The job of record producer was always to keep intact the integrity of the artist while at the same time defining their sound. In the 70s, different producers had different approaches, all hopefully leading to getting a song on radio rotation, the highway to record sales. One of those styles was to secretly replace parts using session musicians.

“What’s going on? I didn’t play that! That’s not me!” Ramone’s bassist, Dee Dee, lashed out upon hearing what was supposedly his bass line.

“Your performance wasn’t replaced. It was just enhanced,” was the standard reply, typically layered in technical jargon, that I had to make even at age 19 when I had just started the gig. Although I don’t remember the exact song or even the album, I do recall that it took quite a bit of time for high-wired Dee to calm down, and from that point forward, he remained suspicious. 

Some producers integrated themselves into the band by listening to the artists and gaining their trust. They gave everyone had a say. Shy, quirky, singer, Joey rarely said anything while drummer/co-producer Tommy Ramone was cool and deliberate. 

On the flipside, guitarist Johnny Ramone was opinionated and outspoken. Decades would pass (and so would Johnny) before I’d find out about his attitude toward women audio engineers. He alone fought to keep my name off the four Ramone’s LPs I helped record. 

Thanks to producer Ed Stasium, however, my name did appear (and still does) on It’s Alive as well as the 40th anniversary edition of Road to Ruin. But the true irony is that my name purportedly inspired one of their songs and therefore went beyond any mere album credit and into the forever rock n’ roll ether.

“Hey, Ramona; the Ramones wrote a song about you!” announced Tony Bongiovi during the making of Rocket to Russia. He was blasting said song from control room A. I ran in just to stop the madness. 

I never liked hearing my name under any circumstances, which made introducing myself very uncomfortable. Whenever I did hear it, I felt I was in trouble. Hearing the lyrics to “Ramona” was not flattering, it was excruciating.

Sweet, sweet little Ramona

She always wants to come over

Sweet, sweet little Ramona

I think I’ll try and phone her

I let her in if you’re wondering why

‘Cause she’s a spy for the BBI

I let her in and I started to cry

And then I knew I wanted to die

Aside from making not much sense, it was all a bunch of lies. I’d never once begged or even asked to come over any of the Ramones’ houses. And even though being a spy appealed to me, I was highly insulted at being referred to as sweet. The song made me look frivolous. To Bongiovi’s dismay, I left the room without hearing it through. Much later, when I needed it most, I’d come to appreciate how it saved me money. 

In 2023, while in New York City for cancer treatment, I booked an acupuncture session at New York Points. As I went to pay for the treatment, the owner asked if I knew about a song called “Ramona”. I froze, hand in handbag. 

Which one, I thought. Could it be the one by Smashing Pumpkins or Bob Dylan or the 1928 theme to the movie Ramona, a song sung to me by all my doctors while growing up? No. No, it was my song. “Go ahead and google me,” I told him, and after doing so, my sessions going forward were free. 

I then wrote a column, NY Points to the Ramones, for the award-winning Sullivan County Democrat newspaper, autographed a copy, and sent it to New York Points, where it hangs, silver framed, on the wall today. RIP Johnny. I will always love you.

RAMONA JAN is the Founder and Director of Yarnslingers, a storytelling group that tells tales both fantastic and true. She is also the roving historian for Callicoon, NY and is often seen giving tours around town. You can email her at callicoonwalkingtours@gmail.com.