Fractured Facade


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Sunday, July 13, 2014

The Ramones Are Gone and I Feel Like Crying

I've been depressed since learning the last remaining original Ramone, Tommy, passed away from cancer at the age of 65. He lived the longest of the four. Three passed away from cancer (wtf is in that Forest Hills air or water?), and one from drugs (would have thought the 75/25% split would have gone the other way around.) The Ramones are gone, and I feel like crying. Sure, I'll shed a tear, or four, for them, but I think I'll be shedding more for myself...for my memories.

When I first heard the Ramones I had recently burst out of the disco days of Bensonhurst, and landed straight into what would be later called punk rock in the Lower East Side of Manhattan. It was raw. It was real. And it had four beats we could dance to. And dance I did at every one of their shows. I'm not sure if I've seen Patti Smith more times live, or the Ramones. Either or, it produced the same euphoria. It was the first time in my life I felt as if I belonged somewhere. It was the best time of my life for friendships.

I turned a lot of folks onto the Ramones. Most of them are still friends, even though there are decades of years and hundreds of miles between us. I associate certain songs with certain people in my past. Although I cry more for some of them than others, every one of them will have a place in my heart. Reminiscing makes me sad, yet glad, I have those memories. Thank you Ramones, you have no idea how much your music touched my life. So with much respect and love I will now post a couple of your songs to bring me back home. Ramones, you always were and will always be New York City. I feel so far away from home. Lost youth deserves a tear every once in a while...

The following song reminds me of my brother...I turned him onto The Ramones, and from there...well, let's say, the rest is history. Rather than try to explain here's a link to his website Hardcore Punk Beyond.



Yeah, my cousin JP and I would sing it to him while pogoing all around him wielding an invisible bat. That's what you did to younger siblings in Brooklyn.

Speaking of JP, my partner in crime, my dance partner extraordinaire -- you'd be surprised how the floor opens up to a 6 foot 7 inch guy -- my, my, my, I miss him so much. This is for him...

"Gabba gabba we accept you, we accept you one of us!
Gabba gabba we accept you, we accept you one of us!"




My friend, former guitarist, fellow punk rocker, who was by my side as we were chased with baseball bats while departing the elevated train in Bensonhurst by a couple of zipper heads, just because we were "different", talented artist - Velardi Arts -  and one day will be the subject of a future book of mine - he's a Real New York Story, Johny V. We still speak almost daily, this is his song --Blitzkrieg Bop.



And for someone I do not speak with any more, my first ex-husband, from when he was just my boyfriend -- a much better time, this song reminds me of him...I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend.



For my friend Jane, my female dance partner, who I know longs for those days past...this is our song. Another New Yorker, although living in Long Island sorta diminishes her NY status, only kidding Jane, living in Virginia is far worse! We still are friends. We will always be Sheenas...



For my friend Barbara, who has suffered the pain no mother should ever have to suffer by losing a child, from a time when we only worried about ourselves, for all those crazy nights we wound up in the darkened cavern of her basement...we usually spent the beginning of the night dancing to this, and by the end of the night were, sedated. Sedation has taken on a different meaning now...love this song and this girl. Another forever New York friend...



And me, my song lately...because I just don't.


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