The best part of writing about music, other than occasionally getting free records, is the people you meet and the stories you collect.
I’ve been blessed with more than my fair share of both. From being on the Aquabats tour bus, to writing cover stories and being backstage at shows that would have blown my mind as a teenager, the rock journalism game has been good to me. I still haven’t cracked the code to making a living at it, but if fun could pay the bills, I would be a rich man.
Not every moment is a winner, though.
There’s also missed deadlines, angry editors, and hurt feelings. I’ve damaged friendships with bad reviews. Weeks of blood, sweat, and tears have gone into articles that were left on the cutting room floor. Mike Mills from R.E.M. bought me a beer once, though, so I suppose there’s always a balance.
Only once did a rockstar have no patience for my cutesy nonsense.
…
The Review
Blondie
Parallel Lines
1978
There’s some debate over whether Blondie belong in the conversation of punk originators. Regardless of your stance, there’s no denying that Parallel Lines is one of the strongest releases from CBGB’s original graduating class. They may not have had the same explosive edge as their peers, but they could out write almost any of them.
What’s more deliciously ‘70’s than opening your record with “Hanging On The Telephone,” or instantly iconic than following it up with “One Way or Another”?
While their friends and colleagues were forging the fires of what would become punk, Blondie were busy creating their own new sound. It’s not quite disco, or pop, or rock ‘n’ roll, but it’s also somehow an amalgam of all those elements. Put Debbie Harry in front of that, and there’s no way you don’t go platinum.
And then, obviously, there’s “Heart of Glass.”
“Heart of Glass” sounds like the response track from the group of aliens Jimmy Carter sent that spaceship full of records to on Voyager 1 in 1977. It’s a hypnotic earworm that demands multiple listens. People accused them of selling out when that single was released, but that never made a lick of sense to me. When you have a song in your arsenal that is so clearly destined to top the charts, are you just supposed to sit on it to save face with the purists? Who does that benefit? Good songs are good songs, and you can’t pay your rent with other people’s perceptions of integrity.
Parallel Lines is two sides of boisterous bangers, but my heart lies with the slightly lesser-known cuts like “11:59” and “Sunday Girl.” Fitting breezy, jovial jaunts like those on a big shiny breakthrough record is one of the many factors that makes Blondie so endlessly endearing.
I always wanted to meet Debbie Harry. She didn’t reach fame until her 30s and is still killing the game at almost 80. The stories she could tell would be mesmerizing. The sounds she and the rest of the band created will be studied for years.
I never got to meet Debbie Harry, but I did meet one of her band mates.
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The Tale
I met Clem Burke at a party.
For those not immediately familiar with the name, the headline is that Clem Burke is the drummer for Blondie. He has also played with the Eurythmics, Iggy Pop, Pete Townshend, and a slew of other impressive credits. I knew him best as the momentary fill-in drummer for the Ramones in 1987.
It has always been interesting to me that his tenure in the Ramones was so brief, but during it he went by Elvis Ramone, and people still talk about it. His name is permanently in the presidential seal. As a Ramones junkie, I gobble up all the interesting little morsels like that I can get my grubby little hands on.
When I said earlier that I met him at a party, I should clarify that it was a “party.” This was in Los Angeles in the fall of 2014, and my friends and I had somehow bullshitted our way onto the guest list. I can’t remember now if the occasion was specifically meant to celebrate this, or if it was merely coincidental, but Clem Burke’s band the Split Squad was playing.
From what I recall, the Split Squad were a supergroup of sorts. In addition to Burke, there was also a guy from the Plimsouls and another guy from the Fleshtones. The organist for the Boston Red Sox was a member as well.
I wasn’t the biggest Blondie fan in the world, although I do like them. I had also never listened to the Split Squad. My soul reason for wanting to go was because I was enamored with the idea of getting a picture with Elvis Ramone.
Obviously, I don’t mean to detract one ounce from anything Clem Burke has done. He has platinum records on his wall and has played in multiple stadiums. I’m just some guy who two years earlier had been making $50 a night slinging drinks in a dive bar. He’s so much more than Elvis Ramone, but to me, Elvis Ramone was the meat and potatoes of my interest.
I remember when I spotted him inside that strip mall venue, right next to a Barnes & Noble.
My friends hyped me up enough that I was finally ready to go over and introduce myself. This was years after the Blondie heat had died down, and I appeared to be the only person there who recognized him. He was alone, not talking to anyone or otherwise occupied, so I casually made my way over. I had met famous people before, so I knew the etiquette. I needed to be quick and polite, just get in and get out without creating a spectacle or ruining his evening.
I came into his orbit, made eye contact, and said with all the Southern charm I could muster: “Hey Mr. Burke, it’s always been a dream of mine to meet Elvis Ramone,” and then extended my hand.
He looked at me like I was made of farts and he was made of noses, and walked away without saying a word.
I stood there with my arm stretched out for a beat, then turned back to my friends. We were all in tears of laughter before I could even get all the way back to them. The best part? My friend Matthew had snapped a quick picture of my initial approach that made it seem as though Clem Burke and I were in mid conversation.
Mission accomplished.
…
The Aftermath
Who knows what Clem Burke had going on that night.
He’s a real human being, after all, not a poster on the wall. He’s allowed to have bad days. For all I know, he was in the middle of a colonoscopy cleanse when some goofy red-faced Georgia boy bounced over to make his unwanted acquaintance. He didn’t owe me anything then, and he doesn’t owe me anything now.
If anything, he gave me something better than a smile and a photograph. He gave me a genuine moment, a story. I love telling people about the time Clem Burke was rude to me at a party.
After all, famous people are just people like the rest of us. That’s an important lesson I learned that night. It makes the records more interesting to listen to now because I’m reminded that real flesh-and-blood folks are behind them. I didn’t become friends with Clem Burke that night, but you know what I did do?
I got a picture with Elvis Ramone for my wall.
