Realistically, it was inevitable New York City’s Ramones would eventually work with famed producer Phil Spector. After all, the progenitors of punk had demonstrated how altogether fond they were of pre-FM radio, an era in which the eccentric mastermind flourished with his grandiose style of studio productions dubbed ‘Wall of Sound’ (for the Ronettes, the Righteous Brothers, and others).
And, with forty-five years of hindsight, both parties’ preferred recording style sounds oddly complementary on previous Ramones albums like Road To Ruin (released 2/4/80), with guitar, bass, and drums blended and blurred behind the lead voice. Meanwhile, the individual instrumental components of Spector’s arrangements solidified in those as mentioned above are of a massive sonic structure.
Nonetheless, the Farfisa organ is unmistakable on End Of The Century‘s opening of “Do You Remember Rock ‘N’ Roll Radio.” The man playing, however, seems an unlikely choice: the recently deceased Barry Goldberg was a refugee from an early blues band he co-led with Steve Miller. The keyboardist had also contributed substantially to ex-Paul Butterfield guitarist Michael Bloomfield’s short-lived Electric Flag.
Likewise, it’s not hard to discern the bank of horns on “I’m Affected.” But the saxophone sounds come courtesy of Steve Douglas, long a stalwart of Phil Spector recording sessions. “Chinese Rock” is more stripped down, however, and that’s in keeping with its subject matter of substance abuse, one that hit close to home for a band later rent asunder by insidious substances.
And, apropos its two-word title, “Let’s Go,” finds the Ramones thrashing and spitting away. The ferocity of the attack renders it only logical that it was issued as a single and clearly illustrates how the strength of the Ramones’ collective persona remained a distinct undercurrent End Of The Century. That said, this is no Rocket To Russia from three years prior.
The deceptively trashy troupe’s fifth record for the Sire label–home of Talking Heads, Pretenders, and the Smiths, among others–juxtaposes a cover of the Ronettes’ “Baby I Love You,” waves of orchestration and all, with “I Can’t Make It On Time,” a more straightforward and heartfelt self-composed homage to the girl groups the Ramones so admired.
Yet another slice of adolescent life, it compares favorably to “The Return of Jackie And Judy,” a sequel to “Judy Is A Punk Rocker” from the group’s eponymous 1976 debut. But the later expression of angst is less affecting than affected, the most apparent instance of the Ramones’ straining to make a point on this record.
The same might be said of the third(!) version of “Rock And Roll High School” included here. Yet even as the song provided the name for a 1979 comedy film of the same name (in which the foursome appeared), the publicity surrounding End of the Century only penetrated the mainstream to a limited extent; the Ramones’ profile didn’t rise appreciably in the wake of its release, contrary to hopes and expectations of the record company and the cognoscenti of the times.
Those iconoclastic and altogether loyal music lovers so deeply enamored of the quartet’s early work are the audience for which later (and pervasive) archival work was aimed. In fact, like its expanded counterparts, the 2002 reissue of End of the Century foreshadows the multiple vault projects, including deluxe box sets devoted to a band often credited with launching punk rock.
Yet, for all intents and purposes, this unwavering attention remains out of the mainstream. More’s the pity in that regard then, from a four-and-a-half-decade perspective: even in its modified form on End Of The Century, the Ramones’ particular (peculiar?) brand of “Blitzkrieg Bop” remains an ongoing antidote to antiseptic pop music.