives.
We first met Malcolm when we turned up at Sex, his shop, having been told by Neil Spencer at the New Musical Express – who I'd phoned - that,  'Oh, I think their manager runs the Sex shop on King's Road.' So we were vaguely expecting to turn up to an Anne Summers-type shop.
At that point we didn't even know whether they were playing, we'd come down totally on spec. We bought our copy of Time Out, where we get the name Buzzcocks from (a story about Seventies TV music show Rock Follies which carried the headline 'IT'S THE BUZZ, COCK!'). Can't find anything about them. When we finally meet Malcolm we learn, oh yes, they are actually playing tonight and supporting Malcolm and Vivienne's mate Screaming Lord Sutch.
Everything about the Sex Pistols impressed at that first gig we went to at High Wycombe (College of Higher Education 20/2/76) and the second one. They repeated the experience the following evening at Welwyn Garden City (21/2/76). Most importantly, the music, and for me, the lyrics. We could hear some interesting lyrics going on in there. The aggro of it was interesting. At that first gig, John (Johnny Rotten) got into a bit of a tussle with somebody in the audience and kept singing under a small pile of people. That was sort of what one had been looking for, for quite a while. He would get his hanky out and stick it up his nose and he'd wander off the stage for five minutes and then come back. Just right, spot on. Impressed. I mean, at that time, his look was a kind of skinhead look - but a different take on that. The ripped sweater - it was just different. Pete and I immediately had a model. When we saw the Pistols we'd got a musical model.
I went up to Malcolm after they'd played, and said, 'If we could organise for you to play at our college, are you interested in coming up to do it?' And he said, 'Yeah, sure, if you can arrange it, we'll come up and do it.' I think the Pistols were kind of chuffed: 'Wow, you know, these guys have come all the way down from Manchester to see us.'
When Pete and I got back to college, despite Pete's clout in the Students' Union, they weren't going for it - not interested in putting them on. Malcolm might have said something like, 'We don't want to play a pub' because, of course, pub rock was kind of the vibe that consciously or unconsciously people were trying to get away from. It might have been hippies and prog rock at a higher level, but at a lower level it was pub rock.
So when I phoned Malcolm and told him, 'They're not going for it,' he said,' Well, see if you can find somewhere else... then we'll come up and play'. We somehow learned about this little hall above the Free Trade Hall... as if it's some kind of curious bird, you know, 'a lesser-spotted auditorium'. It was not a lot of money, so I got back to Malcolm again. 'Yeah, okay hire it!' I made sure he sent me a cheque to cover the payment. So, that first gig for June 4,1976, was suddenly on the cards.
McLaren paid for the hall so it wasn't going to be a huge disaster if nobody turned up. The main thing that was bugging me and Pete was the fact that our bloody group wasn't ready.
We didn't know a load of musicians, we weren't on any musician circuit. It was just very, very difficult to find people. Just the usual problems you have when you've got no money... nowhere to rehearse. We just couldn't make it happen. I'm still at college, trying to be a promoter for the first time. Just arranging it for the Sex Pistols in itself was a really big thrill at that point in my life.
McLaren certainly sent up some A3 posters that he'd got printed off. Malcolm was quite good with Jamie Reid (Situationist partner-in-crime of McLaren and instigator of the 'blackmail' style of lettering common to a lot of Pistols/punk artwork) 'cause of his background in putting together press packs, which did have a fairly strong design element. The thing that impressed us about them was that they put in all the bad reviews as well. Pete and I were suddenly in the fly poster business. We did go up and down Oxford Road [major road through Manchester city centre] pasting these A3 things which, at the end of the day, were trying to double up as leaflets and posters. They weren't very imposing and whether they managed to pull in anybody, I've no idea. At the end of May, probably barely a week before the first gig, a cassette tape turned up (with Pistols demos).We thought they sounded great. I copied the cassette onto my reel-to-reel, 'cause I wasn't advanced enough to have a cassette player.
I had no idea who Tony Wilson was. Somehow or other I got in touch with Tony and I got this tape to him. That's the degree of contact really that I remember. It s the same degree that I remember with Malcolm. I did meet up with him briefly when I went down to see Bowie play at the Empire Pool, Wembley. Malcolm looked down his nose at that. The main thing that was going on at that time in the music press was the mentions of them [Sex Pistols] getting more and more frequent. I'm not quite sure at what point they made the front page of Melody Maker, but their profile was building in the music papers.
The debut of an entity called Buzzcocks actually took place on April 1 at The Bolton Institute of Technology.
I was there in my new drainpipes and knee-length pink boots, feeling very splendid.
I think we might have played 'Oh Shit!'... 'No Reply'... 'Get On Our Own', things like that. We hadn't written any co-compositions like 'Breakdown'... 'Times Up'... certainly not 'Boredom'. We got the plug pulled on us after three numbers.
