Were the Ramones the first punk-rock band of the modern era (meaning post-New York Dolls)? Pere Ubu and the Droogs both issued records before them. However, the Ramones were certainly the most significant and the first band to take it to levels never before reached by either the Dolls or Iggy & the Stooges. The Ramones provided the blueprint for nearly every punk-rock band from the time of their debut album to this day, including the Sex Pistols, Nirvana and Green Day.

In Los Angeles, bands that understood the lesson shortened their hair, shortened their songs and played fewer chords faster. The genie was out of the bottle. Bands like X, the Weirdos, the Dils, the Zeros, the Germs, the Go-Go's and Black Flag could now exist, have followings and make records.

A scene formed and the first Ramones album was played at every one of its parties. The only commercial radio station in Los Angeles to play the Ramones was KROQ, but only on Rodney Bingenheimer's Sunday evening show, where the band became the Beatles.

I met Joey Ramone when the Ramones first came to L.A. In 1977, I was lucky enough to see the group play at CBGB -- its home turf. Joey invited me and some friends to his apartment, around the corner from the club, and we called Rodney during his show. That evening L.A. first heard of the Cramps and Lydia Lunch, who were in the room with us.

I saw one of the Ramones' last shows in New York during the mid-'90s. During the early '70s I attended several "rock'n' roll revival" shows ... Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, Hank Ballard. I was there for a history lesson, but folks in their 30s and 40s were sayin', "Yeah! This is how it was."

At the Ramones show I stood there, boppin' my head, thinking to myself: This is Chuck Berry to me. This is myJerry Lee Lewis. This is like Hank Ballard. Kids who must have been in diapers when the first Ramones record was released were there for a history lesson. I said, "Yeah! This is how it is."

	Also Today Joey Ramone, R.I.P. He had no voice, no looks, no chest, butt or knees. But he kicked a generation in the ass, hard. By Bill Wyman Print story E-mail story

After he Ramones broke up [in 1995], Joey remained active in a positive sense. He promoted shows featuring bands he liked. He co-produced some of Ronnie Spector's best music in decades. He would spend large amounts of time talking to fans in front of a club. I didn't know him very well, but from what I knew of him, Joey Ramone was a good guy.

Light a candle tonight for Joey Ramone and play "Blitzkrieg Bop" real loud.

(Freddie Patterson published Back Door Man magazine.)

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Eleven years after punk rock changed the course of my life, during my first trip to New York, I found myself feeling culturally disoriented at a loft performance on the Lower West Side. The room teemed with gleaming FOSY (Friends of Sonic Youth). It was loud and I was lost. It was time to seek out my old friend, the wall.

There truly is something about a wall, its hard comfort speaking an international language of belonging to all who lean against it. Ten minutes later, a grinning man with a Texas accent approached me, "Ma'am, could you make room for my friend at the wall?" His companion stood, narrow, stooped and steady, towering over both of us. It was Joey Ramone. I thought, given his celebrity, that he'd want the whole wall to himself. I indicated my willingness to give him my space.

"No, no, that's OK," said the Texan as Joey quietly took up his place against the wall, beside me. The Texan scampered elsewhere and Joey questioningly offered me a drink from his open bottle of beer, a sweetly silent gesture of trade and wall kinship. One of us! What stayed with me for years -- after the initial tourist thrill of "I am drinking Joey Ramone's beer! In New York!" -- was an unexpected sense of his gentle vulnerability.

My tape recorder had already borne witness to many hours of musicians, some of them heroes, sober and otherwise, all chattering away. With all those words, few had affected me and had said as much as Joey Ramone did in that silent encounter in a noisy room. He was what he was. And always will be.

(Cath Carroll is a writer and musician.)

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