Joey Ramone brought punk rock to London, introducing it to the likes of the Sex Pistols and the Clash . But more importantly to me, he brought it to Montgomery, Ala.

In the mid-'80s, when I was in middle school in Montgomery, a friend turned me onto "Ramones." Like "Dark Side of the Moon" or "Nevermind," "Ramones" is one of those albums that I'll always remember hearing for the first time.

The Ramones were my introduction to punk rock. This wasn't the Zeppelin/Floyd/Tull bloatware that I associated with rock 'n' roll. It was revolution, even if I was late to the party. Through the Ramones I discovered the Sex Pistols, Black Flag, the Minutemen and a host of other bands who seemed to have a lot more to say than any of the pretty-boy hair-metal bands of my era did. The Ramones said more with four roughly strummed chords than any of the guitar-pyrotechnic bands of the '70s and '80s did with a thousand arpeggios.

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Through the Ramones I was turned onto the progressive politics of genuine punk rock and the D.I.Y. ethic. As much as I love, say, the Dead Kennedys, they never could have done that for me, as I wasn't ready for something that "out there" as a kid whose only previous exposure to punk was via radio-friendly knockoff music that had been filtered through the safer strains of new wave.

But the Ramones were Punk Rock 101 for me and hundreds of thousands of kids like me in middle America. We weren't able to head down to Max's, the Whiskey or the I-Beam on the weekends. We had no hipster aesthetic to follow. We were just kids alienated from the status-quo who didn't know where to turn for cool.

And that's where Joey Ramone came in. Not only was he a fellow traveler, but he was also accessible to folks like us. Not too weird for a 13-year-old with an attitude problem.

I remember high school, riding in my friend Brian Marshall's car, listening to the Ramones and getting high. "Beat on the Brat" wasn't going to change the world, but in the backwaters of Alabama it was a call to arms. And the thing is, songs like "Beat on the Brat," "Sheena is a Punk Rocker," "Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue," "Blitzkreig Bop" and "Rock N' Roll High School" inspired musicians the world over to pick up guitars, writers to pick up pens, and disillusioned youth to cry out, "I'm not going to take your bullshit anymore." And in that sense, Joey's otherwise simple lyrics did change the world. Or at least my world, and maybe yours too.

(Mat Honan is an editor at Macworld.)

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Bob Lee:

Haiku for Joey Ramone:

First rule is: reduce!
Broken down: "1-2-3-4!"
As manifesto

(Bob Lee has played with the Rotters, Mike Watt & The Black Gang, Backbiter and Jon Wahl & The Amadans.)

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Corin Tucker:

The Ramones were a real inspiration to Sleater-Kinney. I think they just represented a kind of a joyfulness, the romantic spirit of punk rock. Their songwriting was simple and beautiful and they really obviously loved music. My favorite song is "Danny Says," the one about being on tour. I just love that song. It kind of romanticized, to me, being in a band -- it made it seem like the coolest thing in the world. I guess it was sort of a lifestyle to look up to.

Joey Ramone was not about a stylized corporate package. He was this truly unique character. His whole being was identified by rock 'n' roll, and it just suited him so well. He in turn gave a huge gift to rock 'n' roll and to punk rock.

He was really the gentleman of punk rock, this really enigmatic sort of male figure. I think men and women could look up to him as a great rock star. [Sleater-Kinney's 1996 song] "I Wanna Be Your Joey Ramone" is about filling the shoes of male rock stars and sort of taking over their power. But we wrote that song about men that we really admire, and Joey Ramone was No. 1.

(Corin Tucker plays in Sleater-Kinney)

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