Because we weren't ready for the June 4 gig, we needed to draft somebody else in to play support. We didn't know anybody. The only thing I could remember was this guy - I think his name was Geoff  - that I worked with the previous summer at a mail order warehouse in Manchester doing a holiday job as a student. This guy was in a band.
It was a group called Solstice. They did things like 'Nantucket Sleighride' which is, I think, a tune by Mountain. I just remember Geoff in this white boiler suit.
On the night of the first gig, I was probably running around the hall, doing all the kinds of things you do... trying to make sure it all happens. I'd just bought the first Ramones album on import - and I discovered the house PA system - so, I was doing the interval music.
Whether Tony Wilson actually came to that one, I don't know. I don't think he'd make it up. I think whatever he says is probably the truth.
The only people, apart from Pete Shelley, Myself, Steve Diggle and all the Pistols crew that I'd be reasonably cer­tain were there were Paul Morley and Morrissey, he wrote a letter to the NME about the gig.
Oh, and John The Postman.
I think the Lesser Free Trade Hall held about four hundred. We had made the tickets, we had actually hand-crafted those tickets and numbered them. So I think that figure of a hundred is probably as accurate as anybody could come up with. It did not feel full - there's no way around that - and it was seated. And up until right at the end, people stayed seated.
I don't recall seeing anybody that I thought, 'There's a punk'. Pete and I had changed our look considerably and got very curious looks from the Teds in Piccadilly, Manchester's main square. I don't really recall anybody at that gig looking like a punk, a mostly male audience looking like Manchester males did in those days.
I think Solstice had a strobe light, one of those you'd have seen in your local pub. You'd have thought they were pretty good, actually. But they were not the right vibe at all really. But what the hell. A few people clapped. They weren't booed off or anything like that.
Paul Morley always looked like Francis Rossi out of Status Quo to me, with his long hair. The audience would have all looked like Solstice fans.
It wasn't chaotic or anything like that. Prior to the gig, the Sex Pistols had gone out for a drink with one of my philosophy lecturers, a wonderful man by the name of Mr David Melling. Nice gentleman, of great bearing and dignity. They all went out for a drink in the pub over the road. It's one of those events in one's life... I would really liked to have been there. They all got on very well and David assured me that they were very nice lads. It's just one of those things where two parts of your life come together and you think, My goodness me, there's an existential happening!
I understand some of them - because they became Joy Division eventually - were there. I mean, they weren't people I knew, so I just wouldn't know at all. I think there's a big dispute as to how many people were there that evening. I personally think there were about a hundred people.
The Pistols, or John in particular, were obviously quite pleased with the reaction they got. They did their encore and he said something to the crowd like, 'Where did you all come from?' in a not unfriendly way. Malcolm said to me afterwards something like, 'Let's do it again... let's book this again'. They felt it was definitely a success. So I book the hall again - the hall were very happy to have the booking again, thirty quid. So it was duly booked for about six weeks on from then, July 20.
Within weeks, well, certainly by the time Buzzcocks played... I got a sticky inkling that my life had changed. I certainly know I felt a whole lot different in myself, a whole lot better in myself. Suddenly I was engaged in something that really, really interested me.

Sid Vicious - Peroxide 1980

Sid Vicious Memorial March – 2nd February 1980
The march was organized to commemorate the first anniversary of the death of John Simon Richie, A.K.A. Sid Vicious, who dies of a drug overdose on 2nd February 1979, whilst on bail awaiting trial for the murder of Nancy Spungen.
The actual march, which started 15 minutes late, consisted of about 1000 assorted punks and skinheads, plus 100 policemen drafted in from North London to deal with any misconducts which may happen on the way.
The procession dyed hair, bondage clad, glue sniffin’ youngsters ambled off towards Marble Arch, sandwiched between ‘the boys in blue’. Occasionally an anti-mod song was broken into making any passing Parkas tremble in their Hush Puppies. The whole spectacle was followed by trendy looking photographers clicking their Nikons. The march frequently spilled onto the roads causing one or two close encounters with ‘Double Decker’ buses or ‘Tourist’ coaches full of wide eyed Americans itching to tell the folks back home.
At Hyde Park everything halted as a group of skinheads broke away into a Nazi contingent and started chanting ‘Zeig Hiel’ and saluting. They started picking on the mourning punks and a fight broke out. Pat Marc, the organizer, stopped the flying fists by separating the two groups and parading between them. Eventually the skinheads were escorted out of Hyde Park by the police and the march continued. Sid was completely forgotten from then on and chaos ruled. The punks rushed down Oxford Street knocking Saturday shoppers flying. Anarchy was the word. The destination was Carnaby Street but few people reached there because the police began to gain control by a more violent fashion. Arrests were made and shop windows were shattered, as were the hopes of those wishing to remember Sid in a civilized way. Eventually rain started to dampen things and people began to start making for home.
Thus the afternoon ended with no tribute to Sid but a good story to tell in the pub that night and to read in the Sunday papers the next day.