The Ramones
The Attic, Greenville, North Carolina, early 90's.
The Attic was a small nightclub that held maybe 500 people and was ranked as one of the top venues for live music on the east coast. It was right up there with legendary venues like The 9:30 Club and The Stone Pony. The Attic was also right in my backyard and it played an influential role in my early music education.
When the the Ramones were scheduled to play The Attic in late 1991 any musician in a 50 miles radius of Greenville, NC that considered themselves to be any good had tickets to the show. I was the only budding musician that couldn’t go because I was underage and The Attic was 18 and over. However, the good lord was looking out for me and, if memory serves me correctly, I was skateboarding around the venue the morning of the show when the owner asked if I wanted to work as a local stage hand. Does a bear shit in the woods? Of course I wanted to be a local stage hand for the Ramones! I’d do anything, including whatever local stage hands do to see the band.
I was told by the owner that if I even looked at an alcoholic beverage while I was in his venue he would kick my ass then throw me out and ban me forever. I wasn't remotely interested in alcohol, I just wanted to be involved in music any way possible.
I showed up later that afternoon around 1 PM to find a nondescript semi truck backing down the narrow ally which served as the entrance to the club. I was impressed the driver was skilled enough to get that big truck into such a tight space. The truck driver jumped out of the cab and I noticed right away what looked to be an old scar from maybe a bullet hole on the guy's face. He didn't say anything and I could tell by his demeanor he was not to be messed with. The semi trailer doors swung open and it was packed like a game of Tetris from top to bottom, back to front with road cases.
The Attic had an enormous PA that was legendary on the east coast, but the Ramones brought their own PA and lights. It was the first time I had seen a self contained touring act. I had been assigned to be the local "drum hand" and was tasked with cleaning Marky Ramone's piano black Pearl drum set, hardware and Paiste cymbals. I helped the band's drum tech get the drums, hardware and cymbals out of the cases and I was handed a bottle of cleaning solution, a few rags and instructed to make everything look like mirrors. I noticed all the equipment already looked like mirrors and there were no fingerprints, hand prints, dust or scratches. It was all pristine gear, almost as if they had just bought it from the music store across the street from The Attic. I thought I had done an excellent job when the drum tech looked it over and pointed out areas I had somehow missed, so I was told to keep cleaning. In hindsight this was probably just done to keep me busy and out of the way, but I tried my damndest to deep clean everything. If I scrubbed any harder the paint would've come off the drums, the chrome off those stands and the finish off the cymbals.
Late that afternoon the stage was set and the road crew did the sound check and there was no sign of the band. No tour bus parked outside or on the curb in front of the club. I left to grab dinner then returned to the venue around 9:30. There was no opening act and I was lucky enough that I could sit behind the mixing console with the band's front of house engineer. This was probably arranged so an eye could be kept on me by the owner to make sure I didn't try to sneak a beer.
The band seemed to be running late and a thunder storm had formed making the power flicker on and off a few times. Somewhere around 10:30 PM the theme song from the movie, The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly started over the PA and the house lights went dark. The stage filled with smoke from the two smoke machines the band had on stage and you couldn't see your hand 12 inches in front of your face.
Suddenly out of the darkness with no warning we heard the infamous, "1,2,3,4!" and the stage lights came on in a flash and the Ramones, louder than anything I had ever heard in my life, were right there in front of me in their leather jacket's, torn jeans and worn out Vans. I remember thinking to myself, "How did they get on stage?" There were no flashlights showing them the way to the stage, they weren't in the club and suddenly they just appeared? My skin crawled and my life changed in an instant.
The Ramones played a solid two hours with almost no breaks. The only time I remember Joey saying anything to the audience was to introduce the song "Pet Cemetery", and even then Marky kept a steady beat going between his floor tom and snare.
After the band finished they retreated to the tiny dressing room just off the side of the stage and I was summoned to start the breakdown/load out process. I wanted to say something to the band but as I walked onto the stage Joey was escorted past me and out a side door and down a flight of steps to the tour bus waiting by the curb. As I was breaking down the drums to put them in the road cases Marky walked by on his way out and I said something to the effect of, "great show!”. Marky stopped and pulled out a pair of drumsticks he had used that night and hands them to me and walks off. A small gesture to Marky, but to me it was like handing fresh water to a person that was lost at sea for 5 months.
After 30 years my recollection of the night pretty much stops there, but the sticks are sitting right here on my desk as a constant reminder of how that band and one night would alter the course of my life and send me down the road of an amazing musical journey over the next 30 years.
Gabba Gabba, Hey!
