I've just spent an entire year studying the Ramones, and Johnny in particular, in order to create a portrayal of his stage persona that's as faithful and accurate as I am capable of. It was my intention from the beginning to become Johnny Ramone in the same way that Gary Busey became Buddy Holly, or that Val Kilmer became Jim Morrison for their memorable performances. In my case, however, this is a tribute band, not a biography. I'm not portraying John Cummings the man, but Johnny the Ramone.
When we first started this band a year ago, we'd each choose a song to learn each week, so that we'd have four new songs every week. My very first selection was "I Just Wanna Have Something To Do". I had a very personal reason for this choice. At the age of 14, when I first started playing guitar on the Wisconsin prairie back in 1879, that was the first song I learned to play all the way through. Having just figured out the power of barre chords, a whole rock 'n' roll Pandora's box exploded open for me, and I just wanted to run naked and free through this new world I'd discovered.
I had also recently learned that there was cooler music than what was being played on the radio. An acquaintance of mine - much cooler than me - had been raving about the Ramones, and I made it a point to check them out. I searched them out in the record department of a local department store, and chose Road To Ruin because I liked the cool cartoon on the cover. I took it home, slit open the cellophane, and the instant the needle started crackling on the vinyl was the exact instant my life took a very important turn.
"I Just Wanna Have Something To Do" was the first Ramones song I ever heard, and it hit my emerging musical sensibilities like a suicide bomber on Walton's mountain. It was explosive. It was arrogant. It was unexpected. It was the most fun I've ever had jumping around my bedroom by myself.
On the inside sleeve, on the opposite side from the lyrics, there were four pictures - one of each of the Ramones, playing live. The one that immediately caught my eye was the guitarist. Sleeveless t-shirt, ripped jeans, legs wide apart, knees bent, with his guitar slung dangerously low like some phallic weapon of mass destruction, looking like he was ready to beat the crap out of anyone who got too close. It was the coolest rock 'n' roll image I'd ever seen, and might still be.
Johnny's gone now. Up 'til now, It'd been my fondest wish that he might one day see us bringing the Ramones' live show to a whole new generation of audiences, and that he'd like what he saw. That will never happen now, and his loss has left a wound that will be slow to heal.
All four of us have an enormous amount of respect and affection for the Ramones, and we're saddened by Johnny's death just as Ramones fans everywhere are. Our lives are not as directly affected as the friends and family who knew and loved John Cummings, but we grieve for Johnny Ramone.
Daniel E. Helland
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