Ramones by Nicholas Rombes (Continuum 2005)

The quality that insured the Ramones' first album would become one of the most important records in modern rock was the same quality that guaranteed they would never have the mainstream success in their time: a unified vision, the force of a single idea. There is a purity to Ramones that is almost overwhelming and frightening. Basically, the Ramones are the only punk group from the 1970s to have maintained their vision for so long, without compromise -  a vision fully and completely expressed on their very first album. In America, there is a skepticism and wariness about any artistic or cultural form that doesn't evolve, that doesn't grow. There is no more damning critique than the charge of repeating yourself. And yet punk was precisely about repetition; its art lay in the rejection of elaboration. And nowhere is this more evident than on the Ramones' first album, whose unforgiving and fearful  symmetry announced the arrival of a sound so pure it did not require change.

London's Burning: True Adventures on the Front Lines of Punk, 1976-1977 by Dave Thompson (Chicago Review Press 2009)

Somebody—I don’t know who, but they didn’t look impressed—pointed out Siouxsie Sioux, the dominatrix-clad queen of a gang of fashion horses known to themselves as the Bromley Contingent, über-followers of the Pistols machine, who were fast garnering as much notoriety as the band itself. Someone else nodded pityingly toward a beanstalk by the stage, leaping up and down on the spot and clearly in danger of crashing through the ceiling. Muted by the din of the band, you could lip-read their contempt nevertheless.

“Look at that idiot.”

I looked. I knew him. Bev . . . John Beverley . . . lived in Finsbury Park, close by the station where I swapped my bus ride for the tube. A total Bowie nut, which is why a mutual friend introduced us, he enjoyed nothing better than a lager-fueled argument over which of the master’s songs was the best. Neither, at the time, did I. But whereas I was willing to change my opinion, depending upon what kind of mood I was in, Bev was unyielding.

“‘We Are the Dead’?” I would suggest.


“Fuck off! ‘Rebel Rebel.’”

“‘Drive In Saturday’?”

“‘Rebel Rebel.’”

“‘Cygnet Committee’?”

“I said, Fuck off!” And so it would go on until Bev fucked off, usually lured away by one or other of the pimply weasels who’d renamed him Sid, but who themselves were also named John: Wardle, who was sufficiently pear-shaped to be rechristened Wobble; Gray, who was anonymous enough that his surname already suited him; and Lydon, who was now up onstage with the Pistols, flashing the teeth that first gave him his nom de guerre. Sometimes you wondered what Bev saw in them. He hated it when they called him Sid, he hated it even more when they added the surname Vicious. And it was pretty obvious that his main attraction to them was to see how many outrageous stunts they could prompt him to rush into, simply by reminding him what a “great laugh” he was, and letting his overdeveloped need for attention to take over.

But he never shrugged them off, and you saw less and less of Bev these days, and more and more of Sid Vicious. One day, a few worried friends prophesied, Bev would vanish altogether and Sid would take over completely. Tonight, for sure, Sid was in total control, bouncing up and down on the dance floor, grinning wildly at the noise that his mates were making, and utterly oblivious to the fact that whatever rhythm he was hearing in his head was inaudible to everyone else in the room. Somebody said it looked like he was riding a pogo stick. Somebody else thought it looked like fun. The next time you saw the Sex Pistols, half the audience would be doing it.

Snap, Crackle and the Finest Derry Pop

One of the best music bloggers out there, Spinster's Rock, has been here before with his posting of the singles collections of such brilliant bands as Wire, Magazine and Siouxsie and the Banshees, but he's excelled himself with his decision to now post The Undertones singles in chronological order.

What makes the series such a must have is that - like with the previous bands he's featured on his blog - he's ripped the tracks from the original vinyl so you get all the crackles, scratches and warmth of A sides and B sides that have been played one hundred and forty three times at high volume on an old record player. (I'm projecting a bit here.)

I understand that there's a very strong argument for breaking out the software to polish up the sound on old tapes and records when you're converting them to mp3 or compact disc but when the music under the microscope is the best punk/pop from the golden years of 78-84? Nah, it's neither the time nor the place.

Spinster Rock's currently up to 'My Perfect Cousin' in his Undertones series on his blog but I hope he doesn't stop after he gets to 'Julie Ocean'. For reasons I don't fully understand, The Undertones (Mark I*) latter period gets short shrift from some critics and fans but their 1983 album, 'Sin of Pride', contains some of their strongest material.

I get it that it wasn't another 16 slabs of two minute garage/pop a la 'Teenage Kicks' and 'Get Over You' from just four and five years before but just because it was the case that The Ramones were their greatest inspiration when they first kicked off that didn't mean The Undertones had to follow in their heroes footsteps by reworking a variation of their first album for the next ten years.

The fan base and record sales seemed to diminish the further away they got from their original sound but if you haven't already done so, you should check out such Undertones tracks as 'The Love Parade', 'Love Before Romance', 'Valentine's Treatment' and their cover version of Smokey Robinson's 'Save Me' from that final album.

Briliant, brilliant tracks which reflected the maturity and concerns of four wonderful songwriters who'd moved on from boaking up another ten songs about Mars Bars and cheap polyvinyl jackets masquerading as leather jackets .

[The above pic courtesy of this rather excellent Undertones fan site.]