Four Chords and a Gun: not a f***ing musical
15 Apr 2019

by Drew Rowsome - Photos by Dahlia Katz

Pitched somewhere between a VH1 Behind the Music re-enactment and a serio-comic theatrical exploration of the dichotomy between art and fame, Four Chords and a Gun centers around the fateful working relationship between The Ramones and Phil Spector. But the heart of the piece - as the introductory projected graffiti quoting  The Ramones' set-closing song "We're a Happy Family" states - is the working and dysfunctional relationships between the band members.

Four Chords and a Gun starts strong when, backstage after a Ramones concert, the family's personalities are laid out. Anyone who has been backstage after a gig will recognize the tensions, exhilaration and frustrations. Playwright John Ross Bowie packs a lot of information into the scene (on top of the introductory narration that is a questionable choice) with the revelations only missing an ominous rimshot to point out what is important. Fortunately there are also lots of one-liners, only a few dependent on a knowledge of what is to come (and even those are very funny).

By the time Spector makes his appearance, we are primed to root for the band and particularly for Joey Ramone whose mental instability makes him the most stable character. Spector, played hilariously right to the edge of camp but not tipping over by Ron Pederson, is just the catalyst needed to explode the multitude of personal and internecine problems plaguing the band. In one powerful scene, Spector is projected Oz-like across the back of the stage while he plays producer/malevolent psychiatrist to Joey who is struggling to lay down a vocal track.

It would have been great to have seen more of the manipulation and conflict that actually occurred instead of just the aftermaths. It would also have been great to see more theatrical imagination at work. For every scene change, and there has been a lot of cash lavished on this production, that is eye-popping and thematically relevant (ie: a descending chandelier, shades of Phantom of the Opera, that announces that the action has moved to Spector's mansion and terrifies Dee Dee), there is furniture shuffled on and off stage in semi-darkness.

The performances are spot-on and subtle. Justin Goodhand gives Joey Ramone just enough neurotic tics to make him relatable instead of a case study, and his adoration of a spunky, sweet and exasperated Vanessa Smythe is a touching riff on the groupie/rock star dynamic. They conjure a touching chemistry that echoes and enhances Joey's bemused affection for, and hatred of, his difficult bandmates. Cyrus Lane (Bunny, A Christmas Carol) is the third corner of that particular triangle and he navigates severe mood swings, his anger is frightening, without contradicting the soul of a suffering musician.

James Smith (Rose, La Bete) takes the stereotype of the laissez-faire alcoholic drummer and adds a gentle understanding to counteract the other drummer archetype of being the sexy one. He is also saddled with the narration and several scenes where he just sleeps, but manages to be charismatic with both. Of all the Ramones, Dee Dee was the most complex between his drug habit, his sexual ambiguity, and his denial of both. Paolo Santalucia (Bed and Breakfast, La Bete, Animal Farm, The Goat or Who is Sylvia?, Mustard, The Taming of the Shrew) creates a Dee Dee who is equally clueless and charming. His hapless bumbling confusion is endearing and his sexual slip-ups are understated (except for once that is a sight gag. A very funny sight gag).

The cast's strong performances are undercut, but not fatally, by some awkward staging and a stop and start rhythm to the repartee. What should be as full-on and speedy as a Ramones song, is rendered slightly flat and stretching for a stated importance that should have arisen organically. But one can't argue with Pederson's Spector raving that he wants to re-make The Ramones into "The Righteous Brothers with balls." Pederson and Lane are worthy adversaries and their scenes together crackle with barely suppressed violence.

Four Chords and a Gun's ultimate conclusion is bleak, a welcome antidote to the myth of the natural born artist kissed by the gods. We are repeatedly reminded that both The Ramones and Spector have a job to do, whatever it takes. And just as the theatrical over-psychoanalyzing of The Ramones ends with another narrated shortcut, the cartoon Ramones, who we all know and love unreservedly, appear onstage in the form of a cover band. It is an interesting idea but a thankless job for the musicians. Those of us who actually saw The Ramones know that they were unique, lightning in a bottle that shatters from their explosive energy. 

All of us who just experienced Four Chords and a Gun, which is peppered with Ramones' recordings, have invested in the tragicomic characters we just spent time with. Almost impossible to live up to. What made The Ramones so influential was also what kept them from becoming the stars they longed to be. As the tagline says, "Not A F***ing Musical," but then not all musicals, or rock n roll careers, have happy endings. Not all families are happy.