“We’re a happy family,” The Ramones used to sing. As any fan knows, nothing was further from the truth.
Plenty of biographies and documentaries have confirmed that the Noo Yawk punk pioneers — though not actually related — were a dysfunctional musical family whose members barely spoke to each other for the bulk of their storied 22-year career.
And now, with his touching memoir I Slept With Joey Ramone, the singer’s younger brother Mickey Leigh has revealed that the rocker’s real family wasn’t much happier.
Growth removed
Ramone’s troubles literally began at birth. When Jeff Hyman entered the world on May 19, 1951, he had a six-pound tumour the size of a baseball on the base of his spine.
Surgery to remove the growth was successful, but Hyman soon faced other challenges. Freakishly tall and gangly with bad eyes, he was unathletic and shy, a walking target for bullies who taunted him with nicknames like Jeffrey Giraffe and Doody Boy. To make matters worse, the brothers’ parents divorced — and their stepfather died in a car wreck.
Soon, Jeff began to exhibit symptoms of obsessive-compulsive disorder, endlessly tapping cutlery and spending hours in the bathroom cleaning his glasses. Eventually, he had himself committed for psychiatric observation.
He found solace, not surprisingly, in music. Taught rudimentary guitar chords by budding musician Mickey, he began writing songs and even gained the confidence to get on stage and sing — using the magnificent name Jeff Starship. Later, he formed a band with three high school pals who christened themselves Ramone after Paul McCartney’s Silver Beatles pseudonym.
Armed with leather jackets, poppy melodies set against chainsaw guitars, and bizarre lyrics about brutal violence, teenage love and sniffing glue, they became one of the most important and influential groups in history.
And one of the most miserable, it would seem. Throughout their career, the band constantly faced professional struggles (in the early ’80s, Joey’s annual income was $5,000) and personal ones (guitarist Johnny was a bullying control freak; bassist Dee Dee an unreliable druggie). It all culminated in the ultimate betrayal: Johnny stole Joey’s girlfriend Linda and married her, opening a rift in the group that never healed.
Leigh, who toiled as their roadie in the early years for the princely sum of $50 a week, gives us a front-row seat to the well-known highlights (and lowlights) of their career. More importantly, he takes us backstage and lets us see his brother away from the spotlight. It’s not a pretty sight.
Living in squalid conditions, plagued by health crises — including the lymphoma that ultimately killed him in 2001 — warped by fame and imprisoned by his obsessions, Joey is seen less as a hero than a victim. And sometimes a villain — if you think your siblings are a pain, imagine having a rock star with OCD in your family.
Sabotaged career
For the most part, Leigh paints himself as the dutiful boy, sacrificing his own goals (he ended up dealing drugs most of his life) to be on call for a troubled sibling who often abused and exploited him. Joey, he claims, went so far as to actively sabotage his music career, denying him credit for Ramones songs he co-wrote, and even turning their starstruck parents against him over the matter.
Sibling rivalry? Sour grapes? With Joey gone, we’ll never hear the other side. But whatever the truth, Leigh’s memoir leaves no doubt on one point: However hard it was to be Joey Ramone, being his brother was no picnic either.
darryl.sterdan@sunmedia.ca